
Have you ever tried to build something serious with your best friend?
At first, it sounds ideal - shared goals, natural trust, and total alignment. What could go wrong?
At LaunchX, teams are usually assigned randomly. Most students meet their co-founders on the first day of the program. But my situation was different. My name is Kamila, and I arrived at the 2023 In-Person Entrepreneurship Program already knowing one of my teammates very well. In fact, I had known her since birth.
She wasn’t just a classmate or someone from my city. She was my best friend - the person I had done almost everything with growing up. We studied for exams together, edited each other’s college essays, and even submitted our LaunchX applications side-by-side. When we got accepted into the same cohort, we were ecstatic. When we found out we had been placed on the same team, we thought it was fate.
We assumed we had a head start. We already trusted each other. We knew how we worked. We spoke in shorthand. We didn’t have to “figure each other out” the way others did with total strangers. In our minds, we would build a company faster, better, and with less friction.
We were wrong.
The problems didn’t start with a dramatic fight. They started in small, quiet ways - during brainstorms, in the way we gave feedback, and especially in how decisions were made. Every time we had a disagreement, I found myself hesitating. Not because I thought she was right, but because she was my friend. I didn’t want to upset her. I didn’t want to create tension. I felt obligated to support her idea even when I disagreed, just to protect our relationship.
That’s when I realized something uncomfortable: I wasn’t acting like a co-founder. I was acting like a friend in a group project –startups don’t work like that.
Meanwhile, the rest of our team began to notice. Conversations were less productive. We circled around the same problems without making real progress. I felt torn between being the person I had always been for her - loyal, protective, supportive - and being the person our team needed: honest, direct, and decisive.
The real shift happened during a product meeting where our team was debating a key feature of our app - whether we should prioritize a social-sharing function or double down on improving the core user dashboard. I had spent the previous week interviewing potential users and analyzing feedback, which clearly pointed toward the need for a more intuitive dashboard. But my friend was strongly advocating for the social component, believing it would attract more users quickly. I knew I should speak up - I had data and insight to back my perspective - but I hesitated. I found myself quiet, nodding along, even though I disagreed. Not because I thought she was right, but because I didn’t want to make things uncomfortable between us.
After the meeting, one of our teammates pulled me aside and asked a question I couldn’t ignore: “Are you leading this team, or protecting your friendship?” That question stung. But it also gave me clarity. I realized that by avoiding conflict with her, I was creating more conflict for everyone else. The friendship had become a shield - and the project was suffering. That night, I had one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had. I sat down with my friend, not as a co-founder or even a teammate, but as someone who respected her enough to be honest. I told her the truth: that I had been holding back, that our friendship was affecting our ability to collaborate, and that we needed to reset the way we worked together.
She didn’t take it perfectly. Neither did I. But it opened the door.
Over the next few weeks, we both made an effort to separate roles from our relationship. We clarified responsibilities. We created space to disagree - without taking it personally. I stopped defaulting to agreement, and she stopped expecting it. The friendship became less of a comfort zone and more of a foundation.
Learning to manage the tension didn’t just resolve our conflicts-it became the reason we started working more effectively. We started trusting each other in a new way. Not just as friends who had grown up together, but as co-founders who could challenge, support, and lead each other with honesty.
By the end of the program, our team had not only launched a product we were proud of. We had become one of the most cohesive teams in our cohort. Our mentor even commented that we had “the kind of team dynamic that makes companies last.”
I didn’t walk away from LaunchX with a perfect friendship or a perfect startup. But I did walk away with something more valuable: the ability to hold both.
It’s easy to assume that working with friends will make things easier. In reality, it makes things different - and sometimes harder. But if you’re willing to have the difficult conversations, to prioritize clarity over comfort, and to grow beyond old dynamics, then you can build something even more meaningful.
At LaunchX, I learned how to build a business. But more importantly, I learned how to rebuild a friendship - one that could survive honesty, conflict, and growth.