The Love That Stays: Platonic Soulmate

In a city full of reggaetón, roosters, and really bad drivers, it’s easy to feel like you’re losing your mind. But every now and then, someone walks into your life who reminds you that chaos can be beautiful… if you have someone to scream-laugh through it with.

I met Lía in a way that almost feels like fate… or at least like a very bored guardian angel got involved. We had already taken classes together, but we didn’t actually see each other until a mutual friend introduced us. And suddenly, everything shifted. I’d found my person. No awkward warm-up phase. No trying too hard. Just vibes—and trauma bonding.

At first, it was just little things. Conversations about our families. Sitting in parking lots talking about life while ignoring the world. Letting each other into our homes, into the messiest corners of our lives. Somewhere between a drunken Halloween (where she was so gone she didn’t even recognize me) and me crying over my ex while she passed me a blunt and said, “Girl… he’s not even that cute,” we became something more than best friends.

We became a we.

She was the tough one. Meaner. Sharper. Funnier, in a savage, tell-you-the-truth-even-if-you-don’t-wanna-hear-it way. And yet—she had the softest, most beautiful soul I’d ever met. Real, raw, pretty as hell and completely unaware of it. She didn’t walk into a room. She arrived. With attitude, opinion, and eyeliner so sharp it could kill a man—and almost did (emotionally speaking, of course).

Together, we became unstoppable. Brunches turned into therapy. Beach days became soul-cleansing rituals. College classes were something we showed up to in between mall runs and club nights. We smoked in parking lots like it was religion. And no matter what life threw at us—ex-boyfriends, petty drama, near-death experiences (plural)—we never stopped choosing each other.

Then, she moved to Florida.

And suddenly, I was back in Mayagüez alone, realizing that the city wasn’t the same without her laugh echoing next to me. But distance? Distance is nothing when you’re soul-tied. We still talk. Still send each other outfit selfies, food pics, bad decisions, and better comebacks. She’s still my emergency contact in the emotional sense.

And the men? Oh, the men. Two major ones—one for her, one for me—and let’s just say, we’ve lived. We’ve been “the other girl,” the main character, the heartbroken ex and the proud man-eater, sometimes all in the same month. We’ve had to remind each other that we are the prize. That love should never make us shrink. That if he’s not obsessed, he’s not invited.

Through it all, she was the one person who could snap me out of a downward spiral with a single look. Sometimes supportive, sometimes annoyed, but always present.

I used to think friendship was the appetizer to the main course that is romantic love. But what if, I wondered, friendship is the whole damn meal?

Because this kind of friendship—the kind where you can cry, curse, collapse, and still feel like you're enough—isn’t just rare. It’s holy. It’s the love story that carries you when everything else falls apart.

Lía made me stronger. She taught me how to love myself louder. How to protect my softness. How to stop explaining myself. How to walk away when something (or someone) doesn’t serve me.

So maybe we weren’t sipping cosmos in Manhattan—we were splitting pastelillos in Mayagüez. But the bond? Just as iconic. Just as unbreakable.

And in a world full of broken promises and flaky men…

I couldn’t help but wonder:

What if your forever person isn’t a boyfriend or a husband… but your best friend in hoop earrings, holding your phone and your dignity while you ugly cry over a boy you’re better than?