The news came on a Thursday afternoon. Sophie had been unusually quiet that day—checking her email like clockwork, biting her lip, and fiddling with the edge of her notebook as if it were the thread holding her life together.
I was halfway through reading a case study when she suddenly let out a sharp squeal, startling me.
"I GOT IT!" she shouted, spinning her laptop around.
There it was in bold, official letters: Congratulations! You have been selected for the New York International Innovation Fellowship. Her dream program. The one she'd talked about for years, and the same one that had thousands of applicants across the country.
"Oh my God, Sophie!" I dropped my books and leaped into her arms. We jumped in place like over-caffeinated toddlers, both of us screaming, laughing, nearly crying.
But when the celebration settled and the adrenaline faded, a quiet stillness filled the room.
She sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her laptop. "It's in New York, Char. I'd have to leave… in six weeks."
My smile wavered. "I know."
"You're happy for me, right?"
"Of course I am," I said immediately. And I was. Truly. But there was a sting that came with it—the kind of bittersweet ache that only real friendship brings. We'd been through everything together. From invisibility to transformation, from heartbreak to healing. Sophie was my anchor. And now, the anchor was preparing to set sail.
That evening, we met James at a local rooftop café to celebrate. He hugged Sophie tightly. "I knew you'd get it. I told Charlotte you were a star."
"She didn't tell me that," Sophie teased, nudging me playfully.
"Hey! I absolutely did," I defended with a grin.
Over mocktails and pizza, we toasted to dreams, distance, and everything in between. But I noticed James watching Sophie closely—his smile proud, but also touched with concern. Like he, too, understood the weight of change creeping in.
Later that night, when Sophie stepped out to take a phone call from her mom, James leaned over to me.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
I nodded, though my chest felt tight. "I'm just going to miss her. Everything's changing so fast."
He didn't say anything at first, just reached over and gave my hand a small squeeze.
"Change doesn't always mean loss," he said gently. "Sometimes, it just means growth—with new roots, not broken ones."
I met his gaze and nodded. "I'm trying to believe that."
"Then I'll help you."
The night air grew cooler, but my heart felt oddly warm. As the city buzzed below us and laughter filled the rooftop, I realized something:
Even though Sophie would soon leave, the bond we shared wouldn't fade. True friendships—like true love—weren't held by proximity but by intention, effort, and memories that couldn't be undone.
Sophie was crossing into her next chapter.
And so was I.