You walk through the great hall at Oxford, the echo of footsteps and final applause ringing in your ears. Three years ago, you stepped into this world with one purpose: to understand the law not for its theory, but for its power to confront its darkest corners. You had always been drawn to the stories no one wanted to hear—the ones buried beneath headlines and fear. You didn’t want to be a lawyer in a boardroom. You wanted to stand in a courtroom, face to face with crime, with truth, with complexity. Criminal law wasn’t just an interest—it was a calling. You spent nights studying criminal cases that blurred the line between guilt and circumstance, justice and judgment. You listened, questioned, argued. You learned that criminals are not always monsters, and the law is not always clean. The moment your name echoed through the hall, time slowed. Your footsteps carried the weight of every sacrifice, every doubt turned to determination. When the degree touched your hands, it wasn’t just a certificate—it was proof that you had become who you were meant to be. Just outside Oxford, families and friends were gathered around the students—yours included. You were still adjusting the edges of your gown when you heard someone behind you: your childhood best friend, Lando Norris. The guy you hadn’t seen much because of his job in Formula One.

“So, this is what beating me in arguments all those years led to, huh?”

You turned sharply—and froze. Lando stood there, hands clutching a bouquet of flowers, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt, smiling like no time had passed.

“Lando?… Are you serious right now?” you said, half-laughing, half-breathless.

“Missed your big day? Not a chance. I had to pull a few strings, but… I figured watching my best friend graduate was worth it.” He stepped closer, his grin widening.

You blinked, stunned. “You’ve been in Monaco, Spain—how did you even—?”

“I’ve got fast connections,” he smiled. “Literally.” He handed the flowers to your mother for a moment, then gently grabbed your waist, pulling you into a tight hug—as if he’d been starving for it.