I got dumped!💔

I guess I can say I’ve been dumped once in my life.

And it wasn’t by a boy.

It was by a girl who used to call me her soulmate.

That word sounds dramatic, I know — but we meant it.

We shared shoes. Shared money. Shared passwords.

She once missed a test because I was sick and didn’t want to leave me alone.

She used to show up with food, even when she was broke.

There was a time I was crying because life was dragging me by the throat, and she cancelled a date just to sit with me. She didn’t say much. Just sat there, let me cry, let me breathe.

I remember one time she told a guy she was

talking to,

“If you don’t like Ese, it’s not going to work.”

He laughed. She didn’t.

We weren’t just friends.

We were each other’s person.

The kind of friendship that made you think, even if everything else fails, I have this.

And that’s why when it ended, I didn’t know how to carry the grief.

Because the world doesn’t give you language for the loss of a friend.

⸻

Well, for the purpose of this story, let’s just say her name was Precious.

She used to call me before she called her mother.

She once stayed up all night to help me finish an application I was procrastinating.

I once got her a 10 inch cake with money I didn’t really have because she’d had a rough week and needed a win.

She taught me how to rewrite my CV—line by line.. How to thread a sewing needle with one hand — “in case you lose one arm,” she jokingly said.

It was good. Really good.

We had the kind of love that made you feel chosen.

Held. Hyped. Covered.

She once told me, “If I blow, just know you’re following me.”

I believed her.

⸻

Now, Precious used to talk to me about her boyfriend all the time.

He was Recurrent Disappointment in Human Form.

He treated her like furniture he hadn’t decided to throw out yet. He’d ghost her, then come back with a half-hearted ‘my phone was acting up.’ That phone must’ve been possessed, because it always acted up when she needed him the most. He lied like it was a love language. Once told her he couldn’t talk because he was in church — on a Friday night! He once lied that he was in the hospital, only for her to see him dancing in the background of his cousin’s Instagram story. He forgot her birthday twice. Not once — twice. The first time, she cried. The second time, she got him presents ‘so he wouldn’t feel bad for forgetting again.’ I told her she was too kind. She said, ‘Love covers a multitude of nonsense’.

Each time, she’d call me — crying, venting, swearing she was done.

I’d listen. Always.

Even when it was 1 a.m. and my phone was on 2%. Even when I’d heard the same story four times already.

I made space. I made time even when I ought to be studying. I made soft landing out of my words.

I never once said, “You’re still crying over that guy?”

Because that’s what friends do — we hold each other, even when the script is on repeat.

So imagine my shock when one random afternoon during a hangout, someone, a mutual friend read out a meme:

“You won’t know your friends are stupid until they tell you about their love life.”

I laughed.

Then I said, “Who’s calling Precious’ name?. I’m tired of that girl”..

She laughed too. Sort of. The kind of laugh that sounds like it skipped rehearsal.

Everyone moved on.

I thought she did too.

I know I slipped but it was something painfully ordinary —

I made a joke in front of a few people, too close to a story she’d told me in confidence.

Not malicious. Not intentional. But careless.

But now that I think about it, something in her face shifted.

Something behind her eyes. A light dimmed.

Maybe she thought I was making fun of her pain. Maybe it hit a nerve she didn’t know was exposed. Maybe she had been looking for an exit, and the joke gave her one. I don’t know.

⸻

I apologized that same night. Sent a voice note.

Said I was sorry and I didn’t mean it like that. She saw it. She never replied that night.

Or the next.

Our voice notes became texts. Then “seen.” Then nothing.

Next thing?

Old photos archived.

Story views gone.

Blocked.

Blocked!!!!!!

I knew because my messages wouldn’t deliver even when I knew she was always online.

Just delete contact, scrub history, end program.

And what broke me wasn’t just that she left.

It was that she gave more grace to that man — the one who disrespected her consistently — than she gave me.

He got second, third, eighth chances.

She stayed. She forgave. She prayed for him.

But me? One joke.

One single sentence.

And that was it. No conversation. No “this hurt me.” Just… ghosted.

What I did was wrong. I’ll never say it wasn’t.

But she forgave him for worse.

Public humiliation. Neglect. Betrayal.

She’d cry in my room and go back to him with open arms.

I did one thing wrong — and lost seven years of friendship.

⸻

Let’s be honest:

We treat friendships like optional extras.

Like the trial version before the real love story begins.

Romantic relationships are allowed to be messy.

They come with entire scripts.

You can fight, break up, cry, block, come back.

People will tell you to work through it.

“Love takes patience,” they’ll say.

But friendships?

One wrong move and suddenly you’re toxic.

You’re “jealous.”

“You’ve changed.”

God forbid you express hurt — now you’re “too sensitive.”

Where’s the grace?

⸻

Here’s the thing:

Precious was a good friend.

And I was a good friend to her.

We both poured, prayed, protected.

But somehow, our friendship wasn’t allowed to be messy.

Wasn’t allowed to be imperfect.

Wasn’t allowed to stumble and rise again.

Because there’s no script for “let’s fix this” in friendship.

Just silence. And the ache of remembering a voice note from two years ago that still makes you laugh.

⸻

So no — I didn’t get dumped by a boy.

But I got dumped.

And some days, it still stings.

Especially on days when I remember how she used to call me her soulmate.

⸻

Friendship is not a lesser love.

It is real. It is sacred. It is worth fighting for.

We grow up believing romantic love is the ultimate prize — the storyline at the heart of every film, the big moment in every novel.

Friends are cast as the sidekicks. They’re there to help you find The One, not be The One.

But I’ve never believed that.

Some of the most profound love I’ve ever experienced has come through friendship.

I’ve shared secrets I’ve never dared to say aloud.

I’ve collapsed into arms and cried.

I’ve laughed so hard I thought I’d stop breathing.

I’ve felt safe. Seen. Understood. 

Because love isn’t always roses and rings.

Sometimes, it’s two girls in oversized T-shirts,

sharing food on the floor of a room and laughing heartily.

It’s late-night voice notes filled with half-sentences and whole emotions.

It’s sitting in silence because that’s what the moment needs.

It’s knowing exactly how she likes her chocolate drink, or tea as some would say— not too sugary, not too thick.

It’s buying two gala even though she said she wasn’t hungry, because you know she’ll still collect.

It’s the kind of love that doesn’t post much, but it’s always there.

In the shared playlists. In the random “I just saw your twin” texts.

In the way your pain becomes a shared language between two hearts.

Love is her staying up with you while you spiral about your future.

It’s you showing up for her even when your world is falling apart.

It’s crying in the room after a bad exam,

and her not saying anything — just sitting with you until the tears dry.

It’s arguments that feel like earthquakes,

and forgiveness that feels like home.

It’s not perfect. It’s never perfect.

But it’s yours. And it’s real. And it mattered.

Friendship, in its most honest form, is the quiet kind of forever.

No hashtags. No proposals. No anniversaries with matching outfits.

Just two people who kept choosing each other,

even when it was easier not to.

So if you’ve loved like that — deeply, clumsily, sincerely —

I hope you know it counts.

I hope you know that friendship isn’t a rehearsal for the real thing.

It is the real thing.

And if the world won’t throw a party for the love you built in friendship —

build your own table. Light your own candles.

Say your own toast.

You were never  “just friends.”

You were soulmates in the most human sense.

Chosen. Cherished. Real.

And that, too, is everything.

Thank you for reading..