The Untold Stories

Almost from the day we start schooling, the first thing most elders tell us is to have an ambition. It could be our parents, teachers, or family members, almost everyone says the same thing. They ask us what we want to become, what we want to achieve, or how we plan to be “successful” in life. But throughout my life, I could never clearly figure that out. As a child, I said I wanted to be a teacher. Then a doctor. Then a scientist. Like most of us, I said these things just for the sake of having an answer. Not because I truly understood what they meant. Now, I’m no longer a kid. I’m in my final year, the most crucial phase of my life where I’m expected to choose a path and decide what I’m going to do next. But even now, I still don’t know what I want to become or which direction I should walk toward. This confusion slowly pushed me into a deep hole. A place where I constantly question myself, "Where do I go? What career should I choose?" And Coming from a backgrou...

Trauma is something that lives with us for a very long time. It does not matter whether the incident was big or small. What matters is that it stays. It stays with you, sometimes for years, sometimes for a lifetime. It haunts you, and often, there feels like no escape. Especially for women. I see so many women carrying trauma in silence. It hurts to know that many girls never get the chance to speak about it honestly. There is always fear. Fear of judgment. Fear of questions. What will they think of me? What will happen if I tell them? Will something bad happen to me? These thoughts control them. They lock them in a room they cannot leave, like a dark hole that slowly changes their life. I have heard many stories like this. From my friends, my cousins, and people I know. Almost every woman I know has faced some form of harassment or abuse in her life. That is heartbreaking. Even more painful is knowing that some of them were just children. At an age when they did not even u...

  Funny how life works. You spend years wanting to escape something, only to find yourself wishing you could go back. I spent ten years in an Anglo-Indian girls’ school, and then just like that, I was moved to a co-educational high school. I was upset, to say the least. My new school was the complete opposite of my old one. It was strict, with endless rules to follow, and the worst part was having to eat lunch in the classroom under the watchful eye of our class teacher. No fun. No privacy. Just study, study, study. Back then, I counted the days until it would all be over. I couldn’t wait for school life to end. But little did I know, one day I’d miss it. Recently, our school hosted a food festival. All my high school friends planned to go, and I decided to join. Best decision ever. Seeing them after years felt like a tight hug to my heart. We met our teachers, laughed over the silly memories and shared stories about those days we once wanted to escape. Afte...

To be honest, all of us have lost at least one person we thought we’d spend the rest of our lives with. Unfortunately, I’ve lost many relationships like that. Each time, I tell myself to never build a bond so deep that it could crush me if it ever broke. But my heart never listens. I have wept my eyes out, trying to forget the love we shared, the memories we made, and even the person’s very existence. But then, out of nowhere, a thought struck me; Why do I try to forget the person? Just days ago, they meant the whole world to me. So why should I erase them? That’s when I learned something, "the art of letting go without forgetting". It doesn’t mean we have to erase the love just because we’re no longer together. It’s true, i agree. It hurts. It hurts so badly that sometimes you struggle to even breathe. But that’s okay. You will be alright, eventually. We learn to move forward without erasing the past. We learn to cherish the moments we shared, even if we can’t ha...

There’s a quiet pressure I carry in my head almost every day. An unspoken effort to hold things together, to keep the pieces from falling apart — even when no one else seems to notice the cracks. The thing is — people don’t always see things the same way. Some are so caught up in their own lives that they overlook the quiet acts of care and the small sacrifices made for them. Some choose distance, unbothered about the things happening around them. And others carry love in ways that aren’t always visible but it exists in silence, in gestures so subtle they’re often missed. I feel it in the unspoken moments, in little gestures most people might miss. But it hurts to see when those moments get twisted or misunderstood everytime. And here I am, stuck somewhere in between. Trying. Hoping. Pretending I’m okay when honestly, it feels like my head’s slowly coming undone. Maybe one day things will change. Maybe people will notice what others are carrying in quite ways. Maybe heart...

I’ve always been the type to keep stuff to myself. Not because I wanted to, but honestly, I just didn’t know how to open up. Even my closest friends didn’t really know everything. Little things, big worries, happy moments, sad ones — I just kept it all inside. I grew up like that. Maybe I didn’t want to bother anyone. Or maybe I was just scared they wouldn’t get it. Either way, it became a habit. But after a while, it got heavy. All those thoughts and feelings I never said out loud started piling up. Then one day, I just opened the notes app on my phone and started typing. Just me talking to myself. Saying what hurt, what I missed, what I wished for. Stuff I was too scared to say out loud. And you know what? That felt really good. So I kept doing it. Whenever I felt sad, angry, or even confused about what I was feeling, I would sit at the corner and write. Slowly it became my little safe spot. A place where I didn’t have to pretend I was okay. Then my professor gave us a ch...

I wasn’t looking for anything deep today. I was just scrolling through Instagram to pass time. It’s Sunday — probably one of the most boring days of the week for me. No plans, no excitement. Just endless scrolling to fill the boredom. And then, out of nowhere, I came across a post that made me pause. Those words felt like someone had reached inside my chest and put my entire childhood into a sentence. It was about a girl who was waiting. Waiting for the doors to stop slamming. Waiting for the yelling to stop. Hoping that someone would ask if she was okay. And right then, it hit me right in the heart because that was me. That was my life. I grew up in a house that felt like a battlefield more than a home. I remember, i was waiting too. Waiting for the fights to be over. Waiting for a peaceful day. Waiting for someone to notice the quiet kid sitting in the corner, pretending not to exist. But no one ever did. And for the longest time, I thought it was just me being unlucky to...