I don't remember the exact moment I lost my best friend to God. I recall the day we finally addressed the fact. But by then, it was already too late.
It was a summer's evening in London, and Abigail and I were saying goodbye after meeting for a catch up on our local high street. As we parted ways, I could tell she had more to say.
'I've been wanting to talk to you about this for ages,' she started, as tears filled her eyes. 'I'm sorry if I left you behind when I was finding my faith.'
I know other people who have stories like ours, thanks to a 'quiet revival' of Christianity among Generation Z in recent years.
In the UK, Bible sales have shot from £2.69million in 2019 to £5.02million in 2024. Meanwhile, a study this year found church attendance among 18-24-year-olds has quadrupled since 2018, leaping from 4 per cent to 16 per cent.
The message is clear: Gen Z is finding God again.
Why? For years, being religious has been out of fashion - when I was growing up, churchgoers my age were often shunned as too pious and 'uncool'.
Lara Olszowska says she knows other people who have stories similar to that of her friendship with Abigail, 'thanks to a "quiet revival" of Christianity among Generation Z in recent years'
But history shows us that during times of strife and existential dread - of which we now have a limitless supply - religion tends to flourish. Pair that with an age group - one which psychologist Jonathan Haidt termed 'The Anxious Generation' in his book of the same name - obsessed with finding 'meaning' and resolving 'trauma', you have your explanation for the religion boom.
When I speak to friends, often our conversations centre around our fears for our futures: the astronomical cost-of-living, the dire lack of employment, the loneliness epidemic, the repercussions of the pandemic. We're all addicted to 'doomscrolling' on our social media feeds, which reinforces this sense of utter hopelessness.
We all try to find a remedy for it in different places. I know friends who have thrown themselves into exercise and 'wellness' to find meaning. Others have gone sober. Some have withdrawn from employment altogether - also known as 'quiet quitting'.
So, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that religion has become one of the 'coping mechanisms' my generation is now embracing.
Before we lost touch, I asked Abigail why she had become more religious. She was quick to correct me. She didn't like the word 'religious', she said, explaining instead that she had 'found her faith' and was working on her 'relationship' with Jesus.
It seemed that Abigail needed something bigger than me, a mere mortal, could offer her through our friendship. While she chose to channel her energy towards a relationship with Him, I was foolishly swiping on Hinge for dates and going to parties. It started to feel inappropriate to talk about the things we used to bond over - such as terrible dates or stories from nights out.
I first met Abigail at school, and we formed a fast friendship in our religious studies class (the irony of this is not lost on me).
We would challenge our teacher, who also happened to be the school chaplain, and we spent more time ridiculing the syllabus than learning it.
Outside the classroom, we got up to innocent mischief. At break time, we used to follow teachers around at a distance and copy their walk, snickering loudly until they noticed or shooed us away.
Abigail didn't like the word religious, explaining instead that she had 'found her faith' and was working on her 'relationship' with Jesus, writes Lara
Abigail was always the more precocious one. She wore make-up first. She was invited to more parties than me. She had boyfriends in the year above at school. She was an avid user of fake tan.
In our final year of school, we attended confirmation classes together on the orders of our parents.
For us, it was just another opportunity to make each other laugh and doss around. We spent those classes doing everything we could to lead the topic of discussion away from God and towards school gossip.
When we went to our respective universities, Abigail got a boyfriend, and both of us took full advantage of the newfound freedom - and the nightclubs.
But at the end of university, things started to change. Abigail broke up with her boyfriend, she started to drink less, she abandoned the fake tan, and she removed herself from social media. I later learned she had also been going to church and attending Christian society.
She became impossible to make plans with, and our text conversations slowed.
Lockdown disguised the fact we weren't hanging out as much any more, but I could feel our friendship changing.
The moment lockdown eased, I could be found at bars, clubs, pubs and day festivals (or hungover in bed from any of the above). Abigail, meanwhile, would be attending Bible groups and going to mass.
Then the bombshell landed. Abigail texted to tell me that she was dating a Christian boy she had met at a Christian summer festival and they were both waiting until marriage to consummate their relationship.
I couldn't imagine making such a radical decision in my own life at that time. And looking back, it was confronting to have a friend who was waiting until marriage, while I was dealing with all the pitfalls of modern dating.
I found it hard to relate to 'new Abigail', but I did not protest because her new lifestyle seemed to be making her happy.
In fact, I tried to embrace it. I asked if I could meet her new boyfriend.
But then she missed my birthday two years in a row - even though we always used to celebrate each other's together. Then, her boyfriend hosted a surprise birthday party and invited 'all of her favourite people', as she told me on one of our infrequent meetings. I was not one of them.
I started to accept that she did not want me to be part of her new chapter.
And so, for three years, she all but disappeared from my life.
When she finally reappeared, it was to inform me that she was engaged. Perhaps all our years of friendship did mean something to her, because I was invited to her wedding, despite having never met her husband-to-be.
On the big day, I made the mistake of drinking too much champagne (Abigail did not drink a drop) and crying in front of one of her friends - a soon-to-be-ordained priest - about how I had always struggled with the idea of religion and God.
It was an otherwise happy occasion. Soon after, we lost contact again. We should have acknowledged then that we had nothing in common any more.
Last year, in a last-ditch attempt to rekindle our friendship, I went to church with Abigail one Sunday.
Admittedly, I was feeling a bit lost at the time too, and I could see how finding God had made her so happy. Maybe I'd get my friend back. Maybe I'd finally find my faith.
At the service, Abigail stood with her eyes closed, swaying, singing andwaving her hands in the air. I tried to do the same but felt self-conscious and fraudulent - and more distant from my friend than ever.
We haven't seen each other since and haven't exchanged any texts in over a year, except for one stray message she sent in February -a picture of us together in our school uniform. Abigail is pulling a silly face and I'm bursting with laughter.
Maybe if I had found God too, things would have been different.
After all, there is one friendship I have always neglected, and Abigail reminded me of that last time I saw her.
'Jesus will always want to know you,' she said.'And you can get to know him whenever you like.'