My closest friend in this city moved to New Jersey last month, and I've been walking around with a small grief I don't quite have the right word for.
Nobody warns you about this one. When a best friend leaves the city, it's not dramatic. There's no fight. She just crossed a river and now we plan instead of appear.
Reshma and I used to be spontaneous in the way only two broke girls in the same borough can be. She was fifteen minutes away in the LES. I'd text "chai?" and she'd show up at my door in pajamas and a coat. We'd walk to a bodega, we'd complain, we'd fix each other's whole lives by midnight.
Now she's a NJ Transit ride and a whole decision away.
The first time I visited her new place I felt genuinely disoriented. Quiet streets. A dishwasher. Parking. She has a couch that isn't from a curb. She's building an adult life and it's beautiful and I was so happy for her and also I wanted to cry the entire train ride home.
Because when a best friend leaves the city, you don't just lose the person. You lose the version of yourself that existed with them here. The 1am walks. The shared unseriousness. The proof that you weren't doing this alone.
We FaceTime now. It's not the same but it's not nothing. She reminds me of the scene in Dil Chahta Hai, the friends drifting into their separate futures, and how the point was never that they stopped loving each other. Just that love had to change its address.
I'm learning that adult friendship is mostly logistics and intention. You have to choose it now. It won't just knock on your door in pajamas anymore.
So I'm choosing it. I'm going out to see her this weekend, dishwasher and all.
Some friendships don't end. They just start requiring a train ticket.
Love,