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The Day My Heart Shattered Like Cheap Glass — And I Let It

The day started like magic. Birds chirping, chai perfect, hair on point — I was walking into school like the main character. APEX batch. Top ten. One of those people others wish they could be. I earned that spot. Every late night, every math question, every tear I didn’t show.

And then... came her.

First period: math class. She slid onto the bench beside me. Not out of choice, but because someone pushed her there. And for ninety minutes, we sat. Two statues. No words. Just tension so thick it could’ve suffocated me. Her eyes — cold, distant, unfamiliar.

Second period: she left. Back to her people. The group she built from scratch. The group I was never welcome in. I made a joke — harmless, silly, me. And she turned around and dropped a nuke on my chest.

"You didn’t study? That’s your fault. You could’ve been in APEX too. Why’s your ass burning now?"

I swear, if betrayal had a face, it wore her smile.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t cry there. But I felt something crack inside me — loud and ugly.

Lunch break: I ran. To the girls’ bathroom. Locked myself in a stall like a coward and sobbed. Full-on silent gasps. Wiped my tears with toilet paper because life’s poetic like that.

And then it hit me.

All those nights when she was insecure, crying, overthinking — I was there. Comforting. Telling her she’s not a bad person. Forgiving her mood swings.

All those times I gave her space when she needed it and warmth when she didn’t ask.

I was there.

And today, she turned me into a punchline.

I left the bathroom with swollen eyes, chin high, heart heavy. Blocked her on WhatsApp. That little green tick? Gone. So was my patience.

I’m tired of being left behind like yesterday’s news. Of watching people slowly ghost me while I cling to memories. Of crying over people who wouldn’t flinch if I disappeared.

She’ll overthink tonight. I know her too well. She’ll wonder why I’m cold. Maybe even text me a half-hearted “Are you okay?” But I don’t need her apology anymore. I don’t need crumbs from someone who once feasted on my kindness.

I need peace. I need math problems I can actually solve. I need friends who don’t make me feel small.

Tomorrow, I’ll walk into school again. Head high. Eyes fierce. Because I am done being the backup character in someone else’s story.

I am Tanishka. I am enough. And I do not beg to stay in anyone’s life anymore.

[the-funnyones-blog]

The Science of Unread Messages and Unfinished Stories

You know that feeling? When you send a text, and the reply doesn’t come? Not immediately, not after a few hours, maybe not even the next day. You check your phone, casually at first—like it doesn’t matter. But then, you check again. And again. Until you realize you’re caught in the gravitational pull of an unanswered message.

Somewhere between expectation and reality, between what was said and what was left unsaid, sits an invisible force—just like the event horizon of a black hole. You don’t know what’s on the other side. Maybe a reply that changes everything. Maybe silence that speaks louder than words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s a story that was never meant to have a perfect ending.

Because let’s be real—not all connections are linear. Some stay undefined, unsolved—like an equation missing its final variable. Some texts are never meant to be replied to, just like some moments are never meant to be relived.

And yet, we wait.

Not for a message, not for a person—but for closure we never admit we need.

[the-funnyones-blog]

STORY TIME

There’s a baby who lives next door. Innocent, tiny, full of mischief—just like all babies, right? Wrong. This one has a specialty. Every day, without fail, he throws slippers out the door and onto the stairs. Not his own, of course. That would be too easy. No, he prefers the unsuspecting footwear of others—sacrificing them to the great unknown like some ritual only he understands.

Today, as I stepped outside, I saw the usual sight—two slippers, lying lifeless on the stairs, victims of his tiny hands. And then, there he was. Peeking from behind the door, eyes twinkling with a mix of guilt and pure amusement. And when I caught his gaze? He smiled. Not a normal baby smile. No, this was a knowing smile. A smile that said, Yeah, I did that. What are you gonna do about it?

And that’s when it hit me—this was karma.

See, once upon a time, before anyone lived next door, I was the slipper-throwing menace. Students from a tuition class would leave their slippers outside, and I, in my infinite wisdom (or boredom), would relocate them. Sometimes onto the stairs. Sometimes into the bushes. Sometimes… well, let’s just say some people went home in mismatched pairs.

Now, here I was, face to face with my successor. A new generation carrying forward the noble art of slipper displacement. I wanted to tell him, "I see you. I know what you're doing. I used to be you." But instead, I just smirked. Because some legacies? They don’t need to be taught. They live on, whether we plan them or not.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Moral of the story: Chaos always finds a way . What do you think?

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Even Failure is part of their plan.

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Age Is Just a Number

I hear it all the time—

"You speak too mature for your age."

"How do you think like this? You're just sixteen!"

And honestly? That’s not on me.

I didn’t learn life from reels or motivational quotes.

I learned it from what I’ve been through.

Because experience doesn’t wait for you to turn 18 to hit you like a storm. Pain doesn’t check your birth certificate before leaving scars. Growth doesn’t ask for permission—it just happens.

Some people live decades without ever really understanding life. And then, there are people like me, like you, like anyone who’s been forced to grow up too soon—who had to learn the hard way that the world doesn’t pause just because we’re young.

So yeah, I might be sixteen. But my mind? My thoughts? My understanding of life? That’s shaped by what I’ve survived.

And if that makes me "too ahead of my age," then so be it.

[the-funnyones-blog]

Not My Responsibility

People love talking about character development, about healing, about how the bullied kid rises above everything, never lets their pain turn them cruel, and somehow becomes a flawless, kind, untouchable version of themselves.

That’s not what happened to me.

Because the truth is, I didn’t just survive—I fought back. And in doing so, I became someone I barely recognized.

I was tired of being the one who got hurt.

I was tired of swallowing my words while others trampled over me.

I was tired of feeling powerless.

So, I did what I thought I had to do.

I became the villain.

And let me tell you, it felt good.

I was ruthless. I made people feel small. My words weren’t just sharp—they were brutal. I bullied someone so hard she ended up in the hospital. And I didn’t care. Because in school, there’s only two sides—you’re either the bully or the one getting bullied.

I had spent too long on the wrong side of that equation.

The funny thing about guilt? It sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

I saw her again, the girl I had broken, and something inside me cracked. I thought, I owe her. I have to fix this.

So I did what seemed right—I tried to be a good friend to her.

And for a while, I thought that was redemption.

But now? Now, I realize something else.

She wasn’t worth it.

My guilt wasn’t worth it.

Carrying the weight of someone else’s pain wasn’t worth it.

Because the moment I walked away, the drama disappeared. The endless emotional battles, the chaos, the guilt trips—gone.

I don’t blame her.

I don’t even blame myself anymore.

But I’ve learned something important—I am not responsible for anyone but myself. I can’t spend my life carrying guilt like a punishment. I can’t live my life trying to fix things that are meant to be left behind.

I don’t exist to be someone’s savior.

I don’t exist to be someone’s punching bag.

I don’t exist to be a villain or a hero in anyone else’s story.

I only exist for me.

Leaving first makes you the villain in someone’s eyes.

And you know what? I don’t care anymore.

Maybe that’s the real difference.

Some people bring out the war in you.

Some people remind you what peace feels like.

And if walking away from chaos makes me a villain?

Then I’ll wear that title proudly.

If That Makes Me a Villain, So Be It.

[the-funnyones-blog]

The Art of Letting Go

I used to think that I was just unlucky when it came to friendship. That maybe, no matter how hard I tried, I’d always end up failing at being a good friend. I thought that if friendships kept falling apart, maybe I was the problem.

But now? Now, I know that’s not true.

I know I can be the best friend someone could ever have. I know I’m the kind of person who loves deeply, who gives too much, who holds on too tightly sometimes.

But here’s the thing—you can’t always be the best for everyone.

And honestly? You shouldn’t even try.

Sometimes, you have to leave people behind for your own internal peace. Sometimes, you have to let go of the drama before it drowns you.

I remember the times I begged my friends to stay.

Begged for their reassurance.

Begged to know if I mattered.

And when they left? I thought that was it. I thought I had ended.

But it’s so weird, isn’t it?

All I really had to do was walk away first.

Sometimes, leaving makes you the bad guy. The villain. The selfish one.

People will paint you as the heartless friend, the one who didn’t try hard enough, the one who changed.

But here’s what I’ve learned: your peace matters more than their opinion of you.

No love, no friendship, no connection is worth losing yourself over.

And when you finally put yourself first, something strange happens.

You stop chasing.

You stop begging.

You stop draining yourself for people who never filled your cup.

And suddenly—you start finding the right people.

The ones who don’t make you question your worth.

The ones who don’t turn their backs when things get tough.

The ones who are with you in your bad times, not just your good ones.

Not the ones who leave you with drained nights and empty apologies.

So, if walking away makes you a villain in their story, so be it.

At least in your own story, you are finally the hero.

[the-funnyones-blog]

STORY TIME

You know how they say school is about learning life lessons? Yeah, well, I learned one the hard way—in front of my entire class, with a slap to seal the deal.

Let’s rewind.

It was just another ordinary day in 10th grade, except my friend and I had been assigned the oh-so-glamorous task of collecting and submitting Chemistry and Biology notebooks. Now, if you’ve ever carried a stack of student notebooks, you’ll know it feels like lugging around a mini library with broken spines and questionable coffee stains.

So there we were, walking through the corridors, feeling like two underpaid assistants in a high-stakes science department.

But plot twist—the Biology teacher was nowhere to be found. She was busy preparing for an event, which meant we were stuck with this stack of notebooks like two lost delivery people with no drop-off location.

On our way back, we ran into one of the sweetest teachers in the school. You know the type—the ones who actually talk to you like you’re human and not just a walking exam sheet. She stopped us for a small chat, and honestly? It was a nice break from carrying the weight of both notebooks and academic pressure.

Then, we walked into class.

And that’s when the mood completely shifted.

The moment we stepped in, we saw our class teacher in full rage mode, aggressively lecturing the class about something (probably something ridiculous like uniform violations or the volume of our laughter during lunch).

Then, she saw us.

Her expression went from mildly furious to lava-spewing volcano mode.

"Where were you two?" she snapped.

I, being the honest and unsuspecting fool that I was, told her the truth—the whole thing. The notebooks, the missing Biology teacher, the sweet conversation in the hallway.

And guess what she did?

Slap.

Right across my face.

In that moment, time slowed down. You know how in movies, when something dramatic happens, the background fades, and you can hear a ringing sound? Dhum tana nana dhen dhen dhum tana .

Yeah. That.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed.

I blinked. My face stung. My brain tried to process.

"Ask her!" I pointed at my friend, expecting backup. Because, you know, that’s what friends do.

And then she did something I will never forget. She denied

The class teacher asked her to explain what REALLY happened.

She shook her head. "Ma’am, I went alone to submit the notebooks. I saw her walking around the corridors."

My jaw? On the floor.

I turned to her, absolutely shook to my core.

"What?" My voice barely came out.

Why would she lie? Why would she throw me under the bus like that? Was she scared? Did she just want to avoid trouble? Did she have a secret villain origin story I didn’t know about?

Meanwhile, my classmates—oh, they were thriving. This was premium drama. Their eyes darted between me, my so-called friend, and the teacher. Some of them weren’t even pretending to be concerned. A few even chuckled.

I could hear the whispers.

And my teacher? Oh, she wasn’t done yet. She saw the perfect opportunity to humiliate me further. She dragged my friend into a lecture about her strict parents, threatened to call them, and then turned back to me, acting as if I was some wild child with no control over my life.

I sat down at my place, put my head on the table, and let the whispers wash over me. I didn’t cry—not in front of them. But I felt it.

"Here she goes again."

I had just learned the harshest truth about people.

Later, my friend apologized. And we… started talking again. I didn’t tell the rest of our group. I kept it inside, maybe because I still wanted to believe in that friendship.

But something had changed. The damage was done.

Eventually, when school ended, so did we.

And guess what? That wasn’t even the end of her stories. Turns out, she had a talent for spinning lies. Framing things. Painting herself as the victim in every scenario. And me? I was just one chapter in her never-ending novel of fabricated tragedies.

Because here’s the funny part—time exposes people.

Now, my real friends, my classmates, even people I barely talk to—they trust me before they trust anyone like that. They know the kind of person I am. They’ve seen enough to tell the difference between truth and performance.

And honestly? I just sit back and enjoy the show now. Because no matter what she does, she’ll always be the victim in her own story.

[the-funnyones-blog]

Bittersweet Goodbyes

School is supposed to be just a place for learning, but sometimes, it becomes so much more. A second home. A second family. And today, as my eleventh grade ends, I can’t help but feel a mix of emotions—gratitude, nostalgia, and the ache of knowing that soon, I’ll have to say goodbye.

I remember my old school. I spent ten years there, and for ten years, I waited for my session to end. Not because I was excited for the next chapter, but because I wanted to escape. I had a class teacher who saw me not as a student, but as someone to do her work—decorating her boards, handling her art projects. My tenth-grade year was already hard, but she made it unbearable. My classmates mocked me, and she never stood up for me. And when I cried? She dismissed it as “drama.”

Back then, I counted the days until I could leave. I wanted freedom.

But here, in this new school, everything is different. My teachers are more than just teachers—they’re friends, mentors, people who genuinely care. My classmates feel like family. And now, just nine months here, and I already feel the weight of farewell.

Six months from now, I’ll be giving one of the toughest exams—IIT JEE. And after that, it’ll all be over. I’ll have to leave both my families behind.

It’s funny how life works. Ten years in one place, and I longed to escape. Nine months in another, and I wish time would slow down.

Maybe that’s just how goodbyes are. They never really come when you’re ready.

[the-funnyones-blog]

LIFE. YOU KNOW!

Life is weird. One moment, you think you have everything figured out, and the next, it all comes crashing down. At some point, I realized I was holding onto things—memories, people, expectations—that only weighed me down. So, I made a promise to myself: no more clinging to what doesn't serve me. No more caring about people who don’t care about me.

It wasn’t easy, though. I used to believe my struggles were mine alone, that no one else could possibly understand what I was going through. But the truth is, everyone is fighting battles we don’t see—friends, teachers, parents, even the people who seem like they have it all together. Life doesn’t discriminate; pain is universal.

And that’s life. A terrible play where we’re given choices, but somehow, the script was already written before we even picked a path. It’s frustrating, really, knowing that no matter how much we plan, life has its own way of leading us where it wants.

So, I’ve decided to stop resisting. To trust myself. To trust this stupid, unpredictable life and just see where it takes me. Maybe that’s reckless. Maybe it’s freeing. Maybe it’s both. But for now, it’s enough.

तो अगर ज़िंदगी के खेलों से बचना है, तो उसके साथ खेलते  जाओ। Just play along!

[the-funnyones-blog]

The Version of Me That Remains

I don’t really know what I’m turning into or what version of me resides now. But, oddly enough, it feels… satisfactory. It feels nice to understand most things—and to pretend not to understand the things I must not.

I was never the always-jolly, always-put-together, funny person who laughed at everything. But somewhere along the way, I played the part well enough. Within the four most important years of any student’s life, I’ve lived through so many versions of myself.

Post-lockdown, when I returned to physical school, I was happy. I had my confidence. Everything was in order. I belonged. People liked me. And then, one day, something inside me broke. Just like that. And I crashed.

Confidence? Gone. Social life? Shattered. I distanced myself, and none of my friends even noticed. I became invisible. The kind of invisible where you start speaking less, and soon, no one even expects you to speak. The kind where your conversations start and end at the same time.

After tenth grade, a so-called new and "exceptional" chapter of my life was supposed to begin. But instead, I hated myself. My classmates hated me. My teachers hated me.

I hated being a loser all along.

And the new school? It didn’t make things better. I became quiet—so quiet that even now, I can’t imagine how I managed to pass nine hours a day without uttering a word.

But here I am, after all of it. A different version of me remains. One that understands others and herself. One that knows everyone is fighting battles, even the ones who seem perfectly fine. One that trusts life, no matter how absurd and cruel it is.

Maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s just LIFE .