Fake Smiles

When Imran first moved to the city for college, everything felt new, fast, and a little frightening. He came from a small village where people knew each other by name, where friendships were simple and real. In the city, things were different—but he didn’t realize how different until it was too late.

During his first week, he met three boys in his class—Ali, Zain, and Haris. They were confident, stylish, and seemed to know everyone. When they invited Imran to sit with them, he felt lucky. They laughed loudly, talked about parties, and always had money to spend. Imran, who lived on a tight budget, admired them.

“Bro, you’re with us now,” Ali said one day, patting Imran’s shoulder. “We take care of our friends.”

That sentence stayed with Imran. It made him feel like he belonged.

Slowly, he started spending more time with them. They went out almost every evening—cafes, restaurants, and sometimes expensive hangouts. At first, they insisted on paying for him.

“No worries, yaar,” Zain would say. “Next time you pay.”

But “next time” came too often.

Within a month, Imran found himself paying more than he could afford. Every time he hesitated, they made him feel small.

“What happened, bro? You don’t have money?” Haris joked once, laughing.

Imran forced a smile. “No, no… I’ll pay.”

He didn’t want to lose them.

Things got worse when exams came near. Imran was a good student, always serious about studies. His so-called friends, however, were not.

“Send your notes,” Ali texted one night.

“Explain this chapter,” Zain called the next day.

“Bro, help us pass,” Haris laughed.

Imran helped them all. He stayed up late making notes, solving questions, and explaining everything. He thought this was what friends do.

But on the day of the exam, something changed.

Imran arrived early, nervous but prepared. He looked for Ali and the others, but they were nowhere to be seen. When they finally showed up, they ignored him.

“Bro, come sit with us,” Imran said.

Ali looked at him and shrugged. “We’re sitting with others today.”

Others? Imran felt a strange pain but stayed quiet.

After the exam, Imran approached them again. “How was it?”

“Easy,” Haris said casually. “We had help.”

Imran frowned. “Help? From who?”

They exchanged glances, then laughed. “Not everything is for you to know, bro.”

That evening, Imran saw their social media stories—pictures of them celebrating with another group, the same people they had chosen over him in the exam hall.

Days passed, and their behavior became colder. They stopped calling him. Messages were left on “seen.” When he tried to join them, they made excuses.

One day, Imran overheard them talking behind his back.

“He’s too simple,” Ali said.

“Yeah, only useful for notes,” Zain added.

“Not our level,” Haris laughed.

Those words hit harder than anything before.

For a moment, Imran felt broken. Angry. Embarrassed. He thought about all the money he spent, all the time he gave, all the trust he placed in them.

But then something inside him changed.

The next day, when Ali messaged, “Bro, send notes,” Imran didn’t reply.

When Zain called, he didn’t pick up.

When Haris joked in class, Imran simply walked away.

Weeks later, Imran sat alone in the library, studying peacefully. A quiet boy named Ahmed sat beside him.

“Can I borrow your notes?” Ahmed asked politely.

Imran looked at him for a moment, then smiled. “Sure—but only if we study together.”

Ahmed nodded. “Deal.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t flashy. But it felt real.

And for the first time since coming to the city, Imran understood something important:

Fake friends take your energy. Real friends respect it.

He didn’t feel lonely anymore.

He felt free.