Love in the Crossfires

Arjun

I sat at the dinner table, picking at the rice on my plate. The smell of freshly cooked curry filled the air, a familiar scent that usually made my mouth water, but I wasn't hungry tonight. My thoughts were too tangled and heavy to allow room for anything else. Across from me, my father, Mohan, sat at the head of the table. His posture was as straight as ever, his face unreadable, and his eyes scanning the room like he was chairing a board meeting. It was a look I had grown up seeing, one that always made me feel like I was under a spotlight, exposed and vulnerable.

"Arjun, what's the progress on that... project of yours?" he asked, his tone heavy with skepticism, the pause before 'project' deliberate and cutting. I could already tell this conversation wasn't going to end well.

"It's not a project, Daddy," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my stomach. "It's a software company. We've launched two apps so far, and the response has been encouraging." I hoped he'd hear the pride in my voice, but his expression didn't change.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Encouraging doesn't pay the bills, son. When are you going to get serious about your career?" He paused. "I hope you will not keep syphoning my finance through your software company." He chuckled.

"I am serious," I said, meeting his gaze even though it felt like staring into a storm. "This is what I want to do. I know the market. Being an engineer in computer science, I'm building something from scratch. Isn't that worth something to do with my qualification?"

He snorted a sharp, dismissive sound that cut through me like a knife. "Building what? A small venture that might not even survive the next year? Why waste your time and my finance? You could be working at a top firm by now, earning a real salary with your qualification." He paused. "Or join me in our company which has been making steady and good profits?"

My grip on the fork tightened until my knuckles turned white. "It's not a waste of time. I believe in what I'm doing," I said, my voice trembling slightly despite my efforts to stay calm.

"How about my second question?"

I thought and said, "I want to stand on my own. I want to try in the latest development – software." I looked into his eyes. "I have conducted an extensive study and believe it has high potential."

"Belief doesn't put food on the table," he said, shaking his head as though he couldn't fathom how I had come to this conclusion. "You're too idealistic, Arjun. You've always been. Life isn't about chasing dreams that don't pay off."

"And what is it about?" I asked, unable to hide the edge in my voice anymore. "Settling for a job just because it's stable? Following someone else's idea of success?"

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Watch your tone," he warned, his voice low but firm. The table seemed to grow quieter, the tension thick and suffocating.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. "Dad, I'm not you. I don't want to spend my life climbing corporate ladders. I want to create something of my own. Something meaningful."

"Meaningful?" He let out a bitter laugh, leaning forward slightly as if to drive his words deeper. "What's meaningful about some apps? Do you think that's going to change the world?"

"Maybe it won't change the world," I said, my voice firmer now, my resolve hardening with each passing second. "But it's changing my world. It's giving me purpose. Isn't that enough?"

He stared at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he sighed heavily and turned back to his plate. "You're too stubborn for your good," he muttered, almost as if talking to himself.

I wanted to say more, to defend myself, to make him see what this meant to me, but I knew it wouldn't make a difference. My father had always been like this, measuring success in numbers and titles. He didn't understand what it meant to dream of something different, something that didn't fit into his rigid mould of what a career should look like.

The rest of dinner passed in strained silence. My mother, Supriya, ever the peacemaker, tried to lighten the mood by talking about a neighbor's wedding, but her words barely registered. The tension was too thick, the air too heavy. I barely touched my food, my appetite long gone. All I could think about were my father's words, each one a weight pressing down on my chest.

After dinner, I retreated to my room, shutting the door behind me as if I could block out the world. Sitting at my desk, I opened my laptop and stared at the screen. The code for our next app was still incomplete, lines of text blurring together as my mind replayed the conversation from the dinner table.

"Small venture."

"Idealistic."

"Waste of time."

Each word echoed in my mind, louder and heavier with each repetition. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. This was my path, not his. I had to remind myself of that. My company might be small now, but it was mine. Every line of code, every sleepless night, every small victory-they all meant something to me, even if my father couldn't see it.

I picked up my phone and scrolled through the messages from my team. They were excited about the app's upcoming beta launch, their enthusiasm practically leaping off the screen. For a moment, their energy drowned out the doubts that my father's words had planted in my mind.

I typed a quick reply: "Let's give it our all. This is just the beginning."

Hitting send, I felt a small spark of hope reignite within me. My father might not understand, but that didn't mean I was wrong. I had to keep going, not for him, but for myself. This was my dream, my vision, and I wasn't going to let anyone take that away from me.

Leaning back in my chair, I let my eyes wander to the sketch I'd pinned to my board-a rough logo for our company. It wasn't perfect, but it was a start. And sometimes, that's all you need. A start. A spark. Something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain.

As the night wore on, I forced myself to focus on the code in front of me. Each line I wrote felt like a step forward, a small act of defiance against the doubts and dismissals that threatened to hold me back. My fingers moved across the keyboard, the rhythm of typing grounding me, reminding me of why I started this journey in the first place.

Success wasn't about money or titles. It wasn't about living up to someone else's expectations. To me, success was about waking up every day excited to work on something I loved. It was about the journey, not just the destination. And no matter how many obstacles stood in my way, I was determined to keep moving forward.

By the time I finally closed my laptop, the heaviness in my chest had lessened. I wasn't sure what the future held, but I knew one thing for certain: I wasn't going to give up. Not on my company. Not on myself. And certainly not on the belief that sometimes, the smallest ventures can lead to the biggest dreams.