Zombie Mode and Lightning Strikes

It was 3 AM on a Sunday, and I was fully operating in zombie mode. Three days of finals, zero sleep, and my best friend since seventh grade, Sarah, was ghosting me harder than a bad Tinder match. My phone sat there, dark and judgmental, while I stared at my calculus homework that might as well have been written in ancient hieroglyphics.

You know that feeling when your brain is complete mush but you somehow keep scrolling? That was me. I'd texted Sarah four times about our plans for the weekend—supposed to hit up Marcus's party, the one everyone was talking about on Snapchat—and nothing. Not even a left-on-read situation. Just silence.

The lightning started outside, these jagged cracks across the sky that lit up my room like a broken strobe light. And that's when it hit me—not the lightning, but the realization. Sarah wasn't just busy. She was distancing herself, slowly, methodically, like someone preparing to break up but without the actual conversation.

I thought back to last week at lunch. She'd spent the whole time texting someone, barely looking up, and when I asked what was up, she'd given me this fake smile. 'Nothing, just stuff.' The classic deflection. I'd been too wrapped up in my own zombie state to notice the signs.

The thing about best friends is that the breakup hits harder than any romantic relationship. There's no closure, no 'it's not you, it's me' speech. Just drift and distance until you're strangers who share memories.

Another lightning flash illuminated my tear-stained face. pathetic, maybe. But real. I grabbed my phone and typed out one last message—not asking why, not demanding anything. Just 'I get it. Do you, I guess.' Then I turned it off, actually turned it off, and lay back as the thunder rattled my window like it was trying to tell me something important: some things end, even the ones you thought were permanent.

Monday at school, Sarah walked past me in the hallway like I was invisible. She was with new friends, laughing at something I'd never understand. I stood there, feeling like a zombie who'd just been hit by lightning—shocked, hollow, but somehow weirdly awake for the first time in weeks.

Sometimes growing up means learning that 'forever' has an expiration date, and the scariest part isn't losing people. It's that eventually, you stop reaching out to stop them from leaving.