I recently arrived at my friend’s apartment, which she open-heartedly subleased to me while she went to Colombia. Like many Swiss studios, hers is small in square footage, but comfortable and practical. 

‘My friend has done a great job with the design,’ I thought and plopped myself onto the white teddy-bouclé sofa. Jet-lagged from an unnecessarily long flight and exhausted from the first day of monthly suffering, it was easy to feel at home. But beyond the physical comfort, I found something else in the apartment that made me feel calm—something more intangible, yet deeply personal. I looked around and noticed how she had turned a tiny space into a home within a one-room apartment.

The queen bed, sofa, round white and grey marble coffee table, and a dining table with two turquoise velvet chairs created a cozy nest. The colorful balcony felt like visiting a Colombian town. It wasn’t the elements themselves that brought me peace. It was the distance between each piece of furniture, the details surrounding them. Everything was thoughtfully arranged, showing my friend’s sense of comfort and space. Her way of making a place to be, a place which she entrusted me with—even though she has seen me more often in photos than in person.

She’s a friend I met on a Swiss networking platform. It started as a genuine connection through common interests and a shared desire to make new friends in Geneva. When we met in person for the first time, it felt as though we’d known each other at least for a year. 

After living in Geneva for half a year, I had to leave unexpectedly. We continued to communicate online, mostly through Instagram and WhatsApp, like all millennials who (not-so-secretly) refuse to accept that we have passed the threshold of 30. 

Her act of entrusting me with her space made me think about the Instagram category of Close Friends.

I kind of like this term because it doesn’t say “Best friends.” I’m so grateful for this because imagine the drama if someone realizes they’re not your only “best friend.” That would be a grown up version of an angry ultraradical being cornered by facts. 

Now, the consistency of Close Friends changes too; how do you keep your friend’s partner out of this category if you know they probably laugh at memes together at night (and roll eyes at your motivational quotes)? Most of the time, you don’t. You add them and hope they won’t think it’s weird.

Grown up friendships are one of the most difficult relationships I’ve dealt with. You have to be there for your friend but give them space. You have to text them but not too often, otherwise, you will overwhelm their already overburdened soul.

You have to show them affection, but not suffocate them with your love. It’s a constant dance, one that teaches you that sometimes it’s better to take smaller steps. It’s so fun being a grown up, isn’t it? Wait, millennials are grown ups, right?

So, what exactly are close friends? 

As an extrovert, I easily make acquaintances—and sometimes, turn them into friendships. The more I meet people, the more I understand how lonely and insecure they often are. We’ve become so used to being alone that the thought of building a new friendship can be frightening.

I realized that being liked is the least of people’s worries. It’s the commitment that scares them. Living in constant hurry, stuck in chasing the next achievement, and barely finding time to sit with themselves, people gave up on the idea of bonding. Yet the deeply rooted necessity to create social bonds exists in most of us. And if you’re lucky enough, you will find a person who, like you, is on the journey of finding a friend like in the good old days. You will find a close friend.

From a psychological perspective, there are several theories and hypotheses on what close friends are.

The Stress and social support hypothesis says that close friends are individuals who give you emotional, informational, and instrumental support, helping you cope with stress and life challenges.

In The Social Psychology of Groups, the author John W. Thibault places interdependence and mutual satisfaction as pillars of friendship, where people build strong bonds through a balanced exchange of emotional, social, and material support.

One of my favorite theories, however, is the one that I believe many people find it exhausting or impossible to maintain in real life—Robert Sternberg’s Triangular theory of Love. While primarily used to describe romantic love, it has also been widely applied to close friendships. This theory highlights three components: intimacy (being emotionally close), passion (common efforts to maintain the friendship) and commitment (spending time together).

All these theories sound logical, but can a friendship be built solely on definitions and components? Isn’t friendship supposed to be selfless, unconditional and flexible, too? What happens when someone fails to follow these “vows” repeatedly, no matter how many times they’ve been spoken? I’ve had—and lost—too many precious friendships to chase an ideal. Instead, I try to hang onto the Triangular theory of Love without expecting complete dedication to it. I try to give my best, and I hope for the best.

In the end, if I had to sum up what close friends are, I’d choose two answers from a Reddit thread on the topic: What do you classify as a close friend? How do you know if a friend is ‘close’?

Someone, without delving into psychology or science, simply said: “An unspoken language between us, like we knew each other in past life.” Another person offered this honest observation: “For some reason I’ve equated closeness with deep personal conversations.”

When I look back to my friendships from the past—many of them long-lasting—I realize they were mostly based on common friends, fun, university, or work. Some died due to natural causes, like growth and diverging paths in life; others because of egotism, unequal commitment and envy. Very few of those that survived have made it into the Close Friends category. They are simply Friends; still hanging tightly to the thick threads of respect, shared memories, and the fun and tough times we’ve lived through together. 

The close friends, however, have grown closer to who I’ve become—and more importantly, to who I’m becoming. They let me be and teach me how to be, without judgement. They are not scared to talk about life’s majestic unpredictability; its pain, joy and opportunities. As close friends, we can recognize that divine connections are rare, so we decide to be the truest versions of ourselves.

And I came to realize: maybe, as we grow older, we learn how fragile and unimportant our egos are. So we open the door to strangers, who, like stray cats, gradually become part of our homes and decide to stay a bit longer. The only thing that matters is letting them know they’re loved and that there will always be a cozy sofa waiting for them—no matter how small or big our apartments are. No matter if they stay or continue on another journey. 

Dedicated to my close friend Vivian, who made me—once a stray cat—feel like home.