Stuck Voyage of 20's

The air in Ujjain that evening was thick with the scent of burning camphor and marigolds. Bells echoed through the ancient corridors of the Mahakaleshwar temple, and the sky burned gold as the sun sank behind the temple spires. The evening aarti had begun — a ritual of devotion where the sacred met the surreal.

Avantika stood among the crowd, her dupatta drawn tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes wandered, not out of reverence, but restlessness. She wasn't praying — she was questioning. The chants in Sanskrit felt more like riddles to her now. How could something so ancient feel so foreign?

She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to focus.

"Faith without clarity… feels like waiting for a train that never arrives," she muttered to herself.

"Still poetic with your pain, I see."

The voice came from her left.

She opened her eyes and turned.

Dhruv:

Wearing a simple kurta, hands folded, but with that usual mischievous calm playing at the corners of his lips.

"Did you follow me?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Don't flatter yourself," he smirked. "My family dragged me here too. Apparently praying can 'fix my distractions.'"

A reluctant smile curled at her lips, but only for a second.

The aarti flames were being circled now — the drums beat louder, the chants more intense. The priests raised the giant aarti stand with a swirling fire, and the smoke danced toward the sky like spirits escaping the weight of human doubt.

Avantika turned to him again.

"Do you ever feel like you're standing in the middle of something holy… but all you want to do is scream?" she whispered.

Dhruv didn't answer immediately.

"I do," he finally said. "All the time."

They stood in silence, facing the fire — side by side — two people drowning in questions the gods never answered.