With her soft, red-tinted hands, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the hilt of a nearby sword. A gust of wind swept through the clearing, lifting her silken, flowing hair, revealing her angelic countenance. She exerted all her strength to grasp the sword, but alas, it slipped from her grasp, landing upon her leg and inflicting a small, painful wound. Tears welled in her eyes, mingling with the thrill of the moment. She was but a child, her tender frame shaken by sobs as tears streamed down her rosy cheeks.

Witnessing his beloved daughter's distress, her father, engrossed in his sword practice, hastily made his way towards her. "What happened to my Angel Rose?" he exclaimed, concern etched upon his face. Through her trembling voice, the child managed to utter, "Father, I have an injury..." Her father immediately scooped her up into his arms, his worry deepening. "These are not things for you to play with, my dear. You should engage with your toys," he gently chided her. But in her innocence, she questioned him, her voice filled with curiosity. "Then why do you do it, Father? And why must I conform to societal expectations?" A flicker of irritation crossed her father's features as he responded, his tone laced with a mixture of sternness and regret. "Rose, you are but a child, and moreover, girls are not meant to wield swords. Their duty lies in carrying the weight of their families. Do you understand?" The weight of his words bore down upon her fragile heart, and tears threatened to breach the barriers of her eyes. The harshness of her father's voice pierced her tender soul. Sensing the impact of his words, her father's countenance softened, "Oh, oh! I am sorry!"

© Abhijit: A hardworking writer