The soft light in my father's eyes

Dear Delyara, My father has always been a man of heavy silence, someone who struggled to express affection or pride, leaving me to spend most of my youth desperately chasing his approval. Tonight, I showed him the completed brand architecture and assets for Seifi. He sat at the kitchen table, wearing his reading glasses, studying the designs for a long, silent five minutes while my heart hammered in my chest. When he finally looked up, his eyes were wet, and he reached out to place his worn, heavy hand over mine. He didn't say much—just, "This is beautiful, Ali. Your grandfather would have been proud." The weight of a lifetime of chasing his approval fell off my shoulders in that single, beautiful moment. I am finally enough.