Stuck Voyage of 20's

(Because sometimes the people around us reflect who we've become—and who we're still trying to be.)

Avantika watched her father water the tulsi plant in the corner of the veranda. Morning sunlight poured over the edges of the white railings, as dust danced lazily in the air. It was peaceful. But something about it made her restless.

"Papa," she said softly, approaching with two cups of tea.

Devendra Thakur took the cup with a warm nod, but didn't speak immediately.

She hesitated, then finally said, "I've been thinking about what you said… about balance."

He glanced at her sideways, curious. "And?"

"I'm not sure I know how to balance anything anymore. My heart's in writing and ideas. But my resume screams business school and internships. And then there's Dhruv…"

He sipped, calm. "You're scared of disappointing us."

She blinked. The truth in his words hit her straight in the chest.

"Yes."

He set the cup down on the ledge.

"Avantika," he began, voice steady, "Do you know what I wanted to become before I became your grandfather's obedient son?"

She shook her head.

"A poet. I used to write verses about mango trees and rivers and monsoons that never arrived. But I buried it. For the family. For respect. For 'security.'"

She was stunned.

"You've never told me that…"

"I never thought it mattered," he said with a sad smile. "But I see you now, torn between what you love and what feels expected. And I won't be the reason you live half a life."

She felt tears rise before she could stop them.

"You're not disappointed in me?" she whispered.

He turned fully toward her. "Never. I only want you to be whole, beta. Not just impressive."

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. It felt like letting go of a decade of fear.

---

Across town, Dhruv sat at the dining table with his elder sister, Prerna, who had flown in for a work conference. She was always the golden child — IIT, MBA, now a corporate strategist in Gurgaon. Their parents often compared them, albeit unintentionally.

"So," she said, spooning daal into her bowl, "What's happening with you? Still playing basketball, I assume?"

Dhruv nodded. "Yeah. But I'm also thinking of applying for a sports psychology fellowship."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's a pivot."

"It's not just about playing anymore. I want to mentor. Be part of something deeper."

His mother, listening in from the kitchen, called out, "But beta, is there scope in that? You've worked so hard to build your name in the sport."

Dhruv sighed. "Ma, I'll still be in the field. Just… in a different capacity."

Prerna looked at him thoughtfully. "I get it. You're finally choosing what you want."

He glanced at her, surprised. "You don't think it's stupid?"

She laughed. "Dhruv, I sit in glass buildings giving advice to companies about risk and returns. The bravest advice I've ever given was to a client, not myself."

Their mother came and sat down, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm just scared, Dhruv. I don't want you to struggle."

He looked at her, eyes softer now. "I understand, Ma. But I need to choose the struggle that feels worth it."

There was silence. Then she nodded slowly. "Just… promise me you'll eat well while doing it."

He laughed. "Deal."

---

That night, Avantika found an old story draft in her Gmail drafts — a fictional piece she'd written about a girl who ran away from her own reflection. She read the first paragraph and realized something:

It wasn't fiction.

It had always been about her.

She opened a blank document.

Title: Stuck: Voyage of 20s

She smiled at the name. Not perfect. But honest.

She began to write.

---

Meanwhile, Dhruv stood on the rooftop of his building, looking out at the streetlights blinking below. His father joined him, holding a steel tumbler of chai.

"You okay?" his father asked.

"Yeah," Dhruv said. "Just... thinking."

"I overheard your chat with Prerna. You've grown."

Dhruv gave a small laugh. "Feels more like I've broken. But maybe breaking helps you find what's underneath."

His father nodded. "You know, your mother worries because she loves. I worry too. But if this path brings you peace, I'll cheer for you louder than I ever did on a court."

Dhruv looked at him. "Even if I fail?"

"Especially then."

The wind picked up, ruffling his hair.

"And Avantika?" his father asked.

"She's finding her way too. We're... not rushing. But something's shifted."

"Good. Love built on understanding lasts longer than love built on urgency."

---

As both families settled into sleep that night, in two different homes, under two different ceilings, two people stared at their ceilings — no longer scared, but curious.

Some echoes fade.

Some stay.

And some become the music you live by.

---