Author: Neyzielle Ronnicque

In law school, they will warn you to be very extra careful about a “friend.”
And it’s very important that you listen to them.

A few days ago, several people sent me a message asking if I knew a certain person. Without hesitation, I replied, “Yes, he’s a friend.” Because that is what I always do. I assume good faith. I give people the benefit of the doubt– even at the expense of my own sanity.

For a long time, I had heard unpleasant things about him and his circle—whispers from different directions, stories that never quite aligned with the person I knew. I dismissed them. I defended him. I told people, “But he’s good to me, you should give him a chance.”

Good? So I thought.

The Illusion of Friendship in Law School

Law school is difficult. It is exhausting in ways that go beyond academics. Having friends—people who make the burden lighter, who make you feel less alone—is a blessing. That is why it hurts more when you realize that not everyone who calls you a friend deserves the title.

I pray that no one ever finds a “friend” like this.

A friend you covered for repeatedly—when he was absent, when he was late, when he needed someone to quietly smooth things over.

A friend who speaks kindly to your face, but the moment you turn your back, you become the topic of conversation at someone else’s table.

A friend who wears the disguise well—until it slips.

What stings is not the gossip.
What stings is the betrayal of trust.

I have always spoken well about this person. Even when others did not. Even when it would have been easier to stay silent or agree. It turns out he was exactly what they warned me about.

To that “friend”:
I hope you realize that I, too, have friends in law school—real ones. Friends who know my character, who will defend me when false narratives are created behind my back, because they know those stories are not true.

Please direct your animosity elsewhere. Do not create narratives to protect yourself. Even the professor who took attendance that day knew you were not present in the Zoom call when attendance was taken. Oh, yes — Attorney himself was the one who sent me the list of who he marked absent that day, touché.

Oh well. Facts have a way of standing on their own.

Here’s a lesson for me, moving forward…

Law school teaches you many things—how to read cases, how to think critically, how to argue. But sometimes, the most painful lessons are not found in textbooks.

They come from learning who is genuine, who is performative, and who is only present when it benefits them.

So if there is one lesson I will carry with me, it is this:
Not everyone who calls you a friend is one. And sometimes, listening to the warning would have saved you the heartbreak of finding out the hard way.

I married the love of my life.
My best friend.
My favorite plot twist.

Ours is not the grand, cinematic type of love story people expect when they hear about falling in love. It didn’t start with fireworks or confessions or reckless spontaneity. Instead, it began with spreadsheets, project engagements, and shared work calls — the universe quietly doing its job in the background.

We were teammates before anything else: he was dependable, trustworthy, steady. In 2022, when he was promoted to the same level as me, everything clicked in a way I couldn’t fully articulate. What people didn’t know was that it felt as if the universe had been preparing him for me long before either of us were ready.

Looking back, the signs were subtle, almost logistical in nature — but beautifully so.

When our team needed a resident Statistician for the DATOS Project, my officemates asked whom I preferred between the candidates. Without overthinking, I chose him. I just felt that I wouldn’t vibe with the other contender, and somehow that instinct made sense. It was a small decision that unknowingly set the course of our story.

Then, as years passed and teammates left, he remained. At a time when there were still no mutual feelings between us, he became the strongest candidate for a senior role. Again, the universe moved a little closer.

It was during an Information, Education, and Communication campaign in Ilocos that the shift happened. Not with dramatic confessions or grand gestures, but in quieter in-betweens — van rides, long conversations, shared tasks, and that comfortable silence only teammates-turned-friends can have.

Somewhere between fieldwork and side trip in the shores of Pagudpud, it finally clicked:

This wasn’t just teamwork. This was something different, something gentle, something rooted.

From there, the universe stopped whispering and started rearranging everything in our favor.

He is My Favorite Plot Twist

If you ask me now what I love most about our story, it’s that nothing about it felt forced. It didn’t rush. It didn’t impose. It unfolded naturally — at work, in public, in motion — long before either of us could name what it was.

I married the person the universe sent in through the backdoor: as a colleague, then a teammate, then a friend, then a partner. I married the one who stayed consistently when people left, the one who effortlessly showed up, the one who was always dependable long before he became someone I loved.

I married my favorite plot twist.
And I’m so glad the universe conspired the way it did.