Stuck Voyage of 20's

The sound of cheers still echoed in Dhruv's ears long after the final whistle had blown. Confetti rained down, voices overlapped, hands patted his back, and flashlights from phones lit up the night like fireworks. To the world, he was the hero — the guy who played through pain, led his team to victory, and brought pride to his college.

But inside?

Inside, it felt like everything was splintering.

He limped slightly as he stood near the edge of the field, a weak smile plastered on his face while his teammates huddled with the coach for post-match selfies. A few reporters tried approaching, but he dodged their questions politely, blaming the swelling in his ankle for his quietness.

"Bro, we did it!" Arman shouted, throwing an arm around Dhruv's shoulder. "Finals, baby! You crushed it, man! Even with that injury—you're insane!"

Dhruv smiled and nodded. "Yeah… we did it."

But that was all he could manage. His throat felt tight. It wasn't sadness. It wasn't even joy. It was just… too much.

The bus ride back was loud — music, chants, some of the guys already half-drunk on celebration. Dhruv sat quietly by the window, staring at the passing lights, his ankle throbbing beneath the compression bandage. He didn't talk. Didn't laugh. Didn't even put his earphones in. He just sat in the silence of his own storm.

By the time they reached the hostel, his body was screaming in exhaustion.

---

The college infirmary had insisted he get checked. So that night, after the celebrations thinned out, Dhruv dragged himself to the clinic.

"You need at least a few days of rest," the doctor said after examining him. "There's swelling, and it could get worse if you push it. I'd recommend skipping the finals if the pain persists."

Dhruv scoffed. "Not happening."

The doctor gave him a tired look. "This isn't bravery, Dhruv. This is risking long-term damage."

But Dhruv had already tuned him out. "Just tape it better. I'll manage."

Because that's what he always did. Manage.

---

Back in his room, Dhruv finally peeled off his sweat-soaked jersey. His body was bruised, scraped, and aching. But none of that compared to the weight in his chest. He stared at himself in the mirror — dark circles under his eyes, jaw clenched, his muscles visibly trembling.

He didn't recognize himself.

And yet, this was the version of him everyone cheered for.

His phone buzzed again. Hundreds of notifications. Instagram tags. Messages from old school friends. DMs. College groups. Some voice notes from faculty praising his courage. And one from his mother:

> "Proud of you, beta. But please, take care of your ankle. Call me when you can."

He stared at that message for a long while… and then turned his phone over, screen-down.

---

Sometime past midnight, he couldn't sleep. The celebration outside had died down, replaced by the occasional bark of stray dogs and the distant hum of a generator. Dhruv sat on the edge of his bed, his leg stretched out, an ice pack balanced over the swelling.

He thought of all the people who looked up to him. His coach. His juniors. His team. His family. Avantika.

Avantika.

He hadn't spoken to her in weeks. Not since he pulled away from her for reasons he himself didn't fully understand. The unread texts were still there, somewhere buried in his inbox — her long messages trying to reach the version of him that still believed in love, in healing.

He sighed.

This wasn't about her. Or anyone else. It was about the version of himself he refused to face. The tired one. The vulnerable one. The one who cried silently after victories, not losses.

He reached for his phone again. Opened his notes app. Typed something. Deleted it. Then opened her chat.

Typed:

> "We won the semis."

Paused. Backspaced.

Typed again:

> "I thought winning would make me feel better. It didn't."

He stared at the screen.

Then locked the phone without sending it.

---

The door creaked open a while later.

It was Manan — his roommate, already half-asleep, toothbrush still in hand.

"You're not sleeping?" he mumbled.

"Nah. Can't."

Manan glanced at his ankle. "Still icing it?"

"Yeah."

"You've been quiet since the match. You good?"

Dhruv forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."

Manan stood there for a second, rubbing his eyes. "You know, Dhruv… everyone thinks you're unbreakable. But I don't think anyone really is. You don't always have to be the strongest guy in the room."

Dhruv didn't reply. He couldn't. His throat was too tight.

Manan just nodded and walked off toward his bed. Before pulling the covers over his head, he added softly, "Just… don't carry it all alone, man. You don't have to."

---

Dhruv lay back, staring at the ceiling. He thought about the game — the passes, the cheers, the roaring crowd. And then, the silence in the locker room when he'd finally let go. The way his shoulders shook as he wept, his fists clenched like a child hiding his tears from the world.

He hadn't told anyone about it. Not even the coach. Not even his best friend.

Because who would understand?

Who would understand that winning could also hurt? That being everyone's pride could also feel like a prison?

But Manan's words echoed.

You don't always have to be the strongest guy in the room.

He closed his eyes.

Maybe tomorrow, he'd reply to his mom. Maybe he'd even message Avantika.

Maybe.

---

Somewhere around 4 AM, Dhruv finally drifted off to sleep. No alarms, no strategies running through his mind, no imaginary audience watching him.

Just sleep. Pure, dreamless, and quiet.

---

When he woke up the next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains. His ankle still hurt, but the ice had helped. The noise in his head wasn't gone — but it was… softer.

He got up, pulled a hoodie over his head, and limped his way outside.

The campus was slowly waking up. A few juniors saw him and waved. One shouted, "Finals mein phaad dena, bhaiya!"

Dhruv smiled and nodded, but this time it felt real.

He walked slowly to the edge of the basketball court — empty and quiet now. The wind rustled the trees. The sky was soft blue with streaks of orange.

And there, standing in the silence of the court where everything had started, he took a deep breath.

He still didn't know how to handle everything — the pain, the pressure, the people. But for the first time in weeks, he wasn't pretending.

And maybe… that was enough.

---