Chapter 42 Chapter fourty two

Chapter 42 Chapter fourty two
DEV

"What?" I asked.

Aanya was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully in the way she did when she was about to say something she knew I would not want to hear.

"I have been thinking about money. About your family's situation. About rent and expenses and how you are going to survive the next six weeks with your mother unable to work."

"Aanya..."

"Let me finish. I know what you are going to say. I know you are going to tell me no before I even finish the sentence. But I need you to actually listen before you refuse."

I sat back. "I am listening."

"Rosa told me last week that the community centre received a grant application approval. One I wrote and submitted six weeks ago when I first started working there. It is for educational access programs in displacement-affected communities. Twelve thousand pounds. Available immediately."

I stared at her. "What does that have to do with our rent situation?"

"Nothing directly. But it means Rosa has budget flexibility she did not have before. Which means she offered me a raise. Not much. But enough that I could contribute more to shared expenses." She paused. "And it means I have proven I can write grant applications. Which means I can write more. For other organizations. For community groups that need funding but do not have someone who knows how to navigate the application process."

"You want to write grant applications for money."

"I want to use the skills I have been developing to generate income that actually helps people. Including, right now, your family." She met my eyes steadily. "Rosa already connected me with three other community organizations that need grant writing help. It would not be much initially. Maybe two hundred pounds per application. But Dev, I can write three or four applications a week in addition to my regular work. That is potentially six hundred to eight hundred pounds a month in additional income."

I was quiet, processing this.

"This is not charity," she said firmly, reading my expression. "This is not me calling my father or accepting palace money or doing anything that compromises either of us. This is me using skills I have developed doing legitimate work to help us through a crisis. That is different."

"It is still you rescuing my family."

"It is me contributing to a partnership. Which is what people in relationships do when things get hard. They find solutions together." She held my gaze. "Or would you prefer to watch your family lose their flat while protecting your pride?"

The words landed harder than she probably intended. But she was not wrong.

"How soon could you start?" I asked quietly.

"I already have. I submitted two applications this week. One for a literacy program in Hackney, one for after-school support in Lewisham. If either comes through, that is payment on delivery. Rosa is also paying me immediately for the work, not waiting for grant approval."

"So you have already been doing this."

"I have been doing this for three weeks. I did not tell you because I knew you would try to refuse it and we had enough to worry about." She did not look apologetic. "The first payment came through yesterday. Four hundred pounds. I deposited it this morning."

I stared at her. "You have been quietly solving our financial crisis for three weeks without telling me."

"I have been quietly helping where I could without making you feel like I was rescuing you. There is a difference."

I wanted to be angry. Wanted to argue about transparency and partnership and making decisions together. But sitting in my tiny flat with the trial three days away and my mother recovering from heart surgery and rent due in a week, I could not manufacture outrage at someone who had quietly, practically, without drama, figured out how to help.

"Thank you," I said finally.

She blinked, clearly expecting more resistance. "That is all? Just thank you?"

"What else would you like me to say? You are right. I was letting pride get in the way of practical solutions. You found a solution that does not compromise either of us and implemented it without making me feel like a charity case. That is..." I paused, looking for the right word. "That is very you. Practical and thoughtful and slightly infuriating."

"Slightly infuriating is fair."

"Very infuriating. Lovably so."

She almost smiled. "We still need to talk about the longer-term finances. Six weeks is a long time. Grant writing will help but it is not going to cover everything."

"I know. But it is enough for now. Enough to get through the trial." I reached for her hand. "After the trial, we figure out the rest. Deal?"

"Deal."

We sat in silence for a moment. The flat was very quiet. Outside, London continued at its usual pace, indifferent to the crisis happening inside this small space.

"Aanya."

"Yes?"

"I need to ask you something. And I need you to be honest."

She tensed slightly. "All right."

"When I asked if the lawsuit was worth it earlier. When I said look what it has cost. What were you thinking? What was your honest answer?"

She was quiet for a long moment.

"I was thinking about Amara Hassan," she said finally. "The mother I met on my first day at the community centre. Two daughters. Displaced from Southwark. Struggling in temporary housing forty-five minutes from her job. Her daughter nearly held back a year because of disruption caused by a Crown Estate development." She looked at me. "And I was thinking about your father. About Lorenzo filing safety reports that were ignored. About a man trying to do his job properly and dying because an institution decided his life was worth less than the cost of fixing violations."

"And?"

"And I think yes. It is worth it. Not because we are going to win necessarily. Not because the world is going to change because two people fought an institution. But because the alternative is pretending it does not matter. Performing concern while changing nothing. I did that for twenty-seven years. I am not going back to it." She squeezed my hand. "But I also think the cost is real. Your mother's health is real. Our financial stress is real. The toll this has taken on both of us is real. And we are allowed to acknowledge that fighting for truth is hard without deciding it was wrong."

"You are much wiser than you give yourself credit for."

"I have had an excellent teacher. He writes very good research on institutional accountability."

Despite everything, I almost smiled. "Flattery."

"Fact." She leaned against me. "Dev, whatever happens at trial. Win or lose. We are going to be all right. I genuinely believe that."

"How? How can you be certain?"

"Because six weeks ago I was sleeping on Priya's sofa with thirty pounds to my name and no idea how to buy coffee. And now I have a job I am good at, skills I am developing, a family that has welcomed me, and a man I love who sat outside in the rain all night waiting for me. Things change. Situations change. We adapt." She tilted her face up toward mine. "We are going to be all right."

I kissed her because there were no words adequate for what I felt in that moment. She kissed me back with the same quiet certainty she had just put into words.

When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers.

"The trial starts in three days," I said.

"I know."

"And we still need Antonio Ruiz's documents authenticated. And James might not find the site manager. And Crown Estate is going to attack everything we have built."

"I know all of that."

"And you still think we are going to be all right."

"I still think we are going to be all right."

I pulled her closer, and she settled against me, and we sat like that while the city hummed outside and the clock ticked toward the trial that would determine everything.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number. Text message.

I opened it without thinking, then went completely still.

"What is it?" Aanya asked, feeling me tense.

I handed her the phone.

The message read: Dr. Marchetti. This is Antonio Ruiz. The man Crown Estate asked to testify about your father. I need to talk to you. Alone. Tonight if possible. I have information you need to hear.

Aanya looked up from the phone. "This could be a trap."

"Or it could be exactly what we need."

"It is midnight, Dev."

"I know."

She was already reaching for her jacket. "Then we should not keep him waiting."

"He said come alone."

She fixed me with a look that made it very clear she was not staying behind.

"Right," I said. "Together."