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We were best friends since as early as I could remember. We grew up together. We were next door neighbors. We shared each other's deepest secrets. 
When I was thirteen, we made a pact: If we were still single by the time we were 30, we'd marry each other. 
Today was my thirtieth birthday. 
I was single. I knew he was single too. 
But we were no longer best friends, and a part of me knew that he hated me.


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