Cher Horowitz had always believed life followed a certain script: designer clothes, flawless hair, and a social calendar that rivaled Hollywood premieres. But all of that changed the morning she opened her bank app and saw… zero.

“Zero?” she whispered to herself. “Like… nada, zilch, nothing?”

You were there when she called you, voice trembling behind her usual bubbly tone. “Babe… I think… I think I’m… poor.”

You choked back a laugh, but you also tried to be gentle. “Cher… okay, deep breaths. It’s money. Not… your life.”

“But my life is money!” she protested, pacing in her pink fuzzy slippers. “How am I supposed to survive without… avocado toast, the mall, shoes, brunch—everything?”

You took her hands. “Cher… people care about you, not your wallet.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“You’ll see,” you said. “Let’s start small. We’ll figure this out together.”

The next week was… educational.

Cher tried grocery shopping on a budget and nearly cried when she saw a generic cereal box instead of her usual designer brand. She attempted laundry in the communal dorm machines and accidentally shrunk three of her favorite sweaters. And when she invited some classmates over for a movie night, she realized most of them expected her to pay for everything.

One night, you found her sulking on the couch with a sad, wrinkled pair of jeans. “I can’t do this, babe. Nobody really cares about me if I don’t have money. Everyone’s just… nice to my credit card.”

You knelt beside her. “Cher, look at me. People who matter—people who love you—care about you for you. Not your clothes, not your brunch, not your mall trips. You.”

Cher sniffled, blinking back tears. “But… that’s… hard to believe.”

You hugged her. “Then let’s test it. Who’s still here? Me. Dionne. Tai. All your real friends. None of them left just because your bank account is empty, right?”

Cher smiled faintly. “Okay… fine. I get it. But does this mean I can’t buy… like, cute accessories forever?”