By: Michael Charles
March 4, 2025
There lived a boy who had very few friends. He wasn’t bothered by it, for he believed that a true friendship was worth more than the number of people surrounding him. Though he often walked alone, he carried with him the quiet confidence of someone who knew the importance of inner peace. One day, while walking through the sunlit meadow near his home, he decided to ask one of his friends a question that had been lingering in his mind.
“Why do you talk to me?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with curiosity.
His friend, not expecting such a question, answered almost dismissively, “So that I can know your business.”
The boy paused; his expression unreadable. The wind rustled the leaves, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself had slowed. He thought about the words, and a feeling of disappointment slowly crept over him. This wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but it was the answer he had feared.
After a long silence, the boy finally spoke, his voice steady but carrying a depth of understanding beyond his years. “Oh, I see. If that’s the case, you won’t reach very far with that, since my value of you doesn’t match your own.”
The words lingered in the air, heavier than the boy had intended. His friend stood there, uncertain, caught off guard by the depth of the boy’s response. But it was the boy who stood firm at that moment, as if he had shed a weight, he hadn’t even known he was carrying. He wasn’t angry; he simply knew something that the friend did not: that true friendships are built on mutual respect and understanding, not on the need to collect personal information for personal gain.
The boy continued, almost as if speaking to himself now, “You see, when a friendship is based on curiosity about someone else’s life without genuine care or respect, it’s like a house built on sand. It may stand for a while, but when the storms come, it will crumble. It’s not enough to talk to someone just to know their secrets. Real friendship is about offering something more trust, vulnerability, and a willingness to understand and uplift one another.”
The friend, still silent, looked at the boy with a mixture of confusion and realization. He had never thought about it that way. The boy wasn’t angry; he was simply laying bare the truth, a truth that often gets overlooked in a world where relationships can sometimes be transactional, where people seek to gain something from one another without considering the value of giving.
For the boy, this wasn’t just a lesson for his friend it was a lesson for himself. In that moment, he realized that his worth didn’t come from how many people surrounded him or how many friends he had. It came from his ability to recognize authenticity and depth in those he chose to allow into his life. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone. His worth was inherent, not tied to the approval of others.
“Sometimes,” the boy said softly, “it’s not about the number of people who call themselves your friends, but the quality of the bonds you share with them. Those who truly care will always show up for you, not just when they want to know your business, but when they want to understand your heart.”
His friend stood there, words failing him, but the boy didn’t need to say any more. The truth had been spoken, and sometimes, silence is enough for understanding to take root.
As the boy walked away, he felt a sense of peace. He knew that relationships were not about fulfilling a need for attention or validation. They were about mutual growth, respect, and shared journeys. And at that moment, he had reminded himself that his friendships, though few, were ones that held meaning. He had no need for a crowd, only for those who saw him, truly saw him, for who he was.