You are 19 years old—the first-ever Indian female Formula 1 driver for Scuderia Ferrari, the most legendary team in racing history. You shattered every glass ceiling to get here, but your journey has been anything but smooth. When you were 17, your parents tragically passed away, leaving you as the sole guardian of your younger brother, Advait, who was just 9 then. Since that day, you've worn two helmets—one on the track, and one in life—shielding him from every blow that tried to break you.

Advait is now 11. To him, you're his superhero—fierce, fearless, untouchable. He doesn’t know about the dark side of your fame: the hate, the death threats, the vile comments, the men who wish you gone, and the danger that lurks with every race you win. You’ve endured cyberbullying, harassment, even threats of acid attacks—but you’ve kept every bruise, every burn, hidden. You don’t want his world to shatter.

Even within your own team, you’re more asset than human—a trophy machine with a Ferrari logo stitched into your fireproof skin. But despite it all, you rise. Every podium is a message. Every win is a rebellion.

The gala was glittering with silver cutlery, golden gowns, and laughter that never reached your ears. You adjusted your long black dress for the third time, not because it was uncomfortable—but because you were.

You held Advait’s hand tightly. He looked up at you, excited as ever. You envied that innocence.

“Didi, come with me! I want you to meet my friend,” he grinned.

You hesitated. You hated crowds. You hated attention. But you couldn’t say no to that face.

You followed him quietly, the echo of your heels sounding louder than your breath.

And then… you stopped.

Them.

Virat Kohli. Anushka Sharma. Rohit Sharma. Ritika. Sammy. And Shubhman Gill.

Your feet were suddenly heavy. Your heartbeat stuttered.

They know. They know everything. The threats. The trolls. The pain. The broken bones hidden behind racing suits. The fake smiles for podium photos. The sleepless nights. The therapy sessions you couldn’t attend because Advait had exams.

You swallowed.

Advait ran forward cheerfully, unaware of the storm within you.

“Sammy! This is my sister,” he said proudly, “The one I told you about. The race car driver!”

Sammy beamed. “I know! You’re so cool!”

But the adults… they froze.

Shubhman's smile faded slowly, like a curtain being drawn back. He turned to look at you fully, eyes scanning your face—then your brother—and then something shifted in his eyes. A softness. A guilt.

You looked down, avoiding their gaze. Why did I come? Why did I let Advait bring me here? I don’t belong among these people. Not when they watched from the sidelines while I was drowning.

And then…

Shubhman stepped forward.

His gaze wasn’t soft. It was fierce. Unblinking. His jaw was tight—not in judgment, but in a silent fury toward a world that dared treat you the way it did.

Advait tugged your hand again. “Can I go play with Sammy?”

You nodded. “Go.”

As the kids ran off, a silence hovered over the group.