The truth is often a double-edged sword, severing bonds with its sharpness. Yet, only through the pain of its cut can we understand the depth of our human relationships. Shiksha enjoyed a different life in Denmark's capital, far from the towering Himalayas—the classy brick roads and the lovely, calm canals. Coming from warm Nepal to the cool air of Copenhagen was quite shocking; however, through her new friend Anju, she managed to get a bit of warmth.

Even though it was not easy for both people to form deep relationships with people set apart from other cultures, the friendship between Shiksha and Anju became precious. They talked about their shared Nepali cultural experiences, the difficulties of adjusting to new things, and the happiness of raising children in a foreign country. Anju’s bravery and silence were Shiksha's guiding lights, bringing them near and warm to each other.

It was one of those evenings when the sun dipped below the horizon, unveiling a dusk framed by marigolds, with the sky painted in soft, warm tones. The two women sat in their favourite café, all bundled up as one would do in the northern hemisphere during winter, away from the frosty cold.

"I really can't accept that you speak Danish so well," Anju said, admiring her friend.

Shiksha smiled humbly, saying, "Oh, Anju, I pretend to be a linguist. But you, with how well you speak, you're almost Danish now!” Anju's laughter was as light as a little bell, "However, we do what is necessary to live and work here, don't we?" One began to realise that Sanchita had become a generous third wheel, too, where Shiksha would soon shadow them.

After some awkward moment when Shiksha visited a grocery shop, she met Sanchita. She called out, "Good evening, Shiksha; I hope I'm not coming in at the wrong moment in the same market," said Sanchita, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Sanchita, have a seat," Shiksha gestured toward an empty chair.

As they gossiped, the air became heavy with Sanchita's sly insinuations, each dripping with poison disguised as concern, casting a palpable shadow over the once warm conversation. "You know, Shiksha," she said in a shallow tone, with conspiratorial intent, “Anju may seem very secure, but I have heard her say not-the-kindest things about us, Nepali people. She exaggerates things, and she is arrogant. She often talks behind us and feels she knows the perfect Danish language. She is always back-biting and saying stupid things about our culture and tradition. I have even heard her say that Nepali people are the most ridiculous people in the world. She told us we're not brave or proud and don't care enough about our country. We're all just trying to get by. Many of us do have feelings and care for others. But we don't want to work hard; we always look for the easy way out.”

Shiksha looked at Sanchita, her eyes full of confusion, and asked, "What do you mean by that, Sanchita?

"It's nothing," Sanchita said with a blinked gesture, rejecting the idea. The only thing you need to focus on is that people who love showing off their new identities tend to forget their humble beginnings quickly."

When Shiksha met Anju at her child's birthday party, she told Anju what Sanchita had said to her. This had taken a downward turn, and the words were weighing it down, but in a moment, Anju laughed it off and began changing the topic; however, now she stood enveloped by embattled waves of doubt and confusion wherever possible.

Days passed, and Sanchita’s insidious ferment began to cast a shadow on Shiksha and Anju's relationship. The poison of Sanchita’s words reached Shiksha nonetheless: she began to doubt the warmth in her bond with Anju, wondering if what she had shared and believed was a lie. The severity of the situation had darkened their earlier warm relationship. Now Shiksha was left with a heavy heart and an immense battle before her.

"Are you OK?" Anju asked, looking at her concerned colleague. Shiksha cleared her throat. "I have come to discuss what Sanchita said."

"She said that you discredited our people," she continued. Anju's rage took the shape of a red-hot face. The feelings of betrayal were early read in her eyes. "And you, Shiksha, believe her? Do you believe her over me?"

"It's not that I believe, OK? I- I had to hear it from you. Shiksha's tears rolled down her cheeks as the gravity of their quarrel hit home. I just… I thought we were better friends than this; she said softly and haltingly, her words raw with hurt. I had to talk it out with Sanchita.

There was a beat after Anju confessed, and the silence seemed to reverberate throughout the room before she answered, "I also spoke with Sanchita." She insisted she never said any of those things. She's convinced you're not telling the truth, Shiksha." Taking advantage of the moment in a rush of emotion, she questioned Shiksha's loyalty to herself, "I did not think we were that kind of friends," Anju, who blamed Sanchita, their mediator, for mishandling everything, had also blemished Shiksha in her mind. Anju said not a sod, refusing to make the emotional connection that she and Shiksha used to share.

"Shiksha, I am not sorry; our friendship is here to stay." Friends don't treat friends that way. I can't trust you anymore." And just like a delicate china cup, when it breaks, it will never again be able to contain the same. The laughter that used to ring throughout the void remained for days. The smiles were less warm and now gave way to cool nods; they had laughed together for one night in October, a quiet moment devoid of laughter.

The bond between Anju and Shiksha disintegrated over time. On such a day in the park, she passed out snowballs to her little ones who wildly ran upon that like-airy from that bone-chilling winter. But this time, they wouldn't hush up for Anju's privacy; Shiksha had just busted in. She met eyes with the one she had once called a friend, betrayal of long ago still stinging. "And some things, once torn apart and scarred, can't be sewn back together to make it look like they were never broken." Looking towards Shiksha, a person she now felt somewhat repelled by, Anju maintained: "There are some breaks you can't reverse; behaving as if they're still whole won't alter that."

"That said, but really, isn't that true for everyone? Everyone hates to be spoken about in a negative sense,” Shiksha retorted. However, the unfortunate conflict over who was right broke the friendship and created a great gulf between Shiksha and Anju. It festered in her chest, an ache too deep to soothe the shattered parts riding on its wake when they fell away from their bridge down a chasm resembling glass that cut into skin with every pulse of her broken heart. Best friendships can never win over misunderstanding. This was a good lesson for Shiksha to learn. Some are like covalent bonds, without opposite charges on both sides and stick together. The lie and the sense of betrayal could not be erased, no matter how hard they tried to rebuild their friendship, which only worsened over time.

Kalwar is a writer from Chitwan.