Friends change with the season. A crowd is warm when fortune is warm and thin when fortune thins. Dharma does not behave like that. It stays when the room empties, because it is not another person. It is the way of balance a life can keep.
To call dharma a friend is to say that right conduct accompanies you into the decision nobody else sees. The choice to speak accurately. The choice to stop when stopping protects someone weaker. The choice to begin again after a failure, without a show.
A friend of this kind will sometimes refuse you. That refusal is the kindness. Praise can walk away. A principle that will not bend to a mood is still there in the morning.
At the centres, dharma looks ordinary: arrive when you said you would, share what was cooked, leave the space ready for the next person, and learn the practice from a qualified Acharya rather than inventing one. Loyalty to that simple order is a friendship that does not depend on being liked.