Stuck Voyage of 20's

[Avantika]

The wind brushed against her cheeks as she stood on the terrace, a cup of lukewarm chai in her hands. The sky had turned a pale blue, a shade softer than usual — as if it, too, was tired of holding back the rain.

She hadn't cried. Not loudly. Not in a way the world would notice.

But she had started carrying a kind of quiet around her — the kind that speaks only in sighs and thoughts left half-formed.

She scrolled mindlessly through her phone. The screen was mostly filled with work emails, random reels, and a group message from college friends planning a reunion she didn't feel like attending.

Then her finger paused.

A new notification.

> Draft saved.

"I don't know how to start this..."

It was the unsent message she had written to Dhruv. The one she thought she'd deleted.

Her heart thudded once. Not hard. But enough.

She read it again.

> "I saw our photo today…"

"Were we really happy, or did we just think we were?"

She didn't cry.

She didn't smile either.

But for the first time in days, she didn't feel frozen.

---

[Dhruv]

At the practice court, the sound of bouncing basketballs echoed like static in Dhruv's ears. He wasn't in the game today — not mentally. He fumbled passes, missed shots, and eventually waved off the coach with a vague excuse about headaches.

Lately, he was tired of pretending everything was fine.

He sat under the bleachers, sipping water, watching the light filter through the chain-link fence. His phone buzzed. A friend had posted a story from last year's fest — Avantika was in it, blurry in the background, laughing.

He stared at the laughter he hadn't heard in weeks.

Why hadn't he messaged her?

He told himself it was fear. Pride. Confusion.

But today, it felt simpler:

Because she hadn't messaged either.

And somehow, that made the silence feel fair.

Even if it wasn't.

---

[Avantika]

In the office cafeteria, Ritu from the HR team was ranting about her boyfriend again — something about forgetting her birthday and sending a "Happy Anniversary" by mistake. Everyone laughed.

Avantika smiled politely, but her mind wandered.

Is that what happens? Do people forget the details when they stop trying?

She used to remember Dhruv's little habits — how he hated coriander, how he couldn't sleep without music, how he always cracked his knuckles when nervous.

Did he still do that?

Was he nervous?

She pushed the thought away. But it stayed.

---

[Dhruv]

That night, Dhruv sat with his guitar — not to play for anyone, not to record, just to strum like he used to. He didn't know when he had stopped doing this.

Halfway through a chord, his fingers paused.

A tune — vaguely familiar — came to him.

He hummed.

Then stopped.

It was the melody Avantika had once danced to in his room, socks slipping on the floor, both of them laughing at how she kept missing the beat.

He smiled at the memory.

Then exhaled sharply.

He opened his chat with her again.

Still no message.

Still nothing from either side.

But unlike before, he didn't feel anger. Or sadness.

Just… a gentle ache.

And beneath that, something else — like the slow creak of a locked door finally moving.

---

[Avantika]

It was past midnight. The world was asleep. She wasn't.

Avantika opened her diary — the one she hadn't written in since the last fight with Dhruv. The pen hovered over the page, unsure where to begin.

Then, slowly, she wrote:

> "I don't know where we go from here.

But I think I'm done pretending I don't care."

She stared at it.

Then smiled.

Just a little.

Just enough.

---

[Dhruv]

At 2:04 AM, he opened his Notes app.

> "You're in the songs I haven't played.

In the tea I brew stronger than I used to.

In the space beside me when I win something and turn to say — 'Did you see that?'

And no one's there."

He saved it.

Not for her.

But maybe… maybe someday.

---

[Avantika & Dhruv]

That weekend, in different cities, at different moments — they both opened their gallery.

Scrolled to the same photo.

Smiled.

And for the first time in weeks, they didn't flinch when the other's name crossed their mind.

It wasn't forgiveness yet.

It wasn't love, reborn.

But it was something.

A shift.

A stir.

The beginning of whatever was waiting patiently on the other side of silence.

---