Chapter 1

Title:- Even Stars Fall Slowly.

Chapter 1: The Accidental Encounter.

The humid Delhi air clung to Geet Handa like a second skin, a stark contrast to the air-conditioned bubble she usually inhabited at her data entry job. But today wasn't about spreadsheets; it was about Maan Singh Khurana. His new film, Eternal Echoes, had just released, and Geet, like millions of others, was swept up in the Maan mania. Today, however, her devotion had taken a more tangible form: she was attempting, with questionable success, to navigate the labyrinthine queues outside a multiplex for a first-day-first-show ticket.

Her phone, clutched in a sweaty palm, vibrated with a message from her best friend, Priya. "Did you get the ticket yet? Don't tell me you're still stuck!"

Geet sighed, typing back a frustrated, "The line is longer than my life goals, Priya. I might die here."

Just as she was about to shove her phone back into her worn sling bag, a commotion erupted behind her. A low murmur rippled through the crowd, escalating into excited shouts. "Maan Singh Khurana!" The name, whispered and then yelled, sent a jolt through Geet. Her heart, already working overtime in the heat, kicked up a notch.

She craned her neck, trying to see over the heads of eager fans. A black SUV, sleek and impossibly shiny, had pulled up to the curb, surrounded almost instantly by a throng of paparazzi and screaming fans. Geet, small in stature and generally averse to crowds, knew she had no chance of getting a glimpse. Still, the sheer proximity of him, her idol, made her palms sweat even more.

A sudden, forceful shove from behind sent her stumbling forward. Her feet, clad in flimsy sandals, tangled, and with a yelp, she lost her balance. She braced for impact with the hard pavement, but instead, landed against something… surprisingly solid, and incredibly warm.

A hand, surprisingly gentle yet firm, gripped her arm, steadying her. "Careful there," a deep voice rumbled, closer than she could have ever imagined.

Geet’s eyes, wide with shock, slowly lifted. And then, time seemed to blur.

Standing impossibly close, looking down at her with an expression of mild concern, was Maan Singh Khurana. Not the impossibly chiseled, meticulously styled Maan of the silver screen, but a slightly more relaxed, yet equally captivating version in a simple black t-shirt and jeans. His hair, a little dishevelled, framed a face that was even more striking in person, with eyes that held a surprising warmth.

He was even taller than she’d imagined. And his scent… a subtle, masculine fragrance, like cedar and something undefinably fresh, filled her senses.

Geet could only stare, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. Words, any words, seemed to have evaporated. This wasn’t a dream, was it? She pinched herself, subtly. Nope, definitely real.

Maan, seemingly used to this kind of stunned silence from fans, offered a small, reassuring smile. "Are you alright? You almost took a tumble."

His voice, the one she’d heard countless times in interviews and films, was even richer in person. Geet finally managed a nod, a pathetic little bob of her head. "Y-yes. Fine. Thank you." Her voice came out as a squeak. She felt a mortifying blush creep up her neck.

He released her arm, though his gaze lingered for a moment, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Then, the chaos around them intensified. His security team, a phalanx of burly men, moved in, creating a human shield as they attempted to usher him into the cinema.

"Maan! One picture!"

"Maan, a word!"

"Maan, look here!"

He gave the crowd a brief, acknowledging wave, his smile polite but fleeting. Just before he was swallowed by the sea of people, his eyes, for a split second, met hers again. There was a flicker of something there, a hint of amusement perhaps, or maybe just a polite farewell. Then he was gone, a phantom in the throng.

Geet stood rooted to the spot, the scent of him still lingering, the warmth of his hand still a ghost on her arm. The queue, the heat, the ticket, all forgotten. She had just been touched, spoken to, by Maan Singh Khurana. And in that brief, accidental encounter, something within her, something she hadn't even known existed, had irrevocably shifted. The fan-girl crush, until now a distant admiration, had just become dangerously, thrillingly, personal.

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The Aftermath and the Obsession.

The memory of the accidental encounter replayed in Geet’s mind on an endless loop. Maan Singh Khurana’s voice, the warmth of his hand, the brief but intense eye contact – it all felt more real than the blaring horns of Mumbai traffic or the pile of files waiting for her at work. She’d managed to secure a ticket for Eternal Echoes eventually, but the film, usually the sole focus of her universe when it came to Maan, was a hazy blur compared to the vivid imprint of their brief interaction.

"Earth to Geet!" Priya's voice cut through her reverie the next morning at the office cafeteria. "You've been staring at that samosa like it holds the secrets of the universe."

Geet poked at the fried pastry with her fork. "Something happened yesterday, Priya."

Priya, ever dramatic, leaned forward. "Oh? Did the Ticket Gods bless you with a golden pass?"

"Better," Geet whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. "I… I bumped into Maan Singh Khurana."

Priya's eyes widened, a half-eaten vada pav forgotten. "No way! Like, the Maan Singh Khurana? In person?"

Geet nodded, the blush returning. "He almost caught me when I tripped. He touched my arm, Priya! He looked right at me and asked if I was okay!"

Priya shrieked, a sound that drew a few curious glances from colleagues. "And you said… what? Did you propose? Did you faint? Did you get a selfie?"

"I… I just squeaked," Geet admitted, burying her face in her hands. "I was so flustered. And then his security whisked him away. It was all so fast."

Priya, after a moment of feigned disappointment, grinned. "Still! That’s epic, Geet! The universe is clearly trying to tell you something."

Geet chuckled, though a strange flutter in her chest confirmed Priya's playful words held a kernel of truth. The universe, or perhaps just sheer luck, had indeed brought her face-to-face with her idol. And while the fan-girl in her was still reeling, a new, quieter emotion had begun to stir. It wasn't the distant admiration she'd felt before. This was a nascent curiosity, a desire to understand the man behind the persona, fueled by that brief, genuine moment of concern in his eyes.

Over the next few days, Geet found herself consumed by a new kind of Maan Singh Khurana obsession. She meticulously re-watched his interviews, not just for his witty answers, but for the subtle shifts in his expressions, the way his eyes crinkled when he genuinely laughed. She scrolled through fan forums, searching for any anecdotes about his off-screen demeanour, trying to piece together a picture of the man who had looked at her with such unexpected kindness.

It felt ridiculous, almost stalker-ish, but she couldn't help it. That fleeting encounter had unlocked something. Before, he was a star, a fantasy. Now, he was a person, a brief, tangible presence in her life. The gap between her ordinary existence and his extraordinary one seemed to have shrunk, just a fraction.

One evening, while scrolling through a lesser-known fan page, she stumbled upon a blurry, candid shot taken outside a children's hospital. Maan, dressed casually, was kneeling, talking to a small child in a wheelchair, a gentle smile on his face. He wasn't posing; his expression was entirely unguarded. This was the Maan Singh Khurana from her encounter, the one who had steadied her with a gentle hand and concerned eyes.

A warmth spread through Geet's chest. This was the Maan she wanted to know. Not the superstar, but the man capable of such quiet compassion. The slow burn had truly begun, not just for the celebrity, but for the elusive, intriguing individual who had accidentally, and irrevocably, stepped into her world. The passionate side, for now, remained a simmering ember, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

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A Glimmer of Connection.

Life, for Geet, settled back into its familiar rhythm – data entry, shared meals with Priya, and the comforting predictability of her small apartment. Yet, woven into this routine was the persistent, almost subliminal presence of Maan Singh Khurana. His film was still dominating the box office, his face adorning billboards and magazine covers. But for Geet, he was no longer just the untouchable celebrity. He was the man whose hand had steadied her, whose eyes had held a fleeting, gentle concern.

Her research into his off-screen persona continued, a quiet, almost secret indulgence. She discovered his involvement with several charities, particularly those focused on children's welfare. It resonated deeply with her own quiet desire to make a difference, a desire often stifled by the demands of her everyday life. It wasn't just his good looks or his acting prowess that drew her in now; it was the glimpses of a genuine, compassionate soul.

One particularly sweltering afternoon, Geet was rushing home from work, navigating the chaotic streets of Delhi. Her mind was half on the overdue grocery list, half on an article she'd read about Maan's upcoming charity auction. Suddenly, her path was blocked by a small commotion. A street dog, limping badly, had collapsed in the middle of the pavement, whimpering pitifully. People walked around it, some with pity, most with indifference.

Geet hesitated. She wasn't an animal person, not really. But the dog’s cries were heart-wrenching. She looked around, feeling a familiar helplessness. No one was stopping.

Just as she was about to resign herself to walking past, a sleek black car, remarkably similar to the one Maan had been in, slowed down and pulled over slightly ahead. Her breath hitched. No, it couldn’t be. What were the chances?

A man emerged from the passenger side, not Maan, but someone clearly associated with him – his usual security chief, in fact. He spoke briefly into an earpiece, then opened the back door. And then, there he was. Maan Singh Khurana, stepping out of the car, looking effortlessly cool even in the heat, his gaze sweeping the street.

His eyes landed on the struggling dog, and for a moment, the superstar façade dropped completely. A flicker of genuine distress crossed his face. Without a word, he moved towards the animal, his security chief hovering protectively. He knelt, completely unmindful of the curious glances and the potential for a crowd to form. He gently prodded the dog, murmuring soft words, his brow furrowed with concern.

Geet watched, mesmerized. This was it – the man she’d seen in the blurry charity photo, the man whose concern for her had been so palpable. He was real, and he was even more captivating in his quiet empathy.

He looked up then, meeting the eyes of his security chief, and gestured towards the dog. The security chief nodded, already pulling out his phone. It was clear they were calling for help.

As Maan stood up, his gaze swept across the few onlookers, and for the second time, his eyes landed on Geet. This time, there was no surprise, no fleeting concern. Instead, there was a flicker of something else – recognition. A subtle pause, a slight tilt of his head, as if trying to place her.

Geet felt a fresh wave of heat flood her cheeks. He remembered her. The thought sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated excitement through her. She wanted to say something, anything, but her throat felt dry. The moment stretched, a fragile thread connecting them across the bustling street.

Then, a car horn blared impatiently, and a few more people started to gather, their phones already out. Maan gave the dog one last concerned look, a brief nod to his security chief, and was swiftly ushered back into the car. The tinted windows rolled up, and the vehicle merged seamlessly back into traffic, leaving behind a bewildered crowd and a slightly stunned Geet.

She stood there, long after the car had vanished, the image of him kneeling by the injured dog seared into her mind. The recognition in his eyes, however fleeting, felt like a secret shared, a silent acknowledgment between them. The accidental encounter had been a spark. This, however, felt like a quiet confirmation. The slow burn was intensifying, the desire to connect with this particular man, Maan Singh Khurana, growing into a silent, fervent wish.

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Echoes and Unspoken Thoughts.

The image of Maan Singh Khurana kneeling by the injured dog became Geet’s new mental loop, eclipsing even the memory of their first encounter. It wasn't just his presence, but the unguarded compassion on his face that had affected her so deeply. And then, the recognition in his eyes. He remembered her. The thought was a secret, thrilling warmth in her chest, a stark contrast to the relentless Delhi heat.

She spent the next few days in a haze, her usual efficiency at work slightly compromised by her wandering thoughts. Priya, ever observant, noticed.

"You're positively glowing, Geet," she teased during their lunch break. "Did you win the lottery? Or did you finally get a date with that cute guy from accounts?"

Geet shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Something better, Priya. He... he saw me again."

Priya gasped. "Maan Singh Khurana? Are you serious? Where?"

Geet recounted the incident with the dog, emphasizing the moment their eyes met and his flicker of recognition. Priya listened, her expression a mix of awe and burgeoning matchmaking ambition.

"This is fate, Geet!" Priya declared, clapping her hands. "Two times! He clearly notices you. You need to make something happen!"

Geet, however, felt a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. "What can I do, Priya? He's Maan Singh Khurana. I'm just… me." The passionate longing was there, a deep current, but the reality of their worlds felt like an insurmountable chasm.

Meanwhile, miles away in his opulent Mumbai penthouse, Maan Singh Khurana was trying to focus on the script laid out before him, but a particular image kept intruding. The small, unassuming girl from the movie premiere, tripping in the crowd. And then, just yesterday, the same girl, standing silently as he attended to that injured dog.

He had a notoriously good memory for faces, a necessity in his line of work, but there was something about her. Something quiet, almost fragile, yet with an intensity in her eyes that had caught his attention both times. He'd seen countless fans, but her reaction wasn't the usual screaming frenzy or desperate plea for a selfie. She'd just… observed.

"Sir, Mr. Mehta is on line two about the Kolkata charity event," his assistant, Adi, announced, pulling him back to reality.

"Right," Maan murmured, pushing the script aside. He picked up the call, discussing logistics, but his mind kept drifting back to the streets of Delhi, to the sight of that stray dog, and to the girl watching him with those wide, earnest eyes.

He remembered her shy nod, her barely audible "Thank you" at the premiere. Yesterday, there had been no words, just that shared, silent moment. It was unusual. Most people either gawked, demanded, or tried to shove their way closer. She had simply been present.

A faint, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow. He didn't know her name, where she came from, or anything about her, yet her quiet presence had resonated more than the clamor of a thousand fans. There was an unspoken connection, a subtle recognition that felt more profound than any fleeting celebrity interaction. He dismissed it as an anomaly, the lingering effect of a tiring day. Yet, the image of her remained, a soft echo in the back of his mind. He was drawn to the stillness she exuded, a calm amidst the storm of his celebrity life. It was a curiosity, a small flicker of interest that, unbeknownst to him, was mirroring the quiet longing growing in Geet's heart. The threads of their separate lives, thin and delicate, were beginning to intertwine, pulled by an unseen force towards a slow, inevitable convergence.

Geet, later that night, lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. The image of Maan with the dog, and his glance of recognition, replayed in her mind. It wasn't just the thrill of being noticed; it was the profound sense of connection she felt to the compassionate man she’d witnessed. The celebrity aura had faded, replaced by something much more real, much more intimate in her imagination. She didn't know how, or if, their paths would ever cross again, but the silent, passionate hope was now a tangible thing, a quiet fire burning within her.

And in his distant penthouse, Maan found himself wondering, just for a fleeting moment, about the quiet girl with the expressive eyes, a tiny, unfamiliar ripple in the vast ocean of his celebrity life. The slow burn was meticulously paced, yet undeniably, the embers were glowing brighter for them both.

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A Hint of Destiny.

Days turned into a quiet routine for Geet, but the undercurrent of hope and curiosity remained. Her work, usually a dull necessity, now felt like a temporary placeholder while she waited for… something. She knew it was illogical, even foolish, to dwell on two brief encounters with a superstar. Yet, the memory of his recognition, the unspoken connection, persisted like a sweet melody.

One morning, as she scrolled through her news feed, a headline caught her eye: "Maan Singh Khurana to Grace Delhi for 'Art for Hope' Charity Gala." Geet's heart leaped. The 'Art for Hope' gala was a prestigious annual event, raising funds for various social causes, and this year, it was in her city, Delhi. Maan was scheduled to be the chief guest.

A fierce resolve blossomed within her. This wasn't a chance encounter; this was an opportunity. Not for a selfie or an autograph, but for something more. A chance to be in the same room, to perhaps exchange another glance, to acknowledge that strange, silent thread that seemed to exist between them. The tickets were exorbitant, far beyond her usual budget, but Geet knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that she had to be there. This felt less like a fan's dream and more like a pull of destiny.

Maan Singh Khurana's schedule was a whirlwind of promotions, shoots, and public appearances. The upcoming 'Art for Hope' gala in Delhi was just another engagement on his packed calendar. He’d accepted the invitation because of the charity’s focus on child welfare, a cause close to his heart. As his team briefed him on the event details, his mind, however, kept drifting back to two distinct, fleeting images: the quiet girl who’d almost fallen at the premiere, and the same girl watching him with silent intensity as he tended to the injured dog.

"Sir, we'll need to finalize your speech for the gala," Adi, his assistant, reminded him.

"Right," Maan replied, though his gaze was fixed on the sprawling city map of Delhi on the screen, particularly the area around the venue. He found himself wondering if she would be there. It was an absurd thought. Why would she be there? He dismissed it, yet the thought lingered. He had seen countless faces in his career, but hers had left an odd, persistent impression. There was an earnestness, a lack of artifice that was refreshing in his world of carefully constructed images.

He began working on his speech, but instead of the usual platitudes, he found himself thinking about the silent appreciation in her eyes. He wanted to speak about genuine compassion, about the quiet acts of kindness that often went unnoticed. He wanted to articulate the feeling of connection he’d felt, however brief, with the ordinary people he encountered, a sentiment he rarely shared publicly.

A subtle warmth spread through Maan as he wrote. He was speaking not just to an audience, but in a strange, unacknowledged way, to that quiet girl in the crowd. The celebrity veneer, for a moment, cracked, revealing a man who, despite his fame, felt a profound connection to the simple, human moments. The passion, usually reserved for his craft, was subtly, unknowingly, bleeding into his personal reflections.

Geet, with Priya's bewildered but supportive help, managed to secure a single, rather expensive ticket to the gala. She spent days agonizing over what to wear, finally settling on a simple, elegant saree that was understated yet sophisticated. This wasn't about glamour; it was about respect, about being present.

As she stepped into the grand ballroom of the heritage hotel, the air hummed with refined chatter and the soft clinking of glasses. Dignitaries, socialites, and media personnel mingled. Geet felt a familiar wave of intimidation, a stark reminder of the chasm between her world and this one. She found a quiet spot near the back, her heart beating a nervous rhythm against her ribs.

And then, he walked onto the stage. Maan Singh Khurana. Dressed in a sharp, dark suit, he exuded an aura of effortless charisma. The room hushed as he approached the podium. His voice, deep and resonant, filled the hall as he began to speak.

Geet listened, captivated. He spoke of the importance of community, of empathy, of seeing the humanity in every individual. His words weren't just rehearsed lines; they carried a genuine sincerity. And then, he paused, his gaze sweeping across the audience, and for a fleeting, impossible moment, his eyes met hers.

This time, the recognition was not fleeting. It was a clear, lingering glance, a subtle acknowledgment that made her breath catch. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips, meant for her alone. And in that moment, across the crowded room, a quiet, fervent passion ignited in Geet's heart, fueled by the conviction that this wasn't just a fan's fantasy, but a thread of destiny being woven between them. Maan, too, felt an unusual pull, a magnetic attraction to the quiet girl in the back whose gaze held such unpretentious sincerity. His carefully constructed celebrity life suddenly felt a little less solitary.

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Awaiting your likes & commmets…

Pixie 🧚