Wings Meant to Fly

Flashback – Aidan's POV:

I felt lost, like the ground was slipping right beneath my feet. Everything I had ever dreamed of was crumbling, and there was nothing I could do but watch. But no giving up wasn't an option. I had to fight. I had to stand up for myself, for my dreams.

The next morning, I didn't hesitate. I went straight to my father, determination burning in my chest.

"Dad, we need to talk. Seriously. No excuses, no work interruptions. Please." He nodded slowly, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, I didn't waste time sugar-coating it, "I don't want to study business. And I don't want to take your place in the company." The words tumbled out harsher than I intended, but I didn't care. This was my future, and they were playing with it like it was theirs to decide.

"Why?" His reaction surprised me he wasn't angry. Instead, he looked… concerned. Almost gentle. That made me freeze. I didn't expect concern. I expected yelling or disappointment. Now I stood there, struggling with my words, doubting whether I should tell him about my real dream.

"Aidan," he spoke again, voice softer this time. "Tell me. You're my son, and I won't judge you."They always say that parents 'We won't judge you,' but actions speak louder than words. Still, I had to try.

Minutes felt like hours before I finally found the courage. "I want to study art, Dad. I don't care about meetings or boardrooms. I want to create, to feel free, to travel and maybe someday open my own art gallery or museum."

The silence that followed was suffocating. I stared at him, heart pounding, hands shaking slightly. Then finally, he spoke.

"Are you sure about this, son?"

His calmness shook me, but I stood my ground. "Yes, Dad. I'm sure."

For a moment, I thought I was dreaming because what he said next wasn't what I imagined at all.

"Alright then. I respect your decision. And Aidan, I want you to know I'm proud of you. You stood up for yourself, something I never had the courage to do. You're not weak, you're a fighter. And I'll support you, no matter what."

Tears burned my eyes. I couldn't hold them back. My dad's words broke down every wall I had built up. For once, I felt seen understood. I felt proud of myself.

But dreams rarely come true that easy, do they? Fairy tales don't exist and mine was no exception.

Later that evening:

Just when I thought things were finally going to be okay, my mom stormed into my room. Her face was red with rage, her voice almost impossible to understand as she screamed at me.

"Mom? What's going on?" I asked, panic rushing through me.

"ART? You want to study art? Are you out of your mind, Aidan? What the hell are you going to do with that? Paint money?" Her voice cracked, filled with anger and disappointment.

So this was it. My dreams were the problem.

"I love art, Mom. It's my dream. I don't care about money or your company. I want to live for myself, not for some business I never wanted," I shot back, my voice shaking but firm.

She stared at me like I'd just spat in her face, clapping her hands slowly a sign that she was about to explode.

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT THE COMPANY RIGHT NOW!" she screamed. "But ART? That's not a job, Aidan! You can paint in your free time, but don't you dare tell me you're wasting your life on some childish nonsense!"

My chest tightened, but I wasn't going to back down. Not now. Not ever.

"Sorry, Mom. My mind's made up. I'm not turning back."

That was it. The moment everything shattered. She screamed louder, hurling words at me disappointment, failure, shame. She told me she wished I wasn't her son.

It hurt. God, it hurt like hell. I couldn't believe my own mother was saying this to me. All I wanted was to chase my dreams, to live freely and instead, I was being treated like a disgrace.

I zoned out, her voice becoming distant noise. I didn't even notice my dad coming back home until I heard his footsteps approaching. My heart dropped I was sure he'd change his mind now, side with her, and crush me once and for all.

"What's going on here?" he asked, his tone sharp. "What's all this screaming about? I could hear you from outside."

I stayed silent. My mom did all the talking, telling him everything about my 'ridiculous' dream, how I was throwing my life away.

I waited for his reaction, my stomach in knots. But what he said next shocked me more than anything.

"It's his life. His choice. You should be supporting him, not tearing him down."

I blinked, unable to process what I just heard. He… took my side?

My mom stood there, frozen, speechless.

My dad walked up to me, pulled me into a hug, and whispered, "I'm proud of you, son."

That's when I broke. I cried like a child because sometimes, even the strongest ones need to fall apart.

And in that moment, I knew: no matter how hard things get, I'll keep fighting for my dreams. Because wings are meant to fly, not be clipped.