Stuck Voyage of 20's

Avantika

The office was quieter than usual that morning, yet it felt louder inside her head.

The soft hum of the AC, the tap-tap of keyboards, and occasional chuckles from the creative team felt distant—as if she were underwater, everything muffled. Avantika sat at her desk, blankly staring at the screen. The spreadsheet was open, her fingers hovering above the keyboard, but the cursor blinked back at her, waiting.

She had been working nonstop for days—handling reports, assisting with campaigns, even managing client calls solo when her mentor was absent. Yet, when things went wrong with the last project, she was the one subtly cornered during the weekly review.

"Who handled the submission layout?" her manager had asked, without naming anyone. Eyes had flickered her way. She didn't speak up. She didn't defend herself. She just… froze.

Since then, something had dimmed. She smiled less, avoided the coffee machine conversations, and left right after work.

She didn't tell her parents. Didn't even text Dhruv about it.

The worst part wasn't the blame—it was the doubt that followed. Am I even good at this? Or just pretending?

During lunch break, she slipped out to the rooftop. The city stretched endlessly—horns blaring below, buildings standing proud, the sun blinding.

She sat on the edge, phone in hand. Opened Instagram. Watched others posting wins, promotions, and perfect café stories. Everyone's doing better. Stronger. Happier. Smarter.

Her eyes burned—not from the sun, but from the truth. She was tired. But not just the kind of tired sleep could fix.

Just then, a message blinked on her screen.

"Don't forget who you are. You've come this far. That's not luck, Avu. That's you."

From: Aaru Di.

Tears welled up. She hadn't told Aaru anything, yet somehow, she knew.

Avantika laughed softly, wiping her eyes. That message was her rescue rope.

She took a deep breath. Looked at her reflection in her phone screen—messy ponytail, dark circles, but still her.

The version of her who fought school bullies, topped college, stood by Dhruv when no one did, and made her own coffee when life served her bitterness.

She wasn't weak. She was just... worn out.

That evening, instead of rushing home, she walked slowly through the street market. Bought herself a kulfi. Smiled at a kid waving from a rickshaw. Sat in a park and watched the sky darken.

Maybe the world wouldn't always clap for her wins. Maybe some battles would go unnoticed. But she was still showing up. And that mattered.

---

Dhruv

The stadium lights burned bright. The crowd was loud. And Dhruv's ankle? It felt like it was made of glass.

But he ran anyway.

The final match wasn't just about medals anymore. It was about every morning he'd trained while others slept, every injury he'd hidden, every time he felt like quitting but didn't.

The other team was ruthless—faster, bulkier. But Dhruv's team had something they didn't—fire. Not the flashy kind. The quiet one. The one that doesn't die, even when it rains.

Coach had tried convincing him to sit this one out.

"You've already proved enough. You don't need to break yourself."

But Dhruv had looked him in the eye and said, "I didn't come this far to stop here."

And now, here he was. Running plays, calling out formations, and pretending his leg wasn't screaming.

Every time he jumped, the crowd held their breath. Every time he landed, his chest clenched. But there was a rhythm now. His team was finally syncing.

The scoreboard blinked:

72–72

Last minute.

One chance.

Ball in hand. Sweat dripping down his temple. Clock ticking.

He looked around. His teammates were guarded. The opposition expected him to pass. But Dhruv saw a sliver of space near the basket. A chance.

He charged.

Pain stabbed through his ankle—but he shut it out.

He leapt.

Time slowed. The ball left his hand, gliding upward in a perfect arc.

Swish.

The net danced.

The crowd erupted.

And Dhruv... collapsed.

Not out of pain. Not out of drama. But because his body had finally caught up with everything he'd put it through.

Coach ran. Teammates screamed. Medics surrounded him.

But Dhruv smiled through the chaos. His heart roared louder than the cheers.

They had won.

---

Later That Night

Avantika stared at her phone, heart racing.

"WE WON!"

Dhruv's voice message crackled through. He was breathless, giddy, euphoric.

She smiled.

Typed:

"I'm so proud of you, Dhruv. Rest now. You've earned it."

He replied:

"So have you. Even if no one sees it yet."

She blinked at the screen, taken aback. Did he know? Or maybe… he just felt it. Like he always did.

Different cities. Different days. Different kinds of battles.

But tonight—both had won.