Stuck Voyage of 20's

It was a humid afternoon in Ujjain. The kind that feels like it's holding its breath before something big happens.

Avantika was seated at her usual café near Ram Ghat, an untouched coffee slowly going cold in front of her. Kabir sat across the table, flipping through his sketchbook.

"You know what I've realized?" he said casually, pencil tapping his chin. "People don't fall for other people. They fall for the version of themselves they are around them."

Avantika looked up. "And what version do you see of me?"

Kabir smiled. "The girl who's learning to stop performing for the world."

She didn't respond. Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out one of her Letters to the Sky.

"You want to hear something I never read out loud?"

Kabir nodded, softly curious.

She opened the page. Her voice trembled just a little.

> "Dear You,

The river doesn't stop flowing when people leave. But I've learned that neither does the ache.

Maybe what hurts most is that I'm not waiting for you to come back — I'm waiting to be the same girl I was before you came."

Kabir didn't speak. He just looked at her with quiet understanding. Then he reached across the table and gently closed the journal.

"You don't have to read him away to be okay."

And just like that, the moment got realer than Avantika expected.

But before she could say anything — her phone buzzed.

A single message. Simple.

> "Turn around."

Her brows furrowed.

"What?" Kabir asked.

She didn't answer.

She slowly turned around…

And there he was.

Dhruv.

Standing by the café door.

Back early.

Sweaty from travel, sun-tanned, but still wearing that annoyingly perfect half-smile.

Avantika's heart skipped like it had forgotten the rhythm it once beat to.

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Then Kabir stood up, sensing the energy shift like a quiet storm.

"Should I… give you two a minute?" he asked.

Avantika didn't respond. She was still staring.

Dhruv walked toward her. "Surprise."

"You said the camp ends next week," she whispered.

"It did. I left early."

"Why?"

He looked right into her. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about someone sitting on the ghat, writing letters she'd never send."

Her throat tightened.

"How do you even know I—"

"You talk to the sky like someone's listening, Avantika. And maybe I was."

Kabir slowly backed away, giving her a small nod — respectful, almost like a goodbye… or at least a pause.

Avantika stood in the middle of the café, between two versions of herself.

One that began healing with Kabir.

And one that still hadn't let go of Dhruv.