The night was heavy with silence inside the Gadhiraju household. Dilli sat across from his father, his eyes firm yet restless, as though he carried a storm within him. He finally spoke, breaking the tension.
"Daddy," he said, his voice trembling but steady with resolve, "I don't want to go to school anymore. I've decided—I want to spend my full time building something of my own. I want to develop an AI bot… I'll call it Betal(Betal is a form of Bhairava and is the head of all spirits and ghouls and vampires and all kinds of pisachas). He'll be my companion, my strength, the one who never betrays me. With him I can handle everything I can't do alone. I can't waste time in classrooms anymore."
For a moment, Dilli braced himself. His father, Gadhiraju, was known for his iron grip over his son's studies. Many times in the past, he had raised his hand on Dilli for neglecting books. Dilli expected the same storm tonight.
But instead, his father leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. His voice was calm, almost unsettling in its gentleness.
"Dilli… you can do anything you want," Gadhiraju said slowly, "but quarterly exams start on October 10th. If you can score 90 percent while doing your own work… then I will personally speak to your Principal, Ramaraju. I'll convince him to give you freedom for your path."
Dilli blinked, his breath caught in his chest. Tears he didn't summon welled up and rolled down his cheeks. Never had his father spoken like this. In his mid-twenties, Dilli would come to realize the depth of his father's love, but now, at this tender age, he felt it all at once—like a tidal wave breaking through years of misunderstandings.
"Daddy…" he whispered, voice breaking, "why are you so confident about me?"
Gadhiraju's stern features softened. A faint smile tugged his lips, and his eyes glistened with pride.
"Why won't I be confident on my own blood?" he replied, his gaze both steady and tender.
Dilli swallowed hard. "Then… why were you so harsh on me till now?"
For the first time, his father revealed the truth buried beneath years of scolding. His voice was steady, but there was a weight in it.
"Till now, you weren't serious about life. And I don't expect a child to be. But discipline… it was necessary. I had to be harsh, even when it hurt me, even when you hated me, because if I let you drift too far, you might never come back. Your future mattered more than my image in your heart."
Those words shattered Dilli's walls. He couldn't hold back anymore. He lunged forward, hugging his father tightly, clinging to him like a koala. His sobs shook his small frame.
"Then why are you confident now, Daddy?" Dilli cried.
Gadhiraju ruffled his son's hair, a rare gesture of affection. His voice turned tender, almost like a whisper.
"How can I not know the change in my own child? I don't want to see you burn away your childhood in struggle. I wish you'd just play and laugh. But since you've chosen hard work… I'll give you everything. Even my life, if needed."
A father's love is unlike any other. It rarely flows in soft words or tender gestures. More often, it comes wrapped in silence, cloaked in sternness, and carried in sacrifices no one notices. To a child, it can feel like distance, or even cruelty. But beneath that hard exterior lies a love deeper and fiercer than oceans.
A father's love is like a coconut. On the outside, it is rough, unyielding, hard to touch. It resists, it scolds, it disciplines. It is not easy to break through. But inside—once the shell is cracked—there lies the sweetest water, pure and nourishing. That tenderness, hidden away, is what has been sustaining the child all along.
Every harsh word, every strict rule, every moment of tough discipline is not born from anger, but from an iron determination: "My children will not suffer what I suffered. They will walk a path brighter than mine, even if they hate me for it now."
A father will stand like a fortress in front of his family, bearing storms without flinching. His hands may be calloused, his eyes stern, his heart quiet—but every beat of that heart whispers the same vow: "For my children, I will give everything. Even if it costs me my comfort, my dreams, even my life."
That is why a father's love is often misunderstood in youth, yet revered in maturity. Children may curse the hard shell, but one day they taste the sweetness inside and realize—every sacrifice, every harsh lesson, every sleepless night was love in disguise.
A father's love is silent, but eternal. Rough outside, sweet within. A coconut that hides oceans of tenderness.
Dilli's fists clenched tight, nails digging into his palms. He knew—his father meant every word. He forced his hoarse voice to answer, "I don't want your life, Dad. All I want is freedom… and your support."
Inside, though, his heart thundered with an oath:
Dad, just wait. I'll solve every problem that haunts us. The same world that mocked and whispered behind our backs will one day bow and praise us. I'll make them all crawl. Very soon.
The room was quiet again, but no longer heavy. Between father and son, a bond was reforged—not of fear, but of love and faith. And in that moment, the fire of Dilli's journey truly began.