Mahendra sat in his dimly lit office, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, his expression dark and unreadable. His men stood around him, silent, waiting for his reaction.

The interview had changed everything. The court case wasn't just a minor inconvenience anymore—it was a threat. Gurvinder wasn't just some runaway he had lost control over. He was living, breathing evidence of the crimes Mahendra had buried deep.

If that boy showed up in court, with public sympathy behind him, it wouldn't just be a legal battle. It would be war. His carefully maintained image would be torn apart, and with it, his entire business.

He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl upward. "That boy is becoming a problem," he muttered, his voice cold. "And problems need to be dealt with."

His goons exchanged glances. They knew what that meant.

Mahendra leaned forward, pressing his fingers together. "Make sure he never steps into that courtroom."

One of Mahendra's men hesitated before speaking. "Boss, the mayor and Gabriel told you to fight the case. They want you to win legally, not… escalate things."

Mahendra let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You think this is about winning a court case?" He leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting in the dim light. "That boy isn't just some legal nuisance. He is a loaded gun pointed straight at my head."

The men remained silent, uneasy.

Mahendra exhaled sharply. "You don't understand. This isn't about some custody battle. If Gurvinder sets foot in that courtroom, every crime I buried will come crawling out. The beatings, the fights, the businesses I used him for—it won't just ruin me; it will bury me."

One of the goons shifted uncomfortably. "But… you raised him, boss. You really want to—"

Mahendra's fist slammed onto the table, silencing the room. His voice was eerily calm, but laced with lethal intent.

"I don't want to hurt him." He leaned back, a cruel smirk forming. "I want him dead."

One of the goons swallowed hard and spoke hesitantly. "Boss... what if the public thinks you did it? After the interview, he's got people on his side. If something happens to him now, all eyes will be on you."

Mahendra exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples. "Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course, I know that." He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous. "That's why it has to look like an accident. A robbery gone wrong. A street fight. Anything but a hit. The moment he dies, the case dies with him."

The men exchanged uneasy glances.

"But boss," another spoke up, "Gabriel and the mayor—"

"They want this case gone, just like I do," Mahendra interrupted coldly. "And if they have half a brain, they won't ask questions when the problem solves itself."

A cruel smirk spread across his lips. "Gurvinder's luck is running out."

Marinette sat at her usual lunch spot, absentmindedly twirling her fork in her pasta while her phone rested against her juice box. On the screen, a YouTube video played—"How to Tie a Sikh Turban Step-by-Step Guide"—with a man carefully wrapping the long cloth around his head, explaining each fold and tuck in detail.

She leaned in, brows furrowed as she tried to memorize the steps. Fold the cloth neatly... wrap it firmly but not too tight... make sure the layers are smooth...

Alya, sitting across from her, raised an eyebrow. "Girl, what are you watching?"

Marinette quickly locked her phone, cheeks flushing. "N-nothing!"

Alya smirked, resting her chin on her hand. "Uh-huh. So you're just casually watching turban tutorials?"

Marinette sighed, poking at her pasta. "I just... I noticed sometimes Gurvi has to redo his turban when it gets messed up. And he always does it himself. I just thought... maybe I could help someday."

Alya's teasing smirk softened into a warm smile. "Marinette, that's actually really sweet."

Marinette shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "It's not a big deal. I just want to understand him better."

Alya nudged her playfully. "You're so in love, it's adorable."

Marinette groaned, but deep down, she couldn't help but smile.

Marinette groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Alya, please! We're in love, yes, but don't scream it like that!"

Alya laughed, leaning closer. "Oh, come on, girl! You're sitting here learning how to tie his turban—if that's not love, I don't know what is."

Marinette peeked at her through her fingers. "I just want to understand him better. It's not a big deal."

Alya gave her a knowing look. "Mmm-hmm, sure. Next thing I know, you'll be learning how to wrestle twelve guys just to match his energy."

Marinette rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at her lips. "I swear, sometimes I regret telling you things."

Alya grinned. "Nah, you love me."

Marinette sighed, shaking her head, but her heart felt lighter.

Marinette sat in class, staring at her notebook but not really seeing the words. Her mind was elsewhere—on Gurvi, on the court case, on everything that had happened in such a short time.

Gurvi hadn't been coming to school lately. He was preparing himself for the trial, for facing his uncle—his worst nightmare. She could only imagine the weight on his shoulders.

She sighed, tapping her pencil against the desk. It felt strange not having him around. The school felt different, quieter in a way she didn't like. Even Adrien and Nino had noticed, asking if she had heard from him. But she had no real answer.

He was fighting, just like he always did. But this time, it wasn't just fists and strategy—it was legal battles, public scrutiny, and deep, painful memories clawing their way to the surface.

She gripped her pencil tighter. I just hope he knows he's not fighting alone.

The school day dragged on, but Marinette couldn't escape the whispers. No matter where she went—the hallways, the cafeteria, even the classroom—there were murmurs about her and Gurvi.

Some were supportive. "Did you see the interview? He's been through so much… Marinette's amazing for standing by him."

Others weren't so kind. "She's ruining her future for a thug." "What if he really did all those things?"

She clenched her fists, keeping her head high. She knew the truth. She had seen the real Gurvi—the boy who had suffered, fought, and still found a way to smile. Let them talk.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the worry. What if Gurvi heard all of this?

As soon as the teacher left, the classroom buzzed with movement. One by one, students gathered around Marinette. She blinked in surprise, looking up from her notebook as Alya and Nino stood beside her, their expressions serious.

Adrien crossed his arms, watching quietly, while others hesitated before speaking.

"We… we just wanted to say," Rose started, glancing around, "that we're sorry."

Marinette furrowed her brows. "Sorry? For what?"

Juleka sighed. "For not helping you and Gurvi enough."

Mylène nodded. "We saw everything—the interview, the way he's fighting this battle alone. And we just… we feel ashamed. He's one of us, but we let him carry this weight alone."

Kim looked down. "I thought he was just another fighter looking for trouble, but I was wrong. We all were."

Marinette looked at each of them, her heart tightening. They finally understood.

She wanted to tell them it was okay, that they didn't know, but deep down, she knew it hadn't been okay. Gurvi had suffered in silence for too long.

Instead, she smiled softly. "It's not too late. He needs all the support he can get."

The class exchanged glances, determination lighting their faces. This time, they wouldn't just stand by.

Marinette sat on her bed, hugging her knees as she stared at the floor. The evening light filtered through her window, casting long shadows across her room. Downstairs, she could faintly hear the sounds of the bakery—customers chatting, the bell jingling, and Gurvi's voice as he handled orders. It was a comforting sound, yet it did little to ease the tightness in her chest.

Her parents were in the living room, going through stacks of paperwork, their voices occasionally rising in discussion. The court hearing was looming closer, and with every passing day, the reality of it weighed heavier on her.

She wasn't naive—she knew how cruel the world could be. And she knew that just because the public sided with Gurvi now didn't mean the legal system would. The thought of losing him, of seeing him taken away, made her stomach twist.

Her fingers dug into her arms as she clenched her legs tighter. What if they lost? What if his uncle won? What if…

She shook her head, forcing herself to breathe. No. Gurvi had fought his entire life to survive. He wasn't alone anymore.

But as much as she told herself that, the fear still lingered. Because the truth was—she couldn't imagine a life without him.

Marinette buried her face into her knees, her heart aching with unspoken words. She wanted to tell him—wanted to tell him how much he meant to her, how deeply she loved him, how the thought of losing him made it hard to breathe.

But every time she opened her mouth, the words wouldn't come.

She wasn't sure if it was fear or something else, but the weight of everything—the court case, the murmurs at school, the uncertainty of the future—made her feel like if she admitted how much she loved him, it would only make the pain worse if things went wrong.

Her grip tightened on the fabric of her pants as she glanced toward the door. He was right downstairs. She could just go to him, hold him, tell him everything in her heart.

But she stayed where she was, unable to move, afraid of what the truth might bring.

Tikki hovered in the air, her little face filled with concern as she watched Marinette sit there, completely lost in her thoughts. The usual spark in her eyes was dim, replaced by an exhaustion that went far deeper than just being tired.

"Marinette," Tikki spoke softly, floating closer, "what's wrong?"

Marinette let out a shaky breath, rubbing her arms. "I… I don't know, Tikki," she whispered. "I just—everything is happening so fast. The court case, the bakery, the school… Gurvi. And I—I love him so much, but I'm scared."

Tikki tilted her head. "Scared of what?"

Marinette swallowed hard. "That I might lose him," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "That after everything we've fought for, something will happen and take him away from me." She clenched her fists. "I don't want to hold back my feelings, but what if telling him only makes it worse? What if—"

Tikki gently landed on Marinette's shoulder, nuzzling against her cheek. "You're not just afraid of losing him, Marinette. You're afraid that if you say it out loud, it'll make everything real."

Marinette shut her eyes tightly, feeling the truth of Tikki's words hit her deep.

Marinette hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The past months flashed through her mind—how it all started, the struggles, the fights, the laughter, the nights they spent just talking. From the moment she first saw him, cold and alone, to now—where he had carved a place in her heart so deep, she couldn't imagine life without him.

Winter was settling in. Almost a year had passed since he entered her life. It felt surreal.

She knew Gurvi loved her. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he protected her, in how he always put her first even when he had nothing. But making things official… saying the words out loud… what if it scared him? What if, with everything already weighing on him, this became too much?

Would he pull away? Would he feel guilty, thinking he was holding her back?

Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced invisible patterns on her blanket. She wanted to be his home, his safe place. But what if her love became another burden on his already tired shoulders?

Down in the bakery, the warm scent of fresh pastries filled the air as customers came and went. Behind the counter, Gurvinder wiped his hands on a cloth just as Tom approached him, holding out a neatly counted stack of cash along with a check.

"This is half of today's sales," Tom said, placing the money in Gurvi's hands. "And this check needs to be deposited in the bank."

Gurvi raised a brow. "You sure you want me handling this much money, Uncle Tom?" he asked, a hint of his usual teasing nature returning.

Tom chuckled, shaking his head. "Of course, I trust you, kid. You've been helping out here for months now." His voice softened slightly. "Besides, you're family."

Gurvi looked down at the money in his hands for a moment before nodding. He carefully tucked it into his pocket, adjusting his neatly tied turban before grabbing his jacket. "Alright, I'll be back soon."

"Be careful," Tom called after him as Gurvi stepped out into the chilly evening air.

As Gurvinder walked through the streets, the crisp evening air brushing against his face, his mind was consumed by the upcoming court case. Tom and Sabine had already filed everything, and now, with just a week left until the hearing, the weight of it all pressed heavily on his shoulders.

His fingers instinctively curled into fists in his pockets. This wasn't just about proving his innocence anymore—it was about exposing Mahendra for everything he had done. The thought of standing in court, facing the man who had tormented him for years, sent a chill down his spine.

Would justice be on his side? Would the truth be enough?

He exhaled sharply, shaking off the doubt. No matter how scared he was, he had come too far to back down now.

As Gurvinder walked, his thoughts drifted from the case to something far more personal—Marinette.

Almost a year had passed since he had entered her life, and in that time, she had become his anchor. He had never dared to dream of a future before, never allowed himself to believe in something as simple as happiness. But now… now he wanted it.

He thought about her clumsy rants, her determination, the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn't noticing. The way she stood by him despite everything.

Could he really have a life with her? Could he finally have a home, not just a place to sleep?

The idea of forever with Marinette was terrifying, not because he didn't want it, but because he did. More than anything.

As he walked, the thought of going back to India crept into his mind.

What if the case didn't go in his favor? What if he was forced to leave?

Would he be back on the streets, fighting to survive again? Would he return to the life he had barely escaped, where every day was a battle for food, shelter, and safety?

And worst of all—would he lose Marinette?

The thought hit him like a punch to the gut. He had fought so hard, but was it enough? Would the court care about his pain, his past, or the life he had built here? Or would they simply see him as an outsider, someone who didn't belong?

His grip tightened around the envelope of money. No. He wouldn't let that happen.

No matter what, he had to fight. For himself. For the Dupains. For Marinette.

But… what if it all shattered?

What if everything he had built here—the love, the warmth, the family—was ripped away from him?

What if the court didn't care about his suffering? What if they only saw papers, technicalities, and cold, lifeless laws?

What if, after everything, he was still powerless?

The thought made his steps slow. His chest felt tight, his grip on the money trembling slightly.

Would Marinette move on? Would she forget him with time? He knew she loved him—he felt it in every touch, every glance—but life went on, didn't it?

Would Tom and Sabine regret taking him in? Would they wish they had never fought this battle, never put their business and reputation on the line?

His heart pounded in his ears. The city around him felt distant, like an echo.

What if… after all of this… he was still left with nothing?

As Gurvinder stepped into the bank, he immediately felt the weight of a dozen eyes on him.

Whispers. Murmurs. Stares.

He hesitated, gripping the envelope and cheque tighter. His heart pounded as he caught bits of hushed conversations.

"That's him… the boy from the interview."

"The one with those scars…"

"Did you see how Marinette kissed him? Damn."

"Isn't he the kid fighting a court case?"

Gurvi exhaled slowly, forcing himself forward. He had been through worse. Stares didn't break bones. Words didn't leave bruises.

Still… the way they looked at him—some with curiosity, some with pity, some with admiration—made his skin crawl.

He stepped toward the counter, his jaw tight. The teller blinked, then offered him a small, hesitant smile.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

Gurvi cleared his throat, sliding the cheque forward. "Deposit this."

The woman nodded, taking the papers, but even as she worked, he could feel the weight of the room pressing on him.

He wasn't just some guy handling business at the bank. He was Gurvinder Singh. The boy with a case. The boy with scars. The boy everyone suddenly had an opinion about.

As Gurvi waited, a man in his late thirties stepped up beside him. Dressed in a formal suit, he glanced at Gurvi before speaking in a low, respectful tone.

"You know, kid… you're an inspiration."

Gurvi turned slightly, raising a brow. "Huh?"

The man smiled. "For people like us—immigrants, fighters—who are trying to build a life in a new country. You didn't just survive… you fought. No matter how hard it got, you kept going. That's something to respect."

Gurvi blinked, caught off guard. He had heard admiration before, but this was different. This wasn't just about his fight in the streets or his scars—it was about something deeper.

Before he could respond, the woman at the counter handed him the receipt. She smiled gently. "And you're lucky, you know? To have someone like Marinette by your side."

Gurvi chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "I know," he said, tucking the receipt into his pocket.

For once, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter.