Jhanvi Rathore.
She was as normal as they got, besides the fact that she had no friends.
Jhanvi, an overachiever, academic weapon, she thought she was just a normal indian teenager, but she wasnt.
The De Santis family, also known as the italian ma...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I drove briskly through the bustling streets of Gurgaon, the weight of the family legacy pressing heavily on my shoulders. My brothers and I had been searching for years, following every lead, every whisper. Today felt different—today felt like the day we might finally find her. My heart pounded in anticipation, and I kept a sharp lookout, scanning the faces around me.
Then, amid the crowd, I spotted her. A girl with a familiar aura, lost in her thoughts, scrolling through her phone. It wasn't her face that first caught my attention; it was the ring on her finger. The ring with the unmistakable initials "J.D.S." My breath caught, and I immediately signaled the driver to stop.
As she entered a grocery store, I followed her, the urgency driving me forward. Stepping into the shop, I noticed her chatting with the owner, her laughter light and unaware of the storm that was about to descend on her life.
"Excuse me," I said sharply, approaching her. "Where did you get that ring?"
She looked up, startled and defensive, but didn't respond. I tapped her on the shoulder, my patience wearing thin. "Excuse me," I repeated, my voice more insistent. "Where did you get that ring?"
She stared at me, confusion and suspicion in her eyes. The shop owner, sensing the tension, intervened. "Sab theek hai, Jhanvi?"
Her response was hesitant, and then she turned to leave, clearly uncomfortable. I couldn't let her go. "I asked you a question," I said, my voice laced with frustration. "Where. Did. You. Get. The. Ring?"
Finally, she responded, "My father left it to me," hoping I would let the matter drop. But this was too important.
"Where is your father?" I asked, my tone softening slightly, though still firm.
"I don't know, and I don't care," she snapped, her annoyance clear. Her defiance made me pause, and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of the fiery spirit that ran in our blood.
"Can I see it?" I asked, my voice gentler now. She hesitated but slowly lifted her hand, the ring gleaming on her finger. I reached out, my fingers tracing the familiar engraving. "J.D.S.," I whispered. "Do you know what it means?"
"No, I presume it's my father's last name," she replied, still annoyed.
"It stands for Jhanvi De Santis," I said, watching as the realization dawned on her. Her confusion deepened.
"Look, mister, you have the wrong person. My name is Jhanvi Rathore," she insisted, her voice shaking slightly.
"Bambina," I said softly, touching her arm. "You're my sister."
Her reaction was swift and fierce. "I don't understand," she said, her voice trembling.
"You need to come with me. We have a lot to talk about," I urged, but she shook her head, fear and confusion battling in her eyes.
