The study was quiet, the usual hum of business deals and plans absent for the moment. Shivaay Singh Oberoi, usually the pillar of strength and control, was sitting slumped in his chair, his head buried in his hands. The weight of the failure was hanging heavy on him, a feeling so unfamiliar yet so crushing. For someone who had always prided himself on his success and power, this moment felt like an impossible defeat.
The deal he had been working tirelessly on for months had slipped through his fingers. The client who had been supposed to sign had pulled out at the last minute, and now Shivaay was left with the remnants of his shattered plans. He wasn't used to losing—not in the business world, not in life. And this loss felt like a personal failure, not just a professional one.
His mother, Pinky Oberoi, was the last person he had expected to see at that moment. She had always been the one to demand perfection from him, the one who had pushed him to be the best, the one who had seen him as the trophy son, always in the spotlight. She had never been one to offer comfort, only harsh expectations. But today, she was walking into the study, her heels clicking softly on the marble floor.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him, her eyes narrowing in concern. Shivaay wasn't looking up. There was no mask, no confident demeanour. It was just him, raw and vulnerable.
"Shivaay..." Pinky said softly, but her voice still carried an edge.
He didn't respond, but she stepped into the room and slowly walked toward him, her usual sharpness replaced with something gentler—something unfamiliar. Pinky had always been the one who held the bar high, pushing him to meet impossible standards, but today there was a shift in the air. She wasn't lecturing him. She wasn't demanding anything from him. Instead, she looked at him with eyes that spoke of a deeper understanding.
Pinky sat down next to him and asked tentatively, "You... you've been through worse, Shivaay. You've always bounced back. Why is this so different?"
Shivaay lifted his head, his eyes red-rimmed, exhaustion written across his face. For a moment, he didn't know how to respond. His mother, the woman who had always been his critic, the one who had demanded his success, was sitting beside him, offering something he had never expected—comfort, empathy.
Shivaay's voice cracked as he spoke quietly, "I don't know, Ma. I've never failed like this. It's..." He looked away, unable to finish the sentence.
Pinky reached out, her hand trembling just slightly, and placed it on his shoulder. The gesture was simple, yet it felt like a soft revolution in their relationship. Her hand didn't carry the weight of judgment this time. Instead, it was a quiet offering—one of support, something Shivaay hadn't known he needed from her.
"You are allowed to fail, Shivaay," Pinky said softly, her voice surprisingly tender. "You've been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders for so long. But you're still my son. You're still the man who has always risen after every fall."
Shivaay looked at her then, his heart racing. This wasn't the Pinky he knew—the woman who had always demanded perfection. This was something new, something that felt like a lifeline in a storm he didn't know how to navigate. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to lean into her, the walls he had built around himself beginning to crumble just a little.
Shivaay's voice was a whisper when he asked, "I don't know how to face everyone now. How do I... how do I keep up the image? How do I go on after this?"
Pinky tightened her hand on his shoulder, and her gaze softened even as she looked at him with the fierce pride only a mother could have.
"You don't have to do it alone, Shivaay," Pinky said with quiet determination. "You've never had to. And it's okay to fall. I've pushed you hard all these years, but that doesn't mean you can't make mistakes. You are human, just like everyone else. And no matter what, you'll always be my son."
Shivaay's breath hitched as he took in her words. This was the first time in his life that Pinky had ever said something like this—without expectations, without pressure, without the usual harshness. There was something so genuine in her tone, something that spoke of years of unspoken love he had never fully understood.
His voice broke slightly as he whispered, "I don't deserve your sympathy, Ma. I should have been better. I should have done more."
Pinky shook her head firmly, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and concern.
"You've already done enough, Shivaay," she said softly, yet firmly. "You've given everything. And it's okay to not be perfect. It's okay to let go of the weight for a while. You can't carry everything forever."
A tear slipped down Shivaay's cheek, something he hadn't allowed in front of anyone in years. His mother's words were a balm, soothing the raw, jagged parts of him he had kept hidden for so long.
Shivaay's voice cracked as he whispered, "I don't know how to be anything less than perfect. You've always expected the best from me."
Pinky looked him in the eye, and for the first time, there was no reprimand, no demand for more. There was only the acceptance of the man he was, flaws and all.
"I know," Pinky said softly. "But now, I need you to understand that you don't have to be perfect for me. You don't have to prove anything anymore. Just be my son, and that's enough."
The weight of her words settled over Shivaay like a blanket, and for the first time in a long while, he felt the pressure of his life lifting—just a little. He turned to his mother, his heart opening to the vulnerability she had always hidden behind her own tough exterior. The walls he had built around himself slowly started to crumble, and for the first time, he didn't feel the need to be invincible.
Shivaay spoke quietly, "Thank you, Ma."
Pinky's eyes softened, and she leaned forward, pulling him into a rare, gentle embrace. It was a moment of true comfort, and it marked a shift in their relationship—a reminder that love, in its truest form, had no expectations.
As Shivaay allowed himself to rest in her arms, he felt, for the first time, what it meant to be truly supported. And for the first time, he didn't have to carry the world on his shoulders alone.
