“I Ran Into an Old Friend at the Grocery Store. She Only Talked About Herself”

I was pushing my cart down the cereal aisle when I saw her. Emily, my old friend from college, was standing there, examining a box of granola. We used to be inseparable, meeting up every week for coffee and long chats about our lives, dreams, and everything in between. But for the past six months, she had been a ghost. No texts, no calls, just the occasional “Busy, sorry. Let’s do it another time” message.

“Emily?” I called out, my voice tinged with a mix of surprise and excitement.

She turned around, her face lighting up with recognition. “Oh my God, Sarah! It’s been ages!”

We hugged briefly, and I couldn’t help but feel a rush of nostalgia. Here was someone who had once been such a significant part of my life, now reduced to a chance encounter in a grocery store.

“How have you been?” I asked, genuinely curious about what had kept her so busy.

“Oh, you know, just the usual,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Work has been crazy. I got promoted to senior manager, and it’s been non-stop ever since.”

“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” I said, trying to match her enthusiasm.

“Thanks! And then there’s the new house. We finally moved into that place we were eyeing for so long. It’s perfect, but the move was a nightmare.”

As she continued to talk about her job, her house, and her latest vacation to Europe, I realized something unsettling. Emily hadn’t asked me a single question about my life. Not even a simple “How are you?”

I tried to interject a few times, mentioning that I had started a new job myself and that my sister had just had a baby. But each time, she would steer the conversation back to herself.

“That’s great,” she would say briefly before launching into another story about her own life. “You have to see the photos from our trip to Italy. The food was incredible!”

I nodded along, feeling increasingly invisible. It was as if my life had become a mere backdrop to her monologue. The Emily I remembered was empathetic and genuinely interested in others. This Emily seemed self-absorbed and oblivious.

After what felt like an eternity, she glanced at her watch. “Oh wow, I didn’t realize how late it was. I have to run; I’m meeting someone for lunch.”

“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. “It was good to see you.”

“Yeah, we should catch up properly sometime,” she said, already turning to leave.

“Sure,” I replied, knowing deep down that it probably wouldn’t happen.

As I watched her walk away, I felt a pang of sadness. Our friendship had once been so meaningful, but now it felt hollow and one-sided. People change, I reminded myself. Maybe this was just who Emily had become.

I finished my shopping in a daze, replaying our conversation in my head. It was clear that our lives had taken different paths, and perhaps it was time to let go of the past.

When I got home, I put away the groceries and sat down with a cup of tea. I thought about reaching out to some other friends I hadn’t seen in a while, people who might actually be interested in a two-way conversation.

Emily’s name popped up on my phone screen later that evening—a text message saying, “Great seeing you today! Let’s do coffee soon.”

I stared at the message for a moment before putting my phone down without replying. Sometimes, it’s better to cherish the memories and move on.