Stuck Voyage of 20's

The road back from the cafe was quieter than usual. Avantika walked alone, arms folded, as if shielding herself from the wind, or maybe from the waves of emotions still unfurling inside her. Dhruv's words echoed like a distant melody in her head — not loud, not urgent, but impossible to forget.

"I never stopped caring. I just didn't know how to show it."

It had been hours since they'd parted, and yet her mind replayed everything on a loop — the trembling in his voice, the softness in his eyes, the silence that followed. It wasn't just a confession. It was years of confusion finding a voice.

She unlocked her apartment door and stepped into the warmth of familiarity. Books scattered. Half-finished sketches pinned on the wall. The worn-out couch she always curled into when life felt too big. Today, she didn't curl into it.

Instead, she pulled out an old journal — one she hadn't touched since her second year. The pages were filled with messy handwriting and naïve rants. But there was something comforting in seeing her old self so unapologetically raw. She flipped to a blank page and began to write.

"Today, we finally talked. Not about the weather or our careers or mutual friends. We talked about what hurt, what healed, what stayed even when everything else left."

She paused. Her pen lingered mid-air.

"But I'm still scared. Scared that love, even when honest, can still fall apart."

She closed the journal gently and stared at the ceiling fan spinning slowly, as if time had decided to slow down with her.

---

Across the city, Dhruv sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, phone in hand. No new notifications. Not that he was expecting one.

He stared at the last message Avantika had sent months ago — a simple "Take care." Back then, it felt cold, detached. Now, it sounded different. Like a goodbye disguised as a prayer.

His roommate was out for the night, and the silence around him was dense. He reached for the drawer beside his bed and pulled out a small box — old ticket stubs, wristbands from fests, a few notes written in hurried scrawls, and… her hairpin. The one she had dropped during a college debate practice, and he had sneakily kept.

He smiled. It wasn't a wide grin. Just a soft, almost invisible twitch of his lips. One only meant for memories.

He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A part of him wanted to text her, "Are you okay?"

Another part whispered, "Give her space."

So, he did neither. He just lay there — letting time pass without interfering.

---

The next day, Avantika met Aarohi at a small bookstore café they frequented. Aarohi immediately noticed the shift in her.

"You look… lighter," she said, sipping her coffee.

Avantika chuckled. "Do I?"

Aarohi leaned in. "What happened?"

"We talked. Me and Dhruv."

A knowing silence passed between them.

"And?" Aarohi asked.

"We said the things we should've said long ago. But I don't know what happens next. It's like… we've finally reached the truth, but I don't know where it leads."

Aarohi placed her cup down, gently. "Maybe it doesn't have to lead anywhere right now. Maybe it's enough that you both stopped pretending."

Avantika looked out the window. The sun was hiding behind clouds, but the light still reached through.

"Do you think love can restart?" she asked quietly.

"I think love never really stops. It just changes its clothes," Aarohi smiled. "Sometimes it's passion, sometimes it's patience. Sometimes it's just… quiet understanding."

---

That evening, Dhruv sat with his coach, watching the juniors practice on the court.

"You look distracted," the coach said, tossing him a bottle of water.

"Just… processing a few things."

The coach nodded. "You know, I've seen you push through injuries, setbacks, even failures. But you know what's harder?"

"What?"

"Learning how to sit with your feelings. Not fight them. Just… sit."

Dhruv laughed under his breath. "That's exactly what I'm trying to do."

The coach clapped his shoulder. "Good. That's the real strength no one claps for — but it changes everything."

---

Back in her room, Avantika lit a candle beside her bed. The journal now lay open, and she stared at her last line.

"But I'm still scared."

She tapped her pen on the page, then added underneath it:

"But maybe that's okay. Maybe love isn't the absence of fear — but choosing to stay, despite it."

Just then, her phone buzzed.

Dhruv: "No pressure to reply. Just wanted you to know — I'm really glad we talked. I'm still learning. But I want to learn right this time."

Her heart did that soft thing again. That quiet flutter, like a curtain catching the breeze.

She didn't reply right away.

Instead, she whispered to herself, "Me too."

---