I saw a quote on the internet today. You know it’s “deep wisdom” because it was written in a fancy font over a picture of a sad lion staring into the distance like he just got ghosted by nature.

It said:
Tell your friend a lie. If he keeps it a secret, then tell him the truth.

Wow. Beautiful.

Also… unwell.

This isn’t friendship advice. This is a trick you’d read in a handbook called How To Build Trust By Destroying It First. This sounds less like “be close with people” and more like “run a tiny psychological experiment on someone who loves you.”

Who does this?

Who wakes up on a Tuesday and thinks, I care about my best friend Steve. Let me emotionally season his day with fear and confusion, just to check his loyalty.

But fine. Let’s try this “wisdom” in real life.

You sit Steve down. Steve, who owns a leaf blower and has strong opinions about parking. You look serious. You lean in like you’re about to confess a crime or a gluten allergy.

“Steve,” you whisper, “I need to tell you something. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Steve nods. His face changes. He’s already regretting being your friend. The test has begun.

Option A: Steve panics.
He starts sweating like he’s in a job interview. He tells his wife because Steve is not a “vault,” Steve is a human being with a mortgage. His wife tells her sister. Her sister tells her group chat. The group chat tells the police. Now you’re outside on your driveway explaining to five officers and one very bored K9 that this was a “trust exercise.”

Result: you have no friends.
Also, you’re now known in your neighborhood as “that guy who runs weird experiments on people.”

Option B: Steve keeps the secret.
He says nothing. Not even a “what?” He just goes quiet, like a man watching his life choices in reverse.

He starts helping you. He offers solutions. He’s suddenly in “fix mode.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “we need to think. We need to be smart.”

Steve doesn’t sleep. Steve stops eating. Steve starts Googling things like how long do fingerprints last and can stress cause baldness overnight. Steve has become your unpaid lawyer, therapist, and emergency planner… for a problem you made up because a sad lion told you to.

So according to the quote, Steve passed.

Now you’re supposed to “tell him the truth.”

You walk up to this exhausted, terrified person—this man who has aged five years in twelve hours—and you go:

“Surprise! I’m not in trouble. I just wanted to see if you were trustworthy.”

Do you think Steve laughs?

No.

Steve picks up the nearest object. It could be a shovel. It could be a toaster. It could be a decorative candle shaped like a pumpkin. It doesn’t matter. Steve is not hearing words anymore. Steve is hearing betrayal in HD.

This “trust test” is like testing your car’s airbags by driving into a brick wall at 100 km/h. Sure, you learned something.

You also ruined the car.

Here’s my advice: don’t test your friends.

Friendship isn’t a police investigation. It’s not a courtroom. It’s not a loyalty audition where the prize is… more stress.

If someone shows up to help you move a couch, they passed. If they listen to you complain about the same job problem for the 50th time and they don’t throw the phone into the lake, they passed. If they don’t make you feel small when you’re already tired, they passed.

Trust is a bridge.

Don’t light it on fire just to confirm it’s made of wood.