My oldest friend in New York and I almost stopped being friends over an unanswered text, and I want to talk about it because nobody tells you how quietly adult friendships die.
We met three years ago, both of us fresh off the plane, both of us pretending we knew how the subway worked. She was my person. And then somewhere in the last few months we got busy in that specific New York way where being busy becomes a personality.
A text went unanswered. Then another. Then a birthday that got a rushed Happy bday!! instead of a call. And instead of saying I miss you I made it a grudge, because I'd rather be hurt than be the one who admits she needs someone.
That's the thing about friendships in this city. There's no natural gravity holding you together. No shared class, no shared street. You have to choose each other on purpose, over and over, against a whole city trying to distract you.
So this week I did the terrifying thing. I texted her: can we talk, for real. We met at a dosa place on the Lower East Side, one we used to go to when we were broke and homesick and split one masala dosa between us because that was the budget.
And we just said it. All of it. That we'd both felt dropped. That we'd both been too proud to reach. That the distance wasn't about anger, it was about fear, the fear that maybe we'd outgrown the friendship and neither of us wanted to be the one who noticed first.
We hadn't outgrown it. We'd just stopped watering it.
Over the dosa, the same as always, we laughed until the couple next to us stared. She reminded me of the time I cried at a Shah Rukh Khan movie so hard the theater staff checked on me. I reminded her of nothing, because she's perfect and it's annoying.
Adult friendships don't survive on vibes. They survive on somebody being brave enough to say I don't want to lose you, out loud, over a shared plate.
Text the friend. Before it becomes a grudge you've forgotten the reason for.
Love,