The penthouse was calm, the faint hum of the city lights filtering through the windows. Poornima had prepared dinner, the aroma of her cooking filling the kitchen and dining area.

Veeresh arrived home, tired from his day. He removed his blazer and loosened his tie, his eyes softening slightly as he saw Poornima waiting with a warm smile. They sat down and began their meal quietly, the clinking of cutlery the only sound for a few minutes.

Finally, Veeresh’s voice broke the silence. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Poornima took a deep breath, gathering courage. “Yes… I met your mother today,” she said softly, her heart beating faster at the thought of his reaction.

The moment the words left her lips, Veeresh’s expression darkened. His hand shot out in a flash — a sharp, stinging slap across her cheek. Poornima’s breath hitched in shock and pain.

He pushed his plate away violently. “I said I don’t want anything to do with her!” he barked, his voice low but fierce. “Don’t ever bring her name to me!”

Poornima’s eyes filled with tears, her cheek burning from the strike, but she stayed seated, trembling yet resolute. She knew his anger wasn’t truly about her — it was the unresolved pain he carried for years.

She whispered to herself, brushing away a tear, “I promised… I will make him meet his mother. Somehow, he has to see her — and I will keep that promise.”

Veeresh turned sharply and stormed into the bedroom, leaving Poornima alone at the table, her hand lingering on her cheek. She felt the sting of the slap, the weight of his anger, and yet a small spark of determination ignited inside her.

She wiped her tears, took a deep breath, and whispered softly, “I will be patient… for him, for us. He’ll see her, and he’ll understand.”

In the silence of the penthouse, the tension lingered, but beneath it was the quiet strength of love — the kind that waits, that endures, and that knows when the right time will come.