Just give me a Little more Time.

Shourya sat in his room, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. He leaned back in his chair, his sharp features framed by the soft glow.

The weight of responsibilities bore heavily on his mind, pulling him into deep thought. His focus was disrupted by the sound of hesitant footsteps.

Vedha emerged from the bathroom, her face pale, her hands nervously clutching the hem of her kurta. Her movements were slow and uncertain, her discomfort evident in her eyes.

Shourya straightened, his piercing gaze immediately locking onto her uneasy demeanor.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his tone calm but firm.

Vedha froze, her fingers twisting the fabric of her dress.

She looked down, avoiding his eyes, her cheeks tinged with embarrassment.

His sharp eyes scanned her, noticing the faint stains on her clothes and the way she clutched at herself as though shielding her vulnerability.

He sat up straighter, his brows furrowing slightly as he pieced together the situation.

"You're on your periods, aren't you?" he asked, his deep voice calm yet direct.

Vedha hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously. "I…" Her voice trembled, and she looked down, unable to meet his steady gaze. "I… ran out of… sanitary napkins," she finally admitted, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Shourya's gaze softened as he stood, his commanding presence filling the room. "Wait here," he instructed, his tone firm but not unkind.

Before she could respond, Shourya left the room. Vedha stood frozen, her heart pounding as she grappled with her vulnerability.

Moments later, he returned, holding a package of sanitary pads in his hand.

He walked up to her and placed the package gently on the table beside her. "Here," he said simply.

Vedha looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Thank you," she managed, her voice shaky.

"Go, take care of yourself," he said, his tone softer now.

When she returned, freshened up and dressed, she found Shourya sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for her. He gestured for her to sit, and as she hesitated, he reached out and held her hand, his grip steady and warm.

"Vedha," he began, his deep voice cutting through the silence, "this is nothing to be ashamed of. It's natural. Don't hesitate to tell me if you need something. I'm your husband. You don't have to hide or feel awkward."

Her eyes widened at his words, her heart swelling with a mix of relief and gratitude. "I… I didn't want to bother you," she said softly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Bother me?" he echoed, his tone slightly teasing but still firm. "Vedha, you're my responsibility. Don't ever think twice about telling me what you need. Understood?"

She nodded, a shy smile breaking through her vulnerable expression. "Understood," she whispered.

Shourya's hand lingered on hers for a moment longer before he released it, his stoic face betraying a hint of warmth. "Good," he said, leaning back slightly. "Now, get some rest. You look tired."

As Vedha lay down, she felt an unfamiliar sense of comfort envelop her. For all his sternness, Shourya's actions spoke volumes.

Vikram Malhotra sat in his study, his posture regal yet weighed down by the turmoil in his heart. The soft light of the lamp illuminated the worry etched on his face. His hands rested on the armrests of the chair, fingers tapping lightly as though searching for resolve. The room was silent until the door creaked open.

Meera stepped inside hesitantly, her steps slow, her face pale with the burden of unspoken emotions. She stopped a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.

"Dad," she began softly, her voice trembling.

Vikram looked up, his sharp gaze meeting her tearful eyes. "You're here," he said, his tone heavy. "Sit."

Meera obeyed, perching herself on the edge of the chair across from him.

Her hands gripped the sides of her dress as though to ground herself. She took a deep breath, mustering her courage.

"I'm not ready, Dad," she said, her voice breaking. "I can't marry anyone right now."

Vikram's expression hardened, a mix of frustration and sorrow crossing his face. "Meera," he said sternly, "I've given you everything you ever wanted. Every dream of yours, every wish—I fulfilled it without question. Now, I'm asking for this one thing. Can't you do this for me?"

Meera flinched at the intensity in his tone, her shoulders trembling under the weight of his words. "Dad, please," she pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes. "For the world's opinion, are you really going to push your daughter into an unhappy marriage?"

Vikram's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Meera continued, her voice growing desperate.

"I know I made mistakes, but give me some time," she said, her tears now streaming freely. "I will correct everything, I promise. If I can't… if things don't change… then I will marry whoever you choose. But, Dad, please… just give me a little more time."

Her words pierced Vikram's heart, her raw pain tugging at the strings of his fatherly love. He looked at her—his daughter, his pride, now so vulnerable and pleading.