Chapter 38 Chapter thirty eight
AANYA
The community centre felt like a sanctuary compared to the chaos everywhere else.
Inside those walls, no one cared that Crown Estate's lawyers had called me naive and professionally unqualified. The families I worked with cared whether I could help their children get tutoring, whether I could navigate the byzantine system of educational support services, whether I showed up and actually listened.
But even there, the lawsuit found me.
I was in the middle of an intake meeting with a mother whose son had been expelled from school after their family was displaced, when Rosa knocked on the door.
"Aanya, can I speak with you for a moment?"
I excused myself, stepped into the corridor.
Rosa looked uncomfortable. "The centre received a call this morning. From Crown Estate's legal team. They are requesting documentation of your employment. Your qualifications. Your job responsibilities. Everything."
My stomach sank. "They are investigating whether I am qualified to do this job."
"They are building a case that you lack professional expertise in everything. Including community work." Rosa hesitated. "I have to provide the documentation. It is a legal request. But I wanted you to know it is coming."
"What will it show?"
"That you have been here for two weeks. That you have a degree in History of Art. That you have no formal training in social work or community development or educational support services. That you are learning as you go."
"So it will prove exactly what they are claiming. That I have no professional expertise."
"It will prove that you are new to this work. But Aanya, you are good at this work. The families like you. You are helping people. That matters more than credentials."
"Does it? When Crown Estate's lawyers use my employment here to argue that I have no professional judgment and should not have made public statements about their practices?"
Rosa was quiet for a moment. "Do you want to resign? To avoid giving them ammunition?"
The question hung between us.
Two weeks ago, I would have said yes. I would have protected the centre by removing myself as a liability.
But two weeks ago, I had not met Amara and her daughters. I had not helped the single father get his son assessed for dyslexia. I had not watched families navigate impossible systems and realized I could actually make a difference.
"No," I said. "I am not resigning. If Crown Estate wants to use my employment here against me, fine. But I am not going to stop doing real work to make their legal strategy easier."
Rosa smiled. "Good answer. Get back to your intake meeting. I will handle the legal request."
I returned to the meeting, trying to focus on the mother across from me who needed help getting her son back into school, not on the fact that Crown Estate was currently pulling my employment records to prove I was professionally inadequate.
By the time I finished my meetings and headed to Dev's flat that evening, I was exhausted.
He met me at the door, pulled me into his arms before I could even say hello.
"Rough day?" he asked.
"Crown Estate requested my employment records from the community centre. They are documenting that I have no professional qualifications for anything."
"Neither do most people when they start a job. You learn by doing."
"That is not how Crown Estate's lawyers are going to present it."
"Probably not. But it is the truth." He led me inside. The flat smelled like cooking. "Giulia is working late. Marco is at football practice. Mum is at her evening job. We have the place to ourselves until at least nine."
"You cooked?"
"I attempted to cook. Whether it is actually edible remains to be seen."
He had made pasta with vegetables and garlic bread. Simple food, but it smelled wonderful. We ate at the small table, both of us too tired to make much conversation.
Afterward, we moved to the sofa bed. He had already converted it, and I wondered if he had been planning this or if it had become habit to have it ready for us.
"I got an email from Sarah," Dev said. "Crown Estate is requesting depositions. From both of us. Next week."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we sit in a room with their lawyers and answer questions under oath. They will ask about the timeline of our relationship. About how I influenced your statements. About my research methodology. About my father's death. About everything they can think of to make us look bad."
"And we have to answer?"
"Yes. Under oath. With everything we say becoming part of the legal record."
I leaned against him, suddenly feeling the full weight of what we were facing.
"I am so tired, Dev. Of fighting. Of being questioned. Of waking up every day knowing that people are analyzing whether I am naive or manipulated or professionally incompetent. I just want this to be over."
"I know. Me too."
"What if we lose? What if Crown Estate wins and we are bankrupted and your career is destroyed and everyone remembers us as the naive princess and the revenge-seeking researcher who tried to take down an institution and failed?"
"Then we lose. But we lose together. And we rebuild together. And we know we fought for something that mattered." He pulled me closer. "I would rather fight and lose than never fight at all. My father deserves that. The families being displaced deserve that. And we deserve to know we tried."
"Even if it costs us everything?"
"Even then."
We sat in silence for a while, the weight of tomorrow and the depositions and the lawsuit pressing down on both of us.
"Make me forget," I said finally. "Just for tonight. Make me forget about Crown Estate and lawyers and depositions and everything else. I just want to be here with you."
He kissed me, and for a few hours, the rest of the world disappeared.