Stuck Voyage of 20's

Avantika always thought growth would feel like fireworks — loud, dazzling, a grand revelation.

But it didn't.

It felt like cleaning her room on a quiet Sunday.

Like finally throwing away a box of papers she thought she might need someday, but never did.

Like breathing — fully, without the need to hold it in anymore.

---

Weeks had passed since the festival night. Since Dhruv's quiet return. Since Kabir's gentle exit.

And Avantika, for once, wasn't thinking about either of them.

She was thinking about herself.

She had started waking up a little earlier. Not for classes. But for the simple joy of sitting on her terrace with chai and silence.

She began journaling again — not letters to the sky, but pages titled "Things I Don't Need to Explain Anymore."

Page one read:

— Why I don't always know what I want.

— Why I panic when people talk about five-year plans.

— Why I sometimes crave solitude more than company.

— Why I laugh in serious moments.

— Why I'm not broken, just human.

She started volunteering at the local library on weekends. Helping young kids pick books. Recommending titles she had once clung to when she felt lost — like anchors made of paper and ink.

One afternoon, a little girl asked, "Didi, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Avantika smiled.

She replied, "At peace."

---

There was no dramatic moment of transformation.

No mirror monologue.

No epiphany.

Just a quiet afternoon, sitting by the river with a notebook and herself, when she wrote:

> *"I used to think love would save me.

Then I thought ambition would.

Then I hoped maybe someone would come along and make all the noise in my head stop.

But now I know…

Clarity doesn't come from outside.

It comes from sitting with the mess, and still choosing to be kind to yourself."*

She smiled. Closed the notebook. And for the first time in years, didn't feel like she was falling behind.

She was exactly where she needed to be — becoming Avantika.