Joker

Every evening, when the lights of the old circus turned on, he stepped onto the stage with painted lips and a forced smile. Children laughed, adults clapped, and the world believed he was the happiest man alive. His jokes were loud, his actions silly, and his laughter contagious. But behind that colorful mask lived a heart full of silence.

His real name was Aarav.

Aarav once had dreams like any ordinary person. He wanted a simple life, a loving family, and peace in his heart. But life had other plans. Poverty knocked on his door early. His father died under the burden of debt, his mother followed soon after due to illness, and the house that once echoed with warmth became empty. Aarav learned very young that tears do not feed hunger.

So he chose laughter.

He became a joker because the world pays more for smiles than for tears. On stage, he was everyone’s happiness. Off stage, he was no one’s priority. When the makeup came off, loneliness sat beside him like an old friend. The same people who laughed at his jokes never noticed the pain in his eyes.

Every night, before sleeping, he wiped his face clean—not just of makeup, but of the fake joy he carried all day. He stared at the mirror and asked himself,

“Who am I without this smile?”

The hardest truth of his life was this:

The joker makes everyone happy, but no one asks if the joker is okay.

One evening, while performing, he slipped and fell. The crowd laughed louder, thinking it was part of the act. Aarav lay there for a second, hurt not by the fall, but by the realization that even his pain looked entertaining to the world.

That night, he cried—not loudly, not dramatically—but quietly, the way strong people do when they are tired of being strong.

Yet the next day, he returned. He painted his face again. Because somewhere in the crowd, a sad child might smile. And for that one smile, Aarav believed his suffering had meaning.

He was not weak.

He was not broken.

He was a joker—

a symbol of how the deepest pain often hides behind the loudest laughter.

They called him a joker because he made people laugh, but no one knew how much he cried when the lights went out.

Every morning, he woke up to silence. No messages. No one asking how he slept. The world only remembered him when it needed entertainment. He painted his face carefully, hiding the cracks in his soul behind bright colors. The smile he drew was wider than his real one had ever been.

On stage, he was magic. Children laughed, strangers smiled, and for a few minutes, pain disappeared from everyone’s life—except his own. His jokes were sharp, his movements funny, but his heart was heavy. Each laugh from the crowd felt like a reminder that his job was to hide the truth.

The truth was simple and cruel:

he was tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of being strong.

Tired of carrying pain alone.

He had loved once. Deeply. Honestly. But love left him the way happiness often does—quietly, without explanation. He learned that people enjoy your presence when you make them happy, but disappear when you need them the most. That lesson stayed with him longer than any applause.

At night, when the makeup was washed away, he stared at his reflection. Without colors, without jokes, he looked like a stranger to himself. His eyes told stories his mouth never could. Stories of loss, rejection, and unanswered prayers.

Sometimes he wondered,

“If I stop smiling, will anyone stay?”

But he never tested it. He was afraid of the answer.

The saddest part was not that he was alone. The saddest part was that he had learned to smile through it. He had trained his heart to survive without comfort, to laugh without joy, to live without being seen.

One evening, after a long performance, the crowd left quickly. The noise faded. The lights dimmed. He stood alone in the empty space where moments ago he was loved by many. The silence was loud. It reminded him that claps are temporary, but loneliness stays.

Still, the next day, he returned.

Not because he was happy.

But because making others smile was the only reason he felt alive.

The joker was not weak.

He was wounded.

And maybe the world should understand this simple truth:

The people who make you laugh the most are often fighting the battles you never see.

So be gentle.

Because behind every smile, there may be a heart quietly breaking.