Stuck Voyage of 20's

Avantika

The apartment was wrapped in a deep silence. The kind that didn't feel lonely—but necessary. The kind that gave space for things to be felt, not fixed.

Avantika sat by the window, a half-empty cup of coffee growing cold beside her. The city lights twinkled below, and the moon hung above like a patient witness to everything unsaid.

Today had been quiet at work. No chaos. No accusations. Her manager had even nodded at her once in acknowledgment, though no words were exchanged. But somehow, it didn't matter anymore.

She'd spent the day doing her job—not to prove a point, not to win praise—but simply because she was capable. Somewhere between the rooftop breakdown and this quiet night, something had shifted.

She didn't feel like an imposter anymore.

Still, there was a tug in her chest. A craving for a voice that knew how to find her even in silence.

She glanced at her phone. No new messages.

Her thumb hovered over Dhruv's name in her call log. She didn't want to disturb him. The final match must've drained him. But her fingers moved anyway.

Calling… Dhruv.

---

Dhruv

The hospital room was dim, with only a soft yellow light above his bed. His ankle was wrapped tightly, elevated, and throbbing faintly—but it was a familiar kind of pain. The kind that told you you did something worth remembering.

His teammates had left hours ago, carrying victory in their laughter. Coach had stayed longer, giving him a rare pat on the back and a whisper:

"You've got heart, kid. More than most."

But now, it was just him. And the ache. And the echo of the crowd still ringing in his ears.

He wasn't sad. He wasn't even tired.

He was… still.

His phone buzzed against the side table. He turned his head and smiled when he saw her name.

Avantika calling.

He picked up without hesitation.

"Hey," he said, voice soft.

"Hey," she echoed, a little breathless. "Did I wake you?"

"No," he replied. "Was hoping you'd call."

There was a pause—gentle, warm.

"You okay?" she asked, her voice like a whisper laced with care.

"Physically? I feel like I got hit by a truck," he chuckled. "But mentally… strangely peaceful."

"I'm glad," she murmured. "You were incredible, Dhruv. I saw the clip. That final shot…"

He smiled, eyes closing as he listened to her voice. "It was for all the days I felt like quitting."

Another pause.

"And you?" he asked, "How's the warrior I know?"

She let out a slow sigh. "I'm surviving."

"Tell me," he said, "the real version."

She hesitated.

"I almost gave up, Dhruv," she admitted. "Felt like I didn't belong there. Like I was faking it. Even started believing I wasn't enough."

His heart tightened. He wished he could teleport to her.

"You're one of the most real people I know, Avantika. You don't fake anything. You feel—and that scares people who don't."

She didn't reply immediately. He gave her time.

"I just… I don't want to keep proving myself to everyone," she said finally. "I want to be enough, even when I'm quiet. Even when I mess up."

"You are enough. Even in your silences," he said, like a vow.

She smiled. He could hear it.

"Do you ever wonder," she whispered, "if we're growing into strangers, one day at a time?"

He sat up slightly, alarmed. "No. Never."

"But we're changing," she continued. "You're becoming this sports hero, and I'm… still figuring myself out. Sometimes I wonder if we're still heading in the same direction."

He was quiet. Not because he didn't have an answer—but because he didn't want to give her a rehearsed one.

"We are changing," he said at last. "But we're also choosing each other through those changes. And I think that's what matters."

Her breath hitched a little.

"I miss you," she said.

"I miss you too," he replied. "But I also admire you more than ever."

She laughed through a sniffle. "Why do you always say the right things?"

"Because you deserve to hear them," he said, and meant every word.

---

Later that Night

They didn't hang up for another hour.

They didn't talk about big things anymore. Just silly memories. Dreams. She told him about the time she tripped in front of her boss. He told her about a kid in the audience who made a cardboard cutout of him with three arms.

They laughed like kids again.

Somewhere in between the laughter and pauses, she heard him say softly, "I don't know where life's taking us next… but I hope your hand's still in mine when we get there."

She closed her eyes.

"I'll hold on. No matter how many turns."

And in the stillness of the night, between two cities, two tired souls found a home—not in a place, not in a win, not even in clarity—but in each other's presence.

---