Marinette woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside, but something felt off. She turned over and saw Gurvinder still lying in bed, facing the wall, his body tense. He usually got up early, but today, he hadn't moved.

"Gurvi?" she called softly, scooting closer. He didn't respond.

Her chest tightened. After everything that had happened yesterday—the interview, the public reaction, the kiss—she had expected him to feel relieved. Instead, he seemed... distant.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey... talk to me."

His body tensed under her touch. "I'm fine," he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Marinette frowned. She knew that tone. It was the same one he used when he was trying to convince himself more than her.

She moved closer, resting her head against his back. "No, you're not."

There was a long pause before he sighed, a deep, shaky breath. "I should feel better, right? The interview went well. People are on my side." His fingers curled into the blanket. "But I keep thinking... what if it's not enough? What if it all turns again? What if I just made things worse for you and your family?"

Marinette's heart ached. She tightened her grip around him. "You didn't."

He scoffed, but it lacked his usual sharpness. "How can you be so sure?"

She lifted herself up and made him turn to face her. His eyes were clouded with doubt, something she hadn't seen in a long time. "Because I know you, Gurvi. And I know that no matter how much the world tries to break you, you're still standing. And I'm standing with you."

He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled heavily. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. "You shouldn't have to fight for me, Mari."

She buried her face in his chest. "I don't have to. I want to."

For a while, they just held each other in the quiet morning light.

For a while, they stayed in the quiet comfort of each other's arms. Gurvinder's breathing had steadied, but Marinette could still feel the weight of his emotions pressing against him.

Then, the distant sound of the bakery's doorbell jingled.

At first, it was just one chime. Then another. And another.

Slowly, the sound began to multiply, the soft rings filling the air, growing more frequent—until it became a steady rhythm.

Marinette pulled away slightly, her brows furrowing. "Do you hear that?"

Gurvinder blinked, his expression shifting from exhaustion to curiosity. He sat up, listening intently.

More jingles. More footsteps. More voices.

The bakery was filling up.

Marinette glanced at him, her eyes widening with hope. "Gurvi… people are coming back."

He hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. He wanted to believe it, but after everything, he was afraid to.

Then, Tom's booming laughter echoed through the house.

Followed by Sabine's warm, welcoming voice greeting customers.

Marinette reached for his hand, squeezing it tight. "Come see for yourself."

Gurvinder swallowed, the lump in his throat shifting. Then, with a deep breath, he nodded and got up.

Gurvinder tied his turban neatly, making sure every fold was perfect. Marinette adjusted her hair and straightened her clothes before they both made their way downstairs.

As they stepped into the bakery, they were met with a sight that left them both speechless.

The place was bustling.

Customers filled the space, some waiting in line, others chatting as they enjoyed their pastries. The scent of freshly baked bread and warm butter filled the air, mixing with the low hum of conversations.

Tom was behind the counter, his usual grin wide with relief as he served customers. Sabine moved gracefully through the shop, handing out orders and welcoming regulars with her usual warmth.

And then—Gurvinder saw it.

A few familiar faces. Customers who had been avoiding him the past few days were now here, some sneaking glances at him, others offering small nods of acknowledgment.

It wasn't completely normal yet—there were still hesitant expressions, still whispers—but this was different. The air was no longer cold with avoidance.

Marinette gently nudged him. "See?" she whispered with a smile.

Gurvinder inhaled deeply, feeling the weight in his chest lighten just a little.

He stepped forward, his usual charismatic energy flickering back as he approached the counter. "Alright, alright, who's next?" he called out with a small smirk.

A little boy, the same one who had hidden behind his mother days ago, peeked up at him nervously before stepping forward. "Me," he said softly.

Gurvinder knelt slightly to meet his eye level. "One chocolate croissant, right?"

The boy hesitated, then nodded.

Gurvinder handed him the croissant, ruffling his hair gently. "There you go, champ."

As the boy took the pastry, he smiled—just a little.

And for the first time in days, hope flickered back in Gurvinder's chest.

Soon enough, more customers began pouring in—many of them unfamiliar faces. They weren't just regulars or hesitant returners; these were new people, drawn in by something more than just the bakery's reputation.

Gurvinder quickly caught on. The interview.

Some customers were whispering to each other while stealing glances at him. Others confidently stepped forward, ordering their pastries while offering him small smiles of encouragement.

A young woman in her twenties approached the counter, her expression a mix of curiosity and admiration. "I saw your interview last night," she said, handing over her money for a loaf of bread. "You're... really strong."

Gurvinder, for once, didn't have a quip ready. He simply gave a nod and handed her the bread. "Thanks," he said, voice steady.

Behind him, Tom and Sabine exchanged a glance—one filled with cautious relief.

Marinette was beaming beside him, nudging him slightly. "Told you," she murmured.

And then came the real shift.

A man in a suit stepped up, his stance professional, but his expression kind. "I run a small business blog, and I'd love to write about how this bakery stood through everything," he said. "Would you or your family be open to that?"

Tom blinked in surprise. Sabine hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Of course," she said warmly.

More people stepped forward—not just to buy pastries, but to show support. Some left larger tips than usual. Others took photos of their food, tagging the bakery on social media. The bakery, which had been struggling just yesterday, was suddenly alive again, thriving.

Gurvinder stood in the middle of it all, absorbing everything.

For the first time in days, the weight on his chest eased.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as alone as he thought.

Gurvinder took a deep breath and stepped forward, slipping back into his usual rhythm behind the counter. With each new customer, he greeted them with his natural charm—witty remarks, easy smiles, and that confident, laid-back attitude that had always been his signature.

"Morning! What can I get you? Besides a great start to your day, of course," he quipped, handing a customer their bag of pastries.

A group of teenagers who had been whispering to each other giggled as one of them blurted out, "You're way cooler in real life than on the news!"

He smirked. "So you're saying I wasn't cool on the news? Ouch."

They laughed, and a few of them even asked for a photo with him, which he hesitated at first but then agreed to with a small nod.

More and more customers engaged with him, and soon, social media started buzzing again—not just about his past, but about his personality. People were talking about how he wasn't just strong but also funny, charismatic, and surprisingly warm despite everything.

"I didn't expect him to be this… charming," a woman whispered to her friend while picking up her order.

"He's got that 'mysterious but kinda dangerous but also really sweet' vibe," another said, scrolling through the comments on a live post.

Marinette, standing behind the counter, watched with an amused smile. Seeing Gurvinder like this—back in his element, making people smile again—filled her with pride.

Sabine and Tom exchanged a knowing glance. Their bakery was coming back to life, and so was Gurvinder.

As the family sat down for dinner, the atmosphere was different from the past few nights. The weight that had been pressing down on them seemed lighter.

Tom served the food while Sabine made sure everyone had enough on their plates. Marinette sat beside Gurvinder, their shoulders occasionally brushing.

"You handled the bakery well today," Tom finally spoke, his voice softer than before.

Gurvi glanced up, swallowing a bite. "I just did what I always do."

Sabine shook her head with a small smile. "It was more than that. People came because they wanted to see you, to support you."

Gurvi let out a breath, unsure how to respond. He wasn't used to this—being seen, being defended. But today, he hadn't been alone in facing the world.

Marinette nudged his arm. "Get used to it."

He looked at her, then at Tom and Sabine, before giving a small smirk. "Guess I'll have to."

The dinner continued, the tension replaced by quiet understanding.

Gurvi was still processing everything. Even as he sat at the dinner table, eating with Marinette and her parents, his mind kept going back to the overwhelming response to his interview. He had expected backlash, maybe even more hostility—but instead, the bakery had been flooded with people who supported him.

He set his fork down, shaking his head slightly. "I still can't believe it worked."

Tom chuckled. "You thought people wouldn't listen?"

Gurvi shrugged. "I thought they'd tear me apart. I've seen how fast the world turns against someone. I didn't expect them to... care."

Sabine reached across the table and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You were honest. People saw the truth. That matters."

Marinette watched him carefully, noticing the way he still seemed lost in thought. She nudged his arm. "So, what's next, strategist?"

Gurvi let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Honestly? I have no idea." He leaned back in his chair. "But for the first time... I don't think I have to figure it out alone."

A comfortable silence settled over them, the weight of the past few days finally beginning to lift.

Tom set his utensils down and leaned forward, his expression turning serious. "Gurvinder, the interview helped, but it's not the end of this fight. Your case is still ongoing."

Gurvi exhaled, his jaw tightening. He had known this moment would come, but after the whirlwind of the past few days, he hadn't wanted to think about it just yet. "I know," he said, rubbing his temple. "Winning the public over doesn't mean winning in court."

Sabine nodded. "But it does help. If the people support you, it puts pressure on the system. It makes it harder for them to brush this aside."

Tom sighed. "We have proof now—those pictures, your scars, everything. But your uncle… he's not going to back down easily. And then there's the fact that you're here illegally."

Marinette clenched her fists, the thought of Gurvi being taken away making her stomach twist. "We're not letting them send you back to that man."

Gurvi glanced at her, seeing the fire in her eyes. He smiled slightly, reaching under the table to give her hand a small squeeze. "I know."

Tom sighed again, looking at both of them. "We need to be smart about this. The bakery is recovering, but we still have a long road ahead. This fight isn't over."

Gurvi leaned back, running a hand over his face. "Then we keep going." His voice was steady, determined. "I've made it this far. I'm not stopping now."

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit office, Gabriel sat across from André, his fingers steepled in thought. The news of Gurvinder's interview had spread like wildfire, shifting public opinion in his favor. What was supposed to ruin him had only made him stronger.

André scowled, pacing the room. "This isn't how it was supposed to go," he muttered. "That interview turned him into some kind of hero. People are sympathizing with him."

Gabriel remained calm, but his sharp gaze flickered with irritation. "Public perception is fickle. But we have something he doesn't—power." He reached for his phone, dialing a number. After a few rings, a rough voice answered.

"Hello?"

Gabriel's lips curled into a calculated smirk. "Mr. Singh," he greeted, his tone smooth yet menacing. "I assume you've seen the news."

There was a pause before Gurvinder's uncle spoke, his voice laced with resentment. "I have. That boy should have been on the streets, not sitting in some fancy bakery, winning over Paris."

André leaned forward. "Then it's time you remind him where he belongs."

The uncle scoffed. "I've been trying. But he's slippery, just like his father was."

Gabriel's voice turned cold. "You've been too passive. Now, listen carefully. We have the resources to turn this around, but we need your cooperation."

The line went silent for a moment before the uncle finally asked, "What do you need me to do?"

André smirked. "It's simple. You're his legal guardian, aren't you? Time to claim what's yours."

and how can i do that asked mahendra

Gabriel exchanged a glance with André before leaning forward, his voice measured and precise.

"You still have legal guardianship over him, correct?"

The uncle hesitated before replying, "Yes, but he's been living in Paris under someone else's care. The courts might not take my side so easily."

André scoffed. "That's where you're wrong. You don't need the court to take your side—you just need to make enough noise."

Gabriel continued smoothly. "File a legal claim against the bakery owners, accuse them of illegally harboring him. Play the concerned guardian—say you've been searching for him, that he ran away, and now he's being manipulated by outsiders."

The uncle grunted, considering it. "That could work… but what if he fights back?"

Gabriel's smirk deepened. "Then we make sure he can't. We leak documents showing he entered France illegally. Let the law handle the rest. Once he's declared an illegal immigrant, they'll have no choice but to hand him over to you."

André added, "And when that happens, we ensure his 'safe return' to India—permanently."

The uncle chuckled darkly. "You two are more ruthless than I thought."

Gabriel's expression remained cold. "We prefer the term 'strategic.' Now, do we have an agreement?"

There was a brief silence before the uncle finally answered, "I'll make the call first thing tomorrow."

The next morning, as the sun cast a warm glow over the bakery, Sabine went to check the mail. The usual bills and advertisements were there—but one envelope stood out. It was thick, official-looking, and carried the emblem of the French judiciary system.

Frowning, she opened it. As her eyes scanned the contents, her breath hitched.

"Tom!" she called urgently.

Tom, who was preparing the morning dough, wiped his hands and walked over. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, Sabine handed him the letter. As he read, his grip on the paper tightened.

It was a court summons.

Gurvinder's legal guardian—his uncle—had officially filed a case against them, accusing them of illegally harboring him. The letter detailed allegations that Gurvi was an undocumented immigrant and that they had knowingly sheltered him despite his illegal status. It also demanded his immediate return to his legal guardian.

Sabine placed a trembling hand over her mouth. "They're trying to take him away."

Tom exhaled sharply, trying to control his anger. "No. They won't. We're fighting this."

Just then, Marinette came down the stairs, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked sleepily, but as soon as she saw their serious expressions and the letter in Tom's hands, she knew something was wrong.

Gurvinder stepped out of his room a moment later, his hair still damp from a morning shower, adjusting his turban. He noticed their tense posture immediately.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone cautious.

Tom hesitated, but he knew there was no point in hiding it. He handed the letter to Gurvi.

As Gurvi read, his fingers tightened around the paper. His jaw clenched, but his expression was eerily calm. He took a slow breath before looking up.

"So, this is how they want to play it." His voice was quiet but firm.

Marinette's hands balled into fists. "This isn't fair! We have proof of what your uncle did to you. The court can't just ignore that!"

Tom nodded. "We're not backing down. If they want a fight, we'll give them one."

Gurvi glanced at the family—the people who had given him a home, love, and a reason to keep fighting. His heart was heavy, but his resolve was stronger.

"They want me gone," he murmured, "but they don't know who they're dealing with."

His eyes darkened with determination.

"I'm not running anymore."

Gurvinder lowered the letter, his fingers tightening around the edges before he placed it firmly on the table. His gaze was sharp, unwavering.

"We're done pleading for guardianship," he said, his voice steady but laced with finality. "No more asking, no more begging. We're flipping this fight."

Tom and Sabine exchanged glances, seeing the fire in his eyes.

"We're filing our own case," Gurvi continued. "Child labor. Child abuse. Physical and emotional torture. Every single crime my uncle committed—I'm bringing it all to light."

A tense silence filled the room, but it wasn't of fear. It was of resolution. They weren't just defending anymore—they were attacking.

Tom nodded firmly. "Then that's what we'll do."

Sabine exhaled, trying to shake the nervousness from her chest. She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Gurvi's arm. "We're with you."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. He gave her a nod before turning away.

Marinette silently took his hand, leading him upstairs to her room. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on them, but the moment the door shut behind them, Gurvi fell into a deep, unsettling silence.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his head slightly lowered, fingers laced together. Marinette watched him carefully. Usually, when he was angry, he cracked jokes, made sarcastic remarks—tried to act like it didn't affect him. But this time, he was just... quiet.

Too quiet.

She slowly sat beside him, close enough that their arms touched. "Gurvi… talk to me."

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched.

For the first time in a long time, Marinette wasn't sure what he was thinking.

Gurvinder exhaled sharply, his hands gripping his knees as he stared at the floor. His voice was low, unsteady.

"I'm scared, Marinette… I… how long can I keep fighting?" He swallowed hard, his shoulders tense. "I'm not some politician. I don't have power. The interview worked because people felt sympathy, but the court…" He let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. "What if it doesn't work there? What if it all goes against me?"

Marinette's heart clenched at the rare vulnerability in his voice. She had seen him take hit after hit—physically, emotionally—yet he always stood back up. But now, he wasn't just preparing for another punch. He was afraid he might lose everything.

She reached out, gently placing her hand over his. "Gurvi…"

He flinched slightly at the touch but didn't pull away. His fingers twitched under hers, and she squeezed them reassuringly.

"You're not fighting alone," she reminded him softly. "And you're not just relying on sympathy. This isn't just about emotions—this is about truth. We have evidence, witnesses. Your uncle can't hide from what he did forever."

Gurvinder clenched his jaw, his throat tight. "But what if it's not enough?"

Marinette turned his hand over and laced her fingers with his, firm and steady. "Then we keep going. No matter what happens, I'm not letting you go through this alone."

He finally looked up at her, searching her eyes for any hesitation. But there was none—just unwavering determination. A shaky breath left his lips, and for the first time since he read that letter, some of the tension in his body eased.

"…Thank you," he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Marinette smiled softly, leaning her forehead against his. "Always."

Gurvinder's grip on her hand tightened as he took a shaky breath, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His voice trembled as he spoke.

"You know, Mari… I'm not scared of losing school, or being sent back to India, or even ending up on the streets again." He turned towards her, his eyes glistening, his jaw clenched as if holding back something too painful to let out.

"I'm scared of losing you."

His voice cracked on the last word. His fingers curled tightly around hers as though she might slip away if he didn't hold on hard enough. "I love you, Marinette," he whispered, his throat tightening. "So much that it hurts."

Marinette's breath hitched as she saw the raw emotion in his eyes—the same boy who had stood fearless in front of twelve men, who had taken every hit life threw at him without breaking, now standing before her completely undone.

Her free hand cupped his face, her thumb tracing the damp trail of a tear that had escaped despite his efforts. "Gurvi…" she whispered, feeling her heart ache at the depth of his words.

She didn't hesitate. She leaned in, pressing a firm, lingering kiss against his lips. Not just to comfort him, but to tell him without words—I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

As they pulled apart, she rested her forehead against his. "You're not losing me," she promised, her voice steady, certain. "Not now. Not ever."

Marinette held him close, her fingers running gently over his knuckles as he held onto her like a lifeline. She could feel the weight of his words pressing into her heart—because deep down, she felt the same fear.

She was terrified too.

What if they lost? What if everything they built together was torn apart? What if he was taken away from her?

But she couldn't say it. She couldn't let her fear show—not when he needed her to be strong.

So instead, she pressed another soft kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment. Then, with a small smile, she whispered, "Then we fight, Gurvi. No matter what happens, we fight together."

She didn't know what the future held, but she knew one thing for certain—she wouldn't let him carry this burden alone.