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“Oh My God. Are you okay Mr. Raichand?” Rudra screams in shock.
I am barely breathing but my gaze is still fixed on her as she stares between me and my bloodied palm. Mohit keeps shaking me to lead me away to get me treated but I don’t think I care. She’s Jhanvi. I can feel it; I can feel that same heat radiating off my body which always did for her when she was around. Those same black eyes, radiant face, hearty feminine lips and the narrow-angle jawline. It belongs to my Jhanvi. I know her body more than my own and I can’t be wrong.
The next instant, I extend my arm towards her, to touch her, to take her in my arms, and to believe she was truly here standing before me, blood and flesh, but that action of mine scares her and she takes a step behind, glaring at me as if she hates it. Tears spring in my eyes at her reactions. She doesn’t want to acknowledge me? Why? Is she really Khushi Thakur, Rudra’s girlfriend and not my wife, Jhanvi Raichand?When Jhanvi met that car accident in Scotland, we never found her body which is why I still have the slightest hope that this woman here is my wife and even this slightest possibility is enough to ignite that same spark in me which had the power to consume this world to bring her to my side again. With that promise and the warning in my eyes, I watch her as she clings to Rudra’s arm protectively, and I march out of the event.
I hear Mohit quickly apologizing to them before following me out.
“Aarav… Stop..” he shouts, but I don’t halt my steps until I reach the car.
“She’s Jhanvi,” I bark at him before he gives me this stupid reasoning that she’s probably a lookalike.
“I .. I don’t think so,” he sighs. “It’s practically impossible that Jhanvi could be alive. You had seen the state of her car. It had crushed down in that valley, Aarav. No one can survive an accident that brutal. She is not Jhanvi.”
I can't believe it, since whatever I felt upon meeting this woman, I only felt when I had Jhanvi next to me. She’s the one. I know. My heart has never kicked back with so much thrill after that accident two years ago. If it has, it is only because it knows that woman is my wife. It recognizes her heart, soul and her body, more than I do.
“Call Aman,” I command. “Ask him to find every information from our sources about Khushi Thakur.”
Mohit gives up arguing and then takes out his phone to oblige.
“We need to get out of here first. You should get this wound treated.”
“I am fine,” I snarl.
“Don’t fool me, Aarav. Now get inside the car.”
He opens the car door and once I am seated, he drives us to AR Mansion.
Jhanvi. I close my eyes leaning my head back. I know it’s her. She is alive. A faint smile touches my lips and it’s the first ever since I lost her.
**************
Five hours later.
It’s almost early morning 04:00 am and Mohit is still on calls, processing every information he can about Khushi Thakur. I don’t indulge in it because right now I am not in the right set of mind. By the time we came back to AR Mansion from that party, Aarvi was already in bed. But sleep is the last thing in my mind. I can’t even breathe normally until I get proof that the woman out there who claims to be Khushi Thakur, in reality, is my wife, Jhanvi Raichand.
Fortunately, Aman was travelling back from Canada when this happened. I am told he has landed an hour back and is driving straight here.I keep glancing at the huge photo of my wife that hangs on the living room wall, trying to figure out how she could reach Rudra Singh and not recognize me? Jhanvi would never do something like that. Even in her dreams, she would never cling to another man before me.
Aman barges inside the house. He’s exhausted by the travel and whatever work I assigned him and Mohit to trace about Khushi Thakur, but I am glad he is here because I want him to believe me.
“It’s her,” I declare once again turning to Aman who nods in disagreement.
“No, she is not. She’s not Jhanvi.”
He then gives a pen drive to Mohit who immediately plugs it on the laptop before him.
“We have her details. She is Khushi Thakur.”
He opens a folder and shows me her identity proofs.
“That’s her passport and visa copy.”
“They could be fake,” I retort.
“Birth certificate?” he queries before displaying another document. “She studied in the USA. That’s her school and college pictures.”
I stiffen as I see the pictures of a young girl, looking exactly how Jhanvi looked during her childhood. The only difference is that she’s much slim in these photos whereas my Jhanvi had a little weight when she was of this age.
“She is dating Rudra Singh for the past five years, Aarav. These are their pictures and if you see the date and time, Jhanvi was already alive and with you. All this evidence only proves these are two different women, Aarav. She is Khushi Thakur, not Jhanvi.”
