Stuck Voyage of 20's

Three days had passed since Dhruv returned.

Three days of strange silences, polite smiles, and conversations that danced around the real feelings like two people walking on a wire — too afraid to fall into the truth.

Avantika hadn't met Kabir since that day. No calls, no texts. He understood.

Sometimes the deepest goodbyes are the ones left unsaid.

The festival of Harihar Parva had begun — a sacred local celebration when Ujjain's ghats lit up with diyas, music echoed along the riverbanks, and the line between devotion and dreams blurred beautifully.

Avantika stood by the river that evening, dressed in a soft yellow kurta, her hair loosely tied, eyes lost in the hundreds of diyas floating across the water. Each flame looked like a promise — and she wasn't sure which ones were hers anymore.

Dhruv found her in the crowd. Quietly. As he always did.

He didn't speak at first. Just stood beside her. Close enough to feel her warmth, far enough to respect her stillness.

After a long moment, he finally asked, "Why haven't you asked me what changed?"

She didn't look at him. "Because I already know."

He waited.

"You didn't come back because you missed me," she said softly. "You came back because you weren't ready to lose what could be us."

He looked at her — really looked. "And is that such a terrible reason?"

"No," she whispered. "It's a human one."

He wanted to reach for her hand, but something in her posture told him not to.

The ghat lights flickered in the breeze. The chants in the background grew distant, like a dream.

"I met someone," she said, barely audible.

Dhruv's jaw tightened, but he stayed calm.

"I figured," he replied. "You had that… 'someone-sees-me' glow."

She smiled a little. "And with you, I had that 'someone-sees-through-me' glow."

They stood in silence again — but this time, it wasn't heavy. It was honest.

"I'm not asking for a decision," Dhruv finally said. "Just… can we start from now? Not from what we were. But what we could be?"

Avantika turned toward him, her eyes searching his face for signs of who he was now.

"Let's walk," she said.

And they did. Along the river, under soft golden lights, past floating diyas and the distant echo of temple drums. They didn't hold hands. They didn't say anything grand.

But there was something powerful in how they walked — not ahead of each other, not behind.

Side by side.

Not as lovers.

Not as strangers.

But as two souls slowly learning that sometimes, quiet is where the real beginnings live.