One afternoon, Mira overheard a conversation that shattered her world. In the college cafeteria, hidden by the hum of voices, she heard Aditi speaking with another friend.

"I only hang out with her because she's useful," Aditi said, laughing. "You know, for assignments and stuff. She's so clingy sometimes, it's kind of pathetic."

She mocked Mira's life with cruel laughter, ridiculing her financial struggles and sneering at the simplicity of her low-profile clothes, as though her worth could be measured by the fabric she wore.

The words hit Mira like a slap. The trust she had placed so carefully in Aditi crumbled in an instant. Her mind raced back to every moment they had shared, every secret she had revealed.

Was it all a lie?

Mira confronted Aditi later, trembling with anger and hurt. But Aditi brushed it off, saying, "Don't be so dramatic. You're overthinking it. I didn't mean it like that."

For the first time in years, Mira allowed herself to cry, her tears soaking the pages of her open notebook. It wasn't just the betrayal that hurt; it was the confirmation of everything she feared about herself.

That she was unlovable. That her worth was tied only to what she could provide. That no matter how hard she tried, she would always be alone.