Storytelling Funny Novels & Stories

“I can just send the pictures directly to your DM.” I yanked his phone from him for the second time today. “Posted,” I said to him. “Naughty girl." he bopped my nose with his fingers. “Well, you can't do without this naughty girl.” I laughed. “I am very happy that we are back together as friends.” “I am happy too. Let us gist. I am bored." “Gossiper!” “It is not gossip. it is gisting. They are two different things.” I hissed. He laughed. God! He looks very handsome when he laughs. I took a moment to register how he looks when laughing in my mind.

oh, the stories they would tell. They would only tell happy ones. The ones where my smile was wide, Junior's eyes sparkled with love and adoration, they would talk of the food we'd burn, and the many nights we'd order take out, they would speak of the many times I accidently farted around Junior and his teasing chuckles.

The diner booth slowly filled with relaxed energy as everyone ate. Full stomachs and sweet milkshakes had the team loosening up fast. Laughter rolled across the table, the earlier practice tension melting away with every bite of greasy, comforting food. The guys were happy, trading jokes and reliving past events. Jamal told a ridiculous story about his missed shot in the first quarter, exaggerating how the ball had bounced off three rims before going in. Tyler jumped in with his own version of the fast break, adding dramatic sound effects that had the whole table cracking up.

I called gently, urging him to share what he thought about what I had just read. All of a sudden , Declan burst into a deep, throaty laugh. I stared at him, confused, wondering what could possibly be amusing about what I had just read or if he hadn’t even heard me properly. “What’s so funny?” I asked. Then Declan finally reined in his laughter and composed himself. “The story is ridiculous!” he said. I exhaled in relief; he’d heard what I read, grasped it, and Thankfully just like the usual character of declan, he did not take to heart. “Yeah, right,” I agreed.

He told stories. Good ones, the kind that had been refined through repetition into their best version — funny and specific, the details exactly right, the kind of story that made you feel you had been in the room when it happened. My mother laughed. Dominic made the compressed thing, the almost-smile, more than once. I laughed too. Genuinely. The unmanaged kind, the laugh that arrived before you’d decided to have it. Marcus noticed.

"You have no idea–I was just joking around, but those disgusting guys went crazy asking me for your contact." The old me would have already been crying, asking her how she could do this to me, voice breaking. Not this me. My teeth clenched so hard they hurt. My whole body trembled with anger. I snatched the flyer out of her hand and slapped her across the face. Tara screamed, clutching her cheek in disbelief. "You hit me? I treat you like my best friend, and you can't even take a joke anymore?" Best friend? I let out a cold laugh.

She pulled back, a grin spreading across her face. "Okay, enough with the sappy stuff before I break out in hives. Want to hear a joke?” I laughed shaking off the heaviness of the conversations "Sure hit me” She launched into a ridiculous story about a goose that somehow got stuck in a wedding cake and by the time she was done I was laughing so hard my sides hurt. Once the laughter died down we slipped into a more relaxed conversation. I told her about the explosion at the HQ. “Have you heard anything new about it?"

“A funny one, huh? Let me think.” I make a show of tapping my chin, and their giggles fill the room. “Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a tiny wolf pup who thought he was the biggest and bravest in the forest. He decided he didn’t need his pack, so he went on an adventure alone.” Their eyes widen, and I tell them about the pup’s misadventures—getting stuck in a hollow log, tricked by a clever squirrel, and chased by an angry goose. By the time I finish, they’re laughing so hard they’re clutching their bellies.

“You’re cold, distant. Is something wrong? Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?" I laugh, but it’s hollow and humorless. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, and I swipe at them before they can fall. “I don't know if you did something wrong, but I have a story to tell you. A boring story.” He blinks, confused. “A story?”

For the next few minutes, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. They told me funny stories about things that had happened around the house, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I actually laughed. Their stories were filled with small, humorous mishaps—like the time the gardener accidentally watered Mr. Dela Cruz's shoes or when a squirrel ran into the kitchen, causing panic among the staff. Their lively chatter made me forget, even if just for a little while, about all the chaos happening around me. It was like a brief escape, a reminder that life could still have moments of joy, even in the middle of a storm.