I Married My Best Friend's Sister — and She Never Spoke to Me Again.

It still stings when I think about it.

Not because I regret marrying him — God, no. He's everything I've ever wanted. But because I never thought loving someone could cost me someone else I love as much.

Her name is Amina.

His name is Saad.

And once upon a time, we were inseparable.

Saad had been my best friend since we were teenagers. We met at school — two clueless boys with dreams bigger than our bank accounts and an unbreakable bond over cricket, shared meals, and long conversations under the stars. His family welcomed me as their own. Her house became my second home. Her mother called me “son” and her little sister Amina? Well… at first, she was just her annoying tag sister who teased us and eavesdropped on our conversations.

But time changes everything.

I don’t remember the moment I started to see Amina differently.

Maybe it was the way she listened to me without judgment, or the way her laughter echoed in my head after I left her room. Maybe it was the comfort of familiarity—she knows the worst parts of me and still chooses to be around. Or maybe it was fate—silently weaving invisible threads between us while we were busy pretending to just be friends.

The shift was slow, gentle.

It didn’t feel like falling. It felt like floating toward something I didn’t know I needed.

She became my peace. My mirror. My anchor.

But the whole time, there was one question I kept burying deeper and deeper:

“What would Saad think?”

When I finally told him, I thought I was doing the right thing.

We sat at our old hangout spot, sipping tea like old times. I remember my hands shaking, my voice betraying my nerves.

“Saad… I have something to tell you, it’s about me and Amina.”

He stared at me, confused, then amused, then — suddenly — not at all amused.

“You’re kidding, right?” he said, setting his cup down.

“No. I love him. We’re serious.”

He didn’t answer right away. But his eyes said it all. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“Did you ever think about asking me before you joined him? Or did you help my sister like she was ready to be caught?”

That sentence shook me.

It wasn’t just anger — it was heartbreak. Saad wasn’t just losing a sister to marriage. He felt like he was secretly losing his best friend.

But I didn’t hide anything out of shame — I was afraid. Afraid that what I had found would cost me what I already had.

And finally… it happened.

Amina and I got married a year later, with the blessings of both families. All except Saad.

He didn’t show up.

Not for the mehendi. Not for the nikah. Not even for the walima.

He moved out of the family home weeks before the wedding, claiming “work commitments.” He stopped responding to my texts. He unfollowed me on social media.

He disappeared from my life as if I were a stranger.

Amina tried too. She cried silently on those nights when he didn’t pick up her calls. She kept a picture of the three of us in her house for months, hoping that time would heal his words.

But silence became the new reality.

It’s been two years since we got married.

Amina and I are so happy. We laugh, we fight, we make a life every day. But there’s always a missing chair at the table. A name we don’t often mention. A question that lingers after family gatherings.

I still remember the friend who taught me to drive, who sat next to me in a heartbeat, who knew my dreams before I even named them.

And I wonder – does he ever miss me, too?

Has he ever looked at his sister and smiled quietly, knowing that he’s married to someone who will never stop loving her?

I hope so.

Because love isn’t always fair. Sometimes it forces you to make a choice.

And I chose him.

But that doesn't mean losing him doesn't still hurt.