Part 14
The music was deafening, the dhols relentless, the celebration unstoppable—and for the first time in his life, Maan didn’t mind it.
Because for the first time in years, he wasn’t just standing at the sidelines, watching.
He was in it.
With her.
Geet had been the first to move, swaying slightly to the infectious rhythm of the baraat, completely unaware of the effect she had on the people around her.
The young men in the wedding party had noticed, mistaking her ease, her openness, as an invitation.
Maan had noticed too.
But unlike them—he knew better.
So he had done the only thing he could.
He had stepped in.
And to keep things from turning into something else, he had—
Danced.
At first, it was pretend. A subtle shift of his shoulders. A casual, almost indifferent movement of his hands. Enough to make it seem natural.
But then—
Geet laughed.
Not the quiet, polite laugh she sometimes used.
Not the teasing, knowing chuckle when she caught him in his own habits.
No.
This was different.
This was pure, unrestrained, breathless laughter.
And before he knew it—he was laughing too.
Maan Singh Khurana—billionaire, CEO, untouchable in every way—was laughing.
Not because of a calculated joke.
Not because he was indulging someone.
Not because he was playing a role.
But because he wanted to.
Because she was laughing.
Because this moment was ridiculous and chaotic and completely unlike anything in his polished world—
And he liked it.
Before he could stop himself, before he could think, before he could ruin it with logic—
He let himself go.
Geet spun. He followed.
She stomped in rhythm. He matched her.
She clapped her hands, throwing her head back in laughter. He did the same.
And suddenly—
They weren’t just dancing.
They were dancing together.
On the street.
With no rules. No forced control.
No hesitation.
For the first time in a long, long time, Maan Singh Khurana was completely uninhibited.
And it wasn’t because of alcohol.
It wasn’t because of a reckless impulse.
It was because of her.
Because Geet—who had once been a quiet observer in his life, who had once only watched from a distance—
Was now the only person he wanted to keep up with.
She turned to him, eyes bright, face flushed, breathless from the moment.
"You're actually enjoying this."
Maan should have denied it. Should have rolled his eyes, smirked, shrugged it off with something effortless.
But instead—
He let himself smile.
A real, genuine, unguarded smile.
"Maybe."
Geet beamed, shaking her head at him, before pulling him back into the rhythm.
And Maan followed.
Not because he had to.
Not because he was pretending.
But because for the first time in forever—
He didn’t want to stop.
They were breathless.
Laughing.
Still caught in the rush of it all—the music, the chaos, the unexpected freedom.
Neither of them said, "Let’s go."
Neither of them had to.
Because together, still grinning, still high off the moment, they started moving—toward the car, toward reality.
But Geet—
She wasn’t walking.
She was skipping, almost bouncing, barely able to contain the energy thrumming through her.
The infectious, giddy joy of having danced freely on a street, with a man who wasn’t supposed to dance, who wasn’t supposed to let loose.
But he had.
And she couldn’t stop smiling.
Maan watched her, amused, still coming down from the moment himself, his body relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt in years.
She wasn’t thinking.
Not about the night.
Not about the fact that this was her boss.
Not about the fact that this was Maan -the man she shared such an intense unknown unavoidable connection with
Not about the fact that this wasn’t supposed to be them.
Because right now, none of that mattered.
Right now, she was just happy.
And Maan—
Maan was watching her.
Not the way people usually did.
Not the way the men in the baraat had.
Not the way most would look at a beautiful woman dancing in an excuisite emerald dress.
He was watching her differently.
Like he was trying to understand this version of her.
This version that could let go, could jump around like a child, so effortlessly light, so full of joy that it made the air around her hum.
She twirled once—just for fun, just because she could—her hair catching the wind, the hem of her dress shifting.
Maan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.
"You're going to trip."
Geet only grinned wider, unbothered.
"No, I won’t."
But her heels, the dress, the uneven pavement—they weren’t exactly on her side.
She stumbled just slightly, catching onto the fabric of her dress, and before she could even react—
Maan’s hand was already at her elbow.
Firm. Steady.
Like he had been waiting for it.
Like he had been keeping an eye on her all along.
Geet let out a breathless laugh, leaning into his hold for just a second.
"Okay, maybe a little."
Maan didn’t say anything.
Didn’t chastise her, didn’t let go immediately.
Just kept his hand there—a quiet, unspoken safety net.
Then, finally, in a voice too casual, too low, he muttered—
"Try not to break your ankle before we get to the car, yeah?"
Geet giggled, nudging him playfully as they walked.
Still smiling. Still light.
And for once—
Maan didn’t resist it.
Didn’t fight the moment.
Didn’t remind himself of everything this wasn’t supposed to be.
He just let it happen.
Because tonight, for the first time in a long, long time—he didn’t feel like Maan Singh Khurana, CEO.
He just felt like Maan.
And with Geet bouncing beside him, her laughter lingering in the air,
That didn’t seem like such a bad thing.
Their laughter hadn’t fully faded yet.
The rush of the dance, the beat of the music still thrumming in their veins, the warmth of the moment still lingering.
They weren’t just walking.
They were moving with that giddy, breathless energy that only came from doing something completely unexpected and actually enjoying it.
Geet was still half-bouncing, half-skipping, the residual excitement from the dance refusing to leave her body.
Her dress swayed, her heels clicking against the pavement, and she didn’t even realize that she was getting ahead of herself.
But Maan did.
Of course, he did.
He had been watching.
Had seen the way her steps were getting slightly reckless, the way her heels barely missed the hem of her dress.
And when she nearly stumbled again, barely catching herself—
He caught her first.
Without thinking.
Without hesitation.
His hand wrapped around hers, fingers firm but careful, steady but unforced.
Geet’s laughter hitched.
Her feet stilled.
Because suddenly—they weren’t just walking.
They were holding hands.
She didn’t look at him.
And Maan didn’t let go.
Not immediately.
Not even when the stumble had passed.
Not even when it would have been so easy to pull away, to pretend it hadn’t happened.
Because it had.
And because maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to let go yet.
So instead, he kept his hand around hers, fingers loosely intertwined, his grip casual but protective as they walked.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like it wasn’t completely new.
Like it wasn’t dangerous.
Geet, still slightly breathless, glanced down at their joined hands for just a second.
Then, finally, with a teasing lilt, she murmured—
“You’re really committing to this whole ‘saving me’ thing, huh?”
Maan exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.
“You make it necessary.”
Geet smiled.
And—God help him—
Maan almost smiled too.
They walked like that, hand in hand, until they reached the car.
And even then—
Maan was the one who let go first.
Slowly.
Like he had almost forgotten he was still holding on.
Maan had let go of her hand.
But Geet hadn’t moved.
She wasn’t getting into the car.
She wasn’t laughing anymore.
She wasn’t looking at him, either.
Something had shifted.
The weight of it was sudden, tangible, dragging the lightness of the moment down into something heavier.
Maan followed her gaze.
And then—he saw him.
A man, dressed in a sleek, tailored suit, stepping out of a luxury car.
The kind of man who looked important, who carried himself with the easy arrogance of someone who had never known a real struggle.
And the second Geet saw him—
Her entire body went still.
Like something had cracked deep inside her.
Like something she had spent years burying had been unearthed in an instant.
Maan’s brow furrowed.
“Geet?”
She didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
Her eyes remained fixed on the man as he strode into the hotel lobby, flanked by assistants, completely unaware of the storm he had just triggered in her.
Finally—
A whisper.
“He asked me to…”
Her voice faltered.
Maan’s gaze snapped to her face.
She looked… lost.
Like she wasn’t fully here anymore.
Like she had been dragged back to a different time, a different place, a different version of herself.
“Geet.”
His voice was low, but she barely seemed to hear him.
Her fingers clenched at her side, the tremor in her hands barely visible under the soft glow of the streetlights.
And then—
She swallowed, eyes still on the man disappearing inside the hotel.
And she said it.
“Casting couch.”
Maan felt the words like a punch to his ribs.
Because he knew what that meant.
Knew exactly what kind of men did that.
What kind of power they held, how they preyed on ambition, on desperation, on dreams that had never been given a chance.
And suddenly—he understood.
Geet’s past.
The failed acting career she never talked about.
The industry she had walked away from, disgusted, drained.
The reason she had never looked back.
Maan’s jaw tightened.
A slow, simmering rage started building in his chest.
He knew what she was going to say next.
Knew exactly what that b*stard had asked of her.
And Geet—Geet couldn’t even say it out loud.
Her throat bobbed, her lips parted as if she was going to finish the sentence—
But she never did.
Because instead—
She moved.
Too fast.
Before Maan could register what she was doing, before he could stop her, before he could tell her it wasn’t worth it—
She bent down, grabbed a jagged rock from the pavement—
And threw it.
Hard.
It hit the producer’s luxury car with a sharp, echoing clang, leaving behind a noticeable dent.
For a second, everything was silent.
Maan blinked.
Geet exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling, and then—
She looked at him.
Like she had just realized what she had done.
Like she had just remembered who she was standing next to.
And for the first time since seeing that man, a small, reckless, almost wild grin flickered at the corner of her lips.
Maan stared at her.
She looked breathless.
Defiant.
Still holding onto the heat of a past she had never been allowed to fight.
And Maan—
Maan was staring at her.
Not with anger.
Not with judgment.
Not even with surprise.
But with something close to understanding.
His gaze flickered from her heaving chest to the dented car, then back to her.
A slow beat passed.
Then, with complete and utter seriousness—
“Run.”
Geet’s eyes snapped to his.
For a second—just a second—she thought she had misheard.
But then—
He grabbed her hand.
And they ran.
Like they were teenagers breaking curfew.
Like they had just pulled off the heist of the century.
Like absolute idiots with nowhere to be but right here, in this moment.
Geet giggled uncontrollably, her hand gripping his tightly as they sprinted toward the car, the adrenaline making her light-headed, wild, alive.
Maan—Maan should not be enjoying this.
He should not be running like this, laughing under his breath like he hadn’t just left a high-profile gala, like he wasn’t the most put-together, controlled man in any room.
But he was.
Because her hand was in his.
Because her laughter was something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.
Because for the first time in God knows how long—he wasn’t thinking.
They reached the car, breathless, slightly disheveled, still gripping each other’s hands.
Geet leaned against the car door, panting, her face glowing from the rush of it all.
Maan exhaled heavily, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair.
Then, finally—he looked at her.
And despite himself—he smiled.
A real one.
Not a smirk.
Not something calculated.
But something unguarded, something real.
He straightened, looking at her with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement.
“You’re insane.”
Geet, still panting, grinned.
“I know.”
Maan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “You just vandalized a luxury car.”
Geet shrugged, still giddy. “He deserved it.”
Maan stared at her.
Then, finally—
He huffed out a quiet, incredulous laugh.
And Geet—Geet saw it.
Saw the way his lips twitched despite himself.
Saw the way he was actually laughing.
And suddenly, she wasn’t thinking either.
Because tonight, for the first time in forever—
Neither of them cared.
Maan scoffed, reaching for the car door. “Get in before you get any more ideas.”
Geet giggled again, slipping inside.
And as Maan slid into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel, catching his breath—he realized something.
He should be annoyed.
Should be furious at her recklessness.
But he wasn’t.
Because tonight, for the first time in a long, long time—
He felt free.
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