Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 25

The moment Maan was away, Priyanka played her hand. But is she blind enough to think that he will not know eventually?

Great part

Oh no Priyanka is troubling Geet unnecessarily

But how come Maan didn’t get to know this happening to Geet

Cont soon

Thanks for pm

Part 21

Geet walked back to her desk, her mind swirling with confusion and hurt. The weight of the PIP news hung over her like a dark cloud, suffocating her thoughts. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Her first instinct was to believe that there had been a mistake. Maan wouldn’t approve something like this... would he?

But as she sat down, replaying the HR conversation in her mind, doubt crept in. But why would HR implement something so drastic without Maan’s knowledge? The company was structured in such a way that no major employee decision would be made without Maan’s final approval.

Geet’s fingers trembled slightly as she tried to type, but the letters on the screen blurred together. Did Maan really think I wasn’t good enough? Did he realize that hiring me was a mistake after all?

She thought back to the carnival date—the way he had kissed her forehead so gently, almost reverently, but nothing beyond that. No follow-up, no second date, not even a casual message. She had wondered if it was just his way of being polite—if he didn’t actually feel the same way.

And then Priyanka had arrived, gliding into Maan’s world with her effortless sophistication, polished presence, and undeniable chemistry with him. Priyanka was the kind of woman who made sense in Maan’s life—someone with Ivy League credentials, rich family connections, and an air of confidence that Geet could never quite emulate.

Geet had tried to push away the insecurity, forcing herself to accept that maybe Maan wasn’t interested in her after all. She had resolved to focus on her work, convincing herself that she could live with the reality of being just an employee—nothing more.

But now this... this PIP.

Her throat tightened, and she pressed her lips together, determined not to cry. I worked so hard. I put everything I had into my work. It was the one thing I could control—the one stable thing in my life.

Now, even that was crumbling. The PIP wasn’t just a blow to her professional pride; it was a direct attack on the one part of her life she thought she was managing well.

Maybe Priyanka was right, she thought, her chest aching. I don’t belong here. I didn’t earn this job. I got it because Maan is the CEO and hired me himself. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself all along, thinking I could keep up with people like Priyanka.

Her mind flashed back to Priyanka’s veiled comments—how she had subtly questioned Geet’s capabilities, hinting that people from unconventional backgrounds wouldn’t understand corporate strategy.

Maybe Priyanka wasn’t wrong. Maybe I am bringing down the quality of the company. I don’t have the educational background, the experience, or the sophistication. I can’t even hold my own against someone like her.

Geet hunched over her laptop, feeling unbearably small. She couldn’t help but think that the PIP was a silent acknowledgment of what everyone must have been thinking but not saying out loud—that she wasn’t good enough, that she didn’t fit.

A bitter thought crept in. Maybe Maan saw it too. Maybe he finally realized I’m not worth the effort. That’s why he agreed to this. Why wouldn’t he? Priyanka makes sense in his world. I don’t.

The ache in her chest grew sharper, and she quickly brushed away a tear before anyone could see. She didn’t want to look weak, didn’t want to give Priyanka or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She couldn’t even blame Priyanka entirely anymore. What if Priyanka was genuinely trying to help by suggesting more training? What if this was Maan’s way of telling her to shape up—to become more polished, more capable, more like Priyanka?

I thought I was doing well. I thought I was proving myself. But maybe I was just lucky. Maybe I’ve been deluding myself into thinking I could actually belong here.

The thought gnawed at her. Geet had always been aware of her lack of formal credentials. It was why she worked twice as hard as anyone else—why she stayed late, double-checked her reports, and went the extra mile to ensure her work was impeccable.

But maybe it wasn’t enough.

Maybe the people around her had just been kind—too polite to point out that she didn’t measure up. Maybe Maan, in his own way, was trying to make her realize that she needed to upskill—trying to save her from outright failure.

Maybe I’m the problem.

The idea of being a burden to the company—of dragging down the standards that Maan had worked so hard to build—made her stomach twist with guilt.

Geet swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus on the screen, but her mind kept spiraling. What if I’m just not good enough? What if everything Priyanka said was true?

Her phone buzzed softly, and she glanced at it. A message from Nisha, one of her work friends.

Nisha: Hey, are you okay? Heard about the PIP. That’s insane! You’ve been doing great!

Geet stared at the message, feeling a pang of helplessness. She didn’t know how to respond. Nisha’s words felt like a small comfort, but they didn’t erase the doubt gnawing at her heart.

She typed a brief reply.

Geet: I’m fine. Just... a bit overwhelmed. Thanks for checking in.

She set the phone down, her hands trembling slightly.

Why am I so affected by this?

Because it wasn’t just about the PIP. It was about her entire identity being questioned—her worth being reduced to a list of qualifications she didn’t have.

Her resolve from earlier—accepting that Maan might not be interested in her—had felt manageable when she still had her work to fall back on. But now, even that safety net was slipping away.

Geet closed her eyes, breathing slowly to steady herself. I can’t afford to break down. I need to get through this. If they want me to train, I’ll train. If they want me to improve, I’ll improve. I just have to keep going.

But deep inside, the hurt remained—a gnawing pain that whispered one unshakable fear:

What if I was never good enough from the start?

+++

That night, Geet barely slept. The weight of the PIP, the uncertainty about Maan’s involvement, and the nagging feeling of inadequacy all blended into a restless whirlwind of thoughts.

She sat on her small bed, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the dimly lit room. She had come so far—left her small-town life, fought tooth and nail to build a career, and worked tirelessly to prove herself. And yet, here she was—back to feeling like an imposter, an outsider in a world she had dared to think she belonged to.

Maybe I was too naïve to think I could be a part of his world.

Her phone buzzed with a message. She hesitated, half-hoping it was Maan—maybe to explain, to tell her it was a mistake. But it was just a message from Nisha, sharing a funny meme to cheer her up.

Geet forced a smile, replying with a simple thanks, but her heart wasn’t in it. What if I really don’t belong here?

The thought kept gnawing at her, making it hard to breathe. She didn’t have family to lean on—her parents, busy with their small sweet shop back in the two-tier city in UP, wouldn’t understand. To them, she was already doing the impossible—working in a big company, living in a city, making a life on her own.

She had no one to confide in. She didn’t want to burden Nisha and the others, and Maan... Maan was the last person she could think of talking to about this.

What would I even say? Did you put me on a PIP because I’m not good enough? Did you realize I don’t belong here?

Her chest tightened painfully. After the carnival... after that forehead kiss... did he finally realize I wasn’t worth it? Was he trying to be polite all along?

She knew how hard she worked—how she poured herself into every task, how she stayed late to ensure perfection, how she studied business terms in her spare time just to sound more competent. But Priyanka’s words, her Ivy League credentials, and her effortless way of fitting into Maan’s world made Geet feel foolish for even trying.

Maybe I’m just that—a charity case he thought he could fix. A passing fascination. And now... he’s done.

The thought hit harder than she expected, and her hands clenched into fists. She couldn’t cry—not now.

I’ll figure this out. I have to. I can’t let this break me.

+++

The next morning, Geet dragged herself to work, trying to keep her face neutral and her emotions buried. The PIP training was set to start that day, and she didn’t know how she’d manage her regular workload on top of it.

When she entered the office, Priyanka greeted her with that same overly sweet smile.

“Morning, Geet! You’re looking a bit tired. I hope the PIP news didn’t stress you out too much,” Priyanka said, her tone bright but with a hint of condescension.

Geet forced a smile. “No, it’s fine. I’ll manage.”

Priyanka leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. “Don’t worry. It’s just to help you grow. Sometimes, people with unconventional backgrounds need a little extra support to catch up. You’re already doing great—it’s just a bit of polishing, that’s all.”

Geet’s stomach churned at the word polishing. She managed a polite nod and quickly made her way to her desk.

As she opened her laptop, she couldn’t help but overhear Priyanka talking to some of the other employees, casually slipping in how the company was implementing new training modules to support employee growth and bridge skill gaps.

The subtle implication wasn’t lost on anyone. A few people glanced at Geet, whispering among themselves. She kept her head down, pretending not to notice.

Around midday, Geet was called to the training room. The online instructor greeted her with a polite but perfunctory nod.

“We’ll be covering advanced corporate communication techniques today,” the instructor said, gesturing to the presentation slides. “This module is designed to help employees enhance their business acumen and presentation skills.”

Geet sat at the back, taking notes diligently, but her mind kept drifting. The instructor’s words blurred, and all she could think about was how this was all happening while Maan was away.

Did he really approve this? Did he even know? Or did he just let Priyanka handle it?

By the time the training session ended, Geet felt drained—not from the content, but from the heavy weight of uncertainty pressing down on her.

As she walked back to her desk, Priyanka appeared again, practically floating on air.

“How was it?” Priyanka asked, eyes glinting.

“It was... informative,” Geet replied cautiously.

“Good! You know, not everyone gets this kind of tailored training. You’re lucky, really. It shows how much the company values your potential.”

Geet swallowed the lump in her throat, offering a forced smile. “Yeah... I guess.”

Priyanka reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry. You’ll get through this. Just keep pushing yourself. We’re all rooting for you.”

As Priyanka walked away, Geet couldn’t shake the feeling of being suffocated by kindness that didn’t feel genuine.

The day dragged on, and as evening approached, Geet packed her things slowly. As she walked to the bus stop, her phone buzzed. It was a text from Maan.

Maan: How’s everything going?

Geet stared at the message, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to ask him—Did you put me on the PIP? Do you think I’m not good enough?

But her pride wouldn’t let her.

Geet: Fine. Just work.

There was a long pause before his next message.

Maan: You okay?

Geet hesitated. Part of her wanted to pour out everything—how lost and hurt she felt, how she didn’t know whether he still believed in her. But how could she say that when she wasn’t even sure if he was the one who decided this?

Geet: Yes.

She could almost feel his frustration through the screen, but he didn’t push further.

As the bus pulled up, Geet slipped her phone into her bag, fighting back the ache in her chest. If this is what he wants—if he wants me to prove myself all over again—then I’ll do it. I’ll prove that I belong here. Even if it hurts, even if I feel like I’m falling apart, I’ll do it.

But deep inside, her confidence wavered. The image of Priyanka seamlessly fitting into Maan’s world kept replaying in her mind.

Maybe this is his way of telling me that I need to be more like her—polished, professional, flawless. Maybe that’s the only way I’ll survive here.

As the bus moved through the city lights, Geet leaned her head against the window, wondering how long she could keep holding on before the last piece of her determination finally broke.

+++

By the end of the week, Geet looked like she had been hit by a truck. Her usual vibrant presence had diminished, replaced by a weary, defeated version of herself. Dark circles had formed under her eyes, and her shoulders sagged as she moved around the office. Her once neatly tied hair was now hastily pulled back, and her clothes seemed slightly wrinkled, as if she barely had time to get ready in the morning.

Balancing her regular workload and the seven-hour training sessions was exhausting her. The training itself wasn’t the problem—it was the combination of learning new material while keeping up with the usual project deadlines that was draining her energy.

She pushed through each day, telling herself it was just a phase. I have to get through this. I can’t break down now. I need to prove that I belong here.

In the break room, Nisha and Meera were quietly discussing Geet’s situation while making coffee.

“She looks terrible,” Meera whispered, glancing at Geet as she sat at her desk, staring blankly at her screen.

“I know. I tried talking to her yesterday, but she just smiled and said she was fine. I think that PIP is killing her,” Nisha replied with a worried frown.

Meera shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why put someone like Geet on a PIP? She’s always so diligent. If anything, she’s one of the hardest workers here.”

Nisha sighed. “I heard Priyanka say it’s not about performance but about helping her catch up because she lacks formal credentials. Still, it seems... cruel.”

“Yeah, and since Maan Sir’s been away, Priyanka’s been acting like she runs the place. I bet she’s behind it.”

They both fell silent as Priyanka walked in, her usual bright smile plastered on her face.

“Good morning, ladies!” Priyanka chirped, grabbing a bottle of mineral water from the fridge.

Meera forced a polite smile. “Morning, Priyanka.”

Priyanka glanced at Geet through the glass partition, her smile widening. “Poor thing. She looks so worn out. I hope the training isn’t too much for her. But, you know, it’s all for her growth. Sometimes people from unconventional backgrounds need a little more guidance to truly excel.”

Nisha and Meera exchanged a glance, uncomfortable with Priyanka’s tone.

Back at her desk, Geet tried to focus on her tasks, but her head felt heavy, and her hands shook slightly from lack of sleep. She had barely managed to eat breakfast, and lunch seemed like an impossible feat.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Nisha.

Nisha: Hey, are you okay? You look really tired. Want to grab lunch together?

Geet replied after a long pause.

Geet: I’m fine. Just busy with training. Maybe later.

She glanced back at her screen, trying to complete her report, but her thoughts kept wandering. Maybe Priyanka was right. Maybe I’m not suited for this world. I don’t have the qualifications or the experience. I got this job because Maan hired me—not because I earned it. Maybe I’m just dragging down the team’s standards.

The hurt from the PIP wasn’t just professional—it felt personal. It felt like a confirmation of every insecurity she had carried with her since she joined the company.

Her thoughts drifted to Maan. Did he really approve this? Did he finally realize that I wasn’t worth it?

Ever since the carnival date and that confusing forehead kiss, she had been trying to figure out what she meant to him. At first, there had been hope—a glimmer that maybe he saw her as more than just an employee. But after that night, he never mentioned a second date. He didn’t ask her out again. Instead, Priyanka showed up—confident, polished, the perfect match for someone like Maan.

Maybe I’ve been deluding myself all along. Maybe I’m just another project to him—something to fix or feel good about helping.

She blinked back the sting of tears, forcing herself to focus on the spreadsheet in front of her. But the numbers blurred, and the fatigue was beginning to gnaw at her resolve.

+++

Maan returned from his business trip that evening, noticing the subdued atmosphere in the office. As he walked past the desks, he immediately noticed Geet, hunched over her laptop, looking like she hadn’t slept in days.

His brow furrowed, and he approached Nisha, who was typing nearby.

“Nisha, what’s going on with Geet? If she is not well, ask her to take a sick day” Maan asked, his tone calm but concerned.

Nisha hesitated. “Um... she’s been really exhausted lately. The PIP has been taking a toll on her.”

Maan’s expression darkened. “PIP? What PIP?”

Nisha’s eyes widened in confusion. “The one Priyanka put her on while you were away. Apparently, it’s supposed to help her catch up on skills since she doesn’t have formal business education.”

Maan’s jaw tightened. “And this has been going on since I left?”

Nisha nodded cautiously. “Yes, and it’s... a lot. Seven hours of training daily on top of her usual work. It’s too much.”

Without another word, Maan turned on his heel and strode toward his cabin, his expression stormy.

Priyanka was in Maan’s office when he walked in, calmly reviewing some documents. She looked up, smiling sweetly.

“Welcome back, Maan! How was the trip?”

Maan didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Why did you put Geet on a PIP?”

Priyanka feigned surprise. “Oh, that? I thought you’d appreciate the initiative. You did say to treat her like any other employee, and given her lack of formal business qualifications, I thought some structured training would benefit her. It’s more of a support measure than a corrective one.”

Maan’s tone was ice-cold. “Seven hours of training on top of regular work is not support. You’re exhausting her. Who authorized this?”

Priyanka hesitated, her confidence wavering. “It was... a management decision. I thought you’d understand. I mean, she’s clearly struggling to keep up with the standards—”

“That’s enough,” Maan snapped. “Undo it. Immediately. Geet doesn’t need to be put through some arbitrary program to prove herself. She’s already proven her worth.”

Priyanka swallowed, her smile faltering. “Of course, I’ll take care of it right away.”

Maan didn’t bother acknowledging her further and walked out, his mind racing. He couldn’t believe the extent of Priyanka’s overreach, and he hated that Geet had been silently enduring it all.

Why didn’t she say anything? Why didn’t she call me?

The guilt gnawed at him, and he knew he had to find a way to talk to Geet—to let her know that this was never what he intended.

As he glanced out into the open office, his gaze fell on Geet once more. She was still typing, her movements mechanical, her shoulders hunched.

Maan clenched his fists, resolving to make this right.

+++

Maan sat at his desk, his gaze fixed on the door, waiting for Geet. He had sent a quick message through Nisha, asking Geet to come to his cabin. As he waited, his mind replayed the image of her from earlier—exhausted, hollow-eyed, like she was just a shell of herself.

A soft knock on the door broke his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called out.

Geet entered cautiously, keeping her gaze lowered as she approached his desk.

“Good evening, sir,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Maan’s eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. Her clothes, usually neat and carefully chosen, seemed wrinkled and haphazard. Her hair, often tied back meticulously, was now messily pinned, with a few loose strands framing her face. But what struck him most were her eyes—dull, red-rimmed, and carrying a weariness that seemed far too heavy for someone her age.

“Are you unwell?” he asked, his tone more demanding than concerned.

Geet shook her head slightly. “I am fine, sir,” she whispered, her voice betraying the fatigue that clung to her like a second skin.

Maan’s brows furrowed. “Look up.”

Geet hesitated, her fingers tightening around the file in her hands.

“Huh?”

“I said look at me,” Maan repeated, his tone firmer. “Why are you looking down?”

Slowly, Geet raised her gaze, meeting his eyes with an effort to mask her exhaustion. She kept her expression neutral, not wanting to appear weak.

Maan leaned back, still studying her face. “Why didn’t you tell me about the PIP?”

Geet blinked, confusion flashing across her features. “Huh?”

Maan noticed her surprise but kept his gaze steady.

“I could say the same,” Geet mumbled under her breath, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Maan’s lips quirked up just slightly, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. There she was—the real Geet, peeking out from behind the exhausted facade.

“I wasn’t aware,” he said calmly, watching her closely to see her reaction.

Geet didn’t respond, but he saw something flicker across her face—doubt, confusion, and a tinge of disbelief.

“You didn’t text me back,” he said, the statement softer this time.

Geet remained silent, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched the file.

Maan exhaled slowly, masking his frustration. Why is she so closed off? Why isn’t she telling me what’s wrong?

“Anyways,” he said, adjusting his tone back to professional, “Take the rest of the week off. You’re out of the PIP.”

Geet nodded mechanically. “Thank you.”

Maan’s jaw tightened at her lack of response—no questions, no relief, just a simple acknowledgment like it didn’t even matter. He watched her, waiting for something—anything—to indicate how she really felt.

But she just stood there, blank and distant, like a doll going through the motions.

His fingers drummed lightly against the desk. “You know, Geet,” he started, his tone slightly sharper, “I can’t rescue you every time you’re in trouble. You have to learn how to fight back.”

Geet remained silent, her gaze fixed on a spot on the floor.

Maan continued, his voice growing more pointed. “You can’t just stay passive—whether it’s dealing with a bully in the office, harassers in your catering job, or people treating you badly during your acting career. You can’t just take it silently.”

He noticed her shoulders stiffen at the mention of her past jobs.

Maan pressed on. “If you don’t fight for yourself, people will walk all over you. You can’t always wait for someone to step in and save you. You’re capable of more than just... enduring.”

Geet swallowed hard, her hands gripping the file tighter. The words were digging into her, piercing through her carefully built wall. She felt the sting of his reprimand, but more than that, it hurt to hear him say it so bluntly.

She had been trying to hold on, to endure, to push through despite everything. And here he was, telling her that her way of surviving wasn’t enough. That she was just... weak.

Maan watched her, his expression softening slightly. He could see the subtle way her face tightened, the way her fingers dug into the edge of the file. But she still didn’t say anything—just stood there, taking the hit like she always did.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Maan wanted to shake her out of it, to make her snap back with something, anything that showed she was still in there—still the fierce, determined Geet he had glimpsed before.

But she just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

Something in his chest tightened painfully at her response.

He wanted to push her more, to get her to fight back—against him, against Priyanka, against whatever was holding her down. But the look on her face stopped him—a mixture of exhaustion, hurt, and a kind of quiet defeat that made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

He leaned forward, softening his tone. “Take the rest of the week off. Rest. We’ll talk later.”

Geet nodded once more, not meeting his eyes, and turned to leave.

As she walked out, Maan couldn’t help but feel like he had missed something important—like there was a deeper wound there that he couldn’t quite reach.

Why is she so broken? What happened while I was gone?

As the door closed behind her, Maan ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his mind whirling. He had wanted to encourage her, to make her stand up for herself. Instead, it felt like he had just made her retreat even further into herself.

He didn’t know how to fix this—but he knew he couldn’t leave her like that. Not when he could see her slipping away right in front of him.

Part 21

Fantastic Update

Maan gets knowledge that Geet is doing her PIP

and he immediately tells Priyanka to cancel the PIP

Geet on the other hand is deeply hurt and may have taken Maan's

advise as a deeper insult

hopefully soon both can connect and start speaking again

Part 21

feeling for Geet

she is so vulnerable and her confidence took a nosedive

hate Priyanka

Geet's thoughts and confusion were reasonable

upset that Geet questions her capabilities

Nisha's concern for Geet was justified

great that Geet does not want this to break her

angry with Priyanka's remarks

glad that Maan texted Geet

liked his care for Geet

worried seeing Geet's condition

now Geet doubts Maan

finally Maan is back and got to know about Geet being on PIP

as expected he was angry

good that he confronted Priyanka and told her to remove Geet from PIP

Maan's thoughts were understandable

pleased that Maan spoke to Geet about this

his question was anticipated

he was shocked seeing Geet's low esteem

he had valid points

not surprised that he was frustrated

wonderful that he will not leave Geet like that

liked that he wants to bring back her confidence

Maan should just fire Priyanka

update soon

21

great update

priyanka taking full advantage of maan's absence in torching geet n pulling down her strength n pushing her in shell

maan find what priyanka done n strongly oppose her actions towards geet

hope geet believes that maan has not part in this PIP

Part 22

Geet walked back to her desk, her movements stiff and mechanical. Maan’s words echoed in her mind, each one striking her like a sharp blow.

"I can’t rescue you every time you’re in trouble. You have to learn how to fight back."

Her chest felt tight, and she took a shaky breath, trying to keep her emotions at bay. She couldn’t afford to break down now—not here, not in the office where everyone could see.

He thinks I’m weak. He thinks I just let people walk all over me.

She couldn’t blame him. From the outside, it must have looked exactly like that—letting Priyanka push her into a PIP, silently enduring the training without protesting, never fighting back.

But he didn’t understand. He didn’t know how hard it was to hold on when the world constantly reminded her that she didn’t belong. She had fought—fought her own fears, fought the judgment of people who saw her as just an ex-actress, fought the insecurity that gnawed at her every day.

But Maan’s words had hit a nerve—a raw, aching nerve that she had tried so hard to protect. He made it sound so easy—just fight back, just push through. But how do you fight when you’re drowning? When every step forward feels like you’re being pulled back twice as hard?

As she reached her desk, Nisha glanced up and immediately noticed Geet’s pale face.

“Geet? Are you okay?” Nisha asked gently, her voice filled with concern.

Geet managed a faint smile, nodding. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Nisha didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t push further.

Back in his cabin, Maan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling with a deep frown. His mind kept replaying Geet’s reaction, or rather, her lack of reaction. He had been so sure that pushing her would make her push back—but instead, it seemed like he had broken something fragile.

He knew she was strong—he had seen it before, in the way she kept pushing through despite everything. But this... this passivity was new. It wasn’t like her. He wanted to know what was really going on behind that guarded expression.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it—Priyanka’s name flashing on the screen. He let it ring, not in the mood for her fake cheerfulness.

Instead, he pulled up Geet’s latest project reports on his laptop. As he skimmed through the data, he noticed something odd—despite the PIP and the extra training, her work had remained consistent. No dip in quality, no signs of neglect. If anything, it was almost too perfect—like she had gone above and beyond to make sure there wasn’t a single flaw.

His frown deepened. She’s still putting in the same effort despite being exhausted. Why didn’t she tell me about the PIP?

Maan’s mind was spinning as he stared at the flawless reports in front of him. He couldn’t wrap his head around it—how could she maintain such high-quality work while being dragged through hours of relentless training?

He closed his laptop, frustration boiling in his veins. Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she think she had to go through it alone?

He glanced at the office floor through the glass partition, his eyes instinctively searching for Geet. But her desk was empty.

Just then, Nisha walked past his cabin, and Maan gestured for her to come in.

“Yes, sir?” Nisha asked, slightly hesitant.

“Where’s Geet?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

Nisha gave him a small smile. “She left for the day. You told her to take a leave and rest, right?”

Maan nodded, trying not to show his impatience. “Did she seem... okay to you?”

Nisha hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Honestly, no. She looked really worn out. I think... whatever happened with the PIP hit her harder than she’s letting on.”

Maan’s jaw clenched, guilt swirling inside him. “Alright. Thanks, Nisha.”

Nisha gave him a sympathetic nod and left.

As Maan leaned back in his chair, he couldn’t help but feel restless. He had told Geet to take a break, to rest and come back next week, but something about the way she looked before leaving made him uneasy.

+++

Geet’s Apartment

Geet unlocked the door to her small apartment and stepped inside, the silence hitting her immediately. She shut the door behind her, dropping her bag on the floor, and leaned against the wall, letting out a shuddering breath.

Her mind replayed Maan’s words from earlier.

It had been unexpected—the softness in his voice, the genuine concern. For a fleeting moment, she had felt seen, understood. But then his other words surfaced.

"You have to learn how to fight back. I can’t rescue you every time you’re in trouble."

Her chest tightened, and she buried her face in her hands.

He’s right. I am weak. I just... endure everything. Why can’t I just fight back?

She knew why—because every time she had tried to push back, life had slapped her harder. The industry had pushed her out. The corporate world doubted her from the start. And now, even in this small, fragile space she had carved out for herself, it felt like the walls were closing in again.

Geet made her way to the couch, sinking into the cushions as exhaustion overtook her. She pulled a blanket over herself, curling up as her thoughts kept spinning.

Maybe I don’t belong here. Maybe Priyanka’s right—I’m not good enough. I was just lucky that Maan gave me a chance, but luck doesn’t last forever.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away. She didn’t want to cry. Not now, not over this. But the ache in her chest wouldn’t go away.

Her phone buzzed, and she reluctantly checked it—half hoping it was Maan, but knowing it wasn’t.

It was an email notification from HR, confirming that she had been officially removed from the PIP. Relief washed over her, but it was mixed with lingering self-doubt.

She wanted to believe that she was enough, that her work spoke for itself. But Priyanka’s words kept repeating in her head—about her lack of credentials, her unconventional background, the subtle insinuations that she didn’t deserve this job.

Maybe Maan just doesn’t see it yet. Maybe one day, he’ll realize that Priyanka is right.

Geet curled up tighter, pulling the blanket over her head as if that could shield her from the painful thoughts. She knew Maan had meant well, but his words about fighting back had hurt more than they should have.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to fight—she just didn’t know how.

+++

Back at the Office

Maan couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling. He knew he had pushed her, and while he meant it as encouragement, it had come off harsher than he intended.

He picked up his phone, contemplating whether to call her. But then he stopped himself. He didn’t want to pressure her when she was already so worn out.

His thoughts wandered back to the way she had looked at him—defeated, like she had given up. That wasn’t the Geet he knew. The Geet he knew was stubborn, resilient, silently rebellious in her own way.

Something had changed, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

As he sat there, his phone buzzed with a message from Priyanka.

Priyanka: Hey, Maan! Just wanted to check if you’re still up for discussing the next project over dinner tonight?

Maan didn’t respond, irritation simmering in his veins. Why did I ever let Priyanka step into this role?

He glanced back at his phone, still debating whether to text Geet.

What if she doesn’t want to hear from me?

But his fingers moved on their own.

Maan: Did you get home safely?

He stared at the screen, waiting, but no reply came. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Why are you shutting me out, Geet?

He couldn’t help but think about the carnival, the way her eyes had softened, how she had closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her—and he had kissed her forehead instead.

Did I mess up that night? Did I make her think I didn’t want her?

The thoughts were suffocating. He knew he had been hesitant, unsure of how far to push because he didn’t want to overwhelm her. But maybe, in trying to be careful, he had made her feel unimportant.

Maan knew he had to fix this. He couldn’t let Geet spiral down a path of self-doubt because of him.

Determined, he typed out another message.

Maan: Rest well. We’ll talk next week.

He hesitated before adding.

Maan: Don’t overthink it. You’re doing great.

As he sent the message, he could only hope that it would reach her in the way he intended—to reassure, not to pressure.

Leaning back in his chair, he couldn’t help but feel restless. He needed to find a way to reach her, to break down the wall that had suddenly sprung up between them.

Because losing her—losing the light she brought into his life—was not an option.

+++

The first day of leave passed with Geet barely getting out of bed.

She had no training to report to. No reports to submit. No Priyanka’s too-sweet voice dripping with passive barbs. No office floor to quietly disappear into.
And somehow, the silence was louder than all of it.

She lay curled on her side, eyes open, staring blankly at the ceiling fan slowly spinning above her. Time ticked by, but her mind didn’t stop.

Maybe I’m the problem.

It came suddenly, without drama, without tears. Just that one line, sinking deep and heavy into her bones.

I failed in the entertainment industry.
No contacts. No support. She was swallowed whole by that world before she even understood what it demanded of her. No matter how talented, hardworking, or striking she looked on camera—without people backing you, you were nobody. She had done side gigs, blink-and-you-miss-it print ads, some background modeling that paid just enough for rent. That was it. That’s all she had to show for years of trying. A resume that no one took seriously. A dream that had died quietly.

I failed as a caterer too.
She couldn’t cope with the constant humiliation. She had tried—she had smiled through the rich women mocking her tone, through men leering at her like she wasn’t even human, through being invisible. Every tray she balanced, every drunk laugh she endured, every time she was made to kneel to wipe something someone else spilled just to avoid a scene—she bore it all. Until she couldn’t. Until Maan had appeared. Not with kindness—but with a challenge.

And she had taken that challenge. Thinking maybe—maybe—this time she could prove herself.

But here too, in this corporate world, I’m failing.
No degree. No pedigree. Just hard work. And even that wasn’t enough. The PIP had made that clear. All her late nights, her effort, her attention to detail—it meant nothing. She still had to be “caught up” because of what she lacked.

Even my family. I failed them too.

She’d rebelled. She’d run. When they expected her to marry a local boy and settle into a life of two children and daily rituals in their small town in Uttar Pradesh, she had chosen otherwise. She had left, determined to make something of herself, convinced she was made for something bigger. Her mother had cried. Her father had refused to speak to her for weeks.

And for what?

What had she achieved that justified that rebellion? She wasn’t successful. She wasn’t someone they could be proud of. Her name wasn’t on billboards or magazine covers. Her job was never even hers—not really. It was a handout. A charity case.

I was Maan’s little project.
Someone he plucked out of a demeaning party job. Someone he gave an opportunity to as a whim, as a test, as a challenge. He probably thought he was doing a good deed. And now? He wasn’t even interested anymore. The silence after that forehead kiss, the way he let Priyanka inch closer and closer to him—it all said the same thing.

He’s done with the project. He moved on. To polished women with credentials and class. Like Priyanka.

Maan was born to win. To own companies. To have a hundred people hang onto every word he said.

So was Priyanka.
People like them are wired for excellence. Born into privilege, trained for confidence. Everything about them sparkled. They didn’t just fit into this world—they were this world.

And maybe people like me exist only so they can win harder.

Someone needs to lose so others can win. Maybe she was just that—born to fail so that others could shine brighter in comparison. A placeholder. A stepping stone.

Delusional, she thought bitterly. That’s what she had been all along. Thinking she could stand next to people like Maan Singh Khurana and not look like an embarrassment. Thinking she belonged in meetings where she barely understood half the jargon without secretly googling it after.

What am I even doing?

Her thoughts spiraled darker.

At the very least, she didn’t want to bring people down with her. People who had been kind—Nisha, Meera, Sheetal—even Maan, once. They didn’t deserve the weight of her presence. If she really was the weakest link, she should at least step back quietly. Before I start dragging others down with me.

By Thursday, she could no longer sit in her apartment without feeling like she was being swallowed alive.

Her phone buzzed with a message from an old contact—a small-time stylist who had once worked on her earlier shoots back in the modeling days.

Stylist Tanya: Hey. Last-minute drop. Are you available for a quick shoot? Lifestyle brand. Just half-day. Nothing major. You in?

Geet stared at the screen. Her instinct was to say no. She hadn’t posed in front of a camera in months, maybe more. But something about the offer tugged at her.

Not because she wanted to model again. Not because she thought it would fix anything.

But because it was... something. Something to pull her out of this spiraling silence. A distraction. A breath.

She typed quickly.

Geet: I’ll do it.

+++

The next morning, she arrived at the modest studio. No glamour. No flashy crew. Just a cramped room, some racks of generic clothes, two photographers with slouched postures and headphones, and lukewarm coffee in paper cups.

But Geet was grateful for it.

She changed into a pastel dress. Fixed her own hair. Light foundation, lip balm, done. The shoot was barely styled. It was just something for a mid-tier lifestyle blog that wanted "girl next door" content.

And for a few hours, she forgot everything.

She smiled for the camera, tilted her chin, adjusted her shoulders. She let herself exist in poses, in breath control, in the beat between shutter clicks.

It wasn’t fulfilling. It wasn’t powerful.

But it was quiet.

No expectations. No evaluation. No proving her worth.

Just movement.

When she left the shoot and stepped out into the late afternoon sun, she still didn’t feel whole. But she also didn’t feel like she was drowning.

That’s something, she told herself.

Maybe on Monday, she’d still feel lost. But today, at least, she had survived her thoughts.

+++

Sunday evening.

Geet sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through her phone absently, trying not to think too much—trying not to think at all. The tiny lifestyle shoot had helped, even if just for a few hours. It had pulled her out of the storm in her head long enough to remember how to smile.

But the moment didn’t last.

Her screen lit up with a new post on social media—one of those glitzy business gossip pages that posted snippets from elite events and investor galas.

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

The photo was unmistakable.

Maan Singh Khurana, in a classic black tuxedo, standing beside Priyanka. She was stunning—voluminous hair tumbling over her shoulders, a sleek red gown hugging every curve, her hand resting effortlessly on his arm. They looked like they belonged in a magazine. Perfect. Glossy. Balanced.

The caption read:
"Power duo alert! Khurana Corp’s CEO Maan Singh Khurana arrives with his secretary and rumored strategic advisor Priyanka Kapoor at the D.C. Investor Gala last night. 🔥👔💼 #PowerMoves #EliteCircle"

Geet’s stomach twisted. She clicked the photo open instinctively, zooming in even though she didn’t know why. It was a professional gala. Of course Priyanka would be there. She was his secretary. She had replaced Mr. Sharma.

She knew that.

She told herself that.

But the logic didn’t matter.

Because all she could see was him—the man who had once held her hand and danced with her like they were teenagers in the middle of a chaotic baraat. The same man who had run with her, laughed breathlessly beside her, and dropped her home that night with his palm still carrying the warmth of her fingers. The man who had high-fived her in the middle of a black-tie event and hadn’t looked away.

And now?

He had taken someone else to another gala.

Not as a challenge. Not as a joke.

But dressed in the same quiet dignity, beside a woman who looked like she had stepped straight out of the pages of a high-fashion investor magazine. A woman who belonged.

Geet stared at the image, her throat dry, heart heavy.

That night had meant something to her.

That gala they attended together—it hadn’t been just a night of work. It had been hers. Theirs.

She remembered everything. The commentary. The way they had roasted the elites like they were narrating a satire. How they had stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shielding each other from the room’s judgment. How she had told him about the man obsessed with heirloom tomato sauces and how Maan had actually laughed—laughed.

She remembered the way he had blocked creeps from eyeing her when she danced to the baraat dhol. The way he had run when she threw a rock at that casting-couch producer’s car. The way he had dropped her home and hadn’t let go of her hand until the very end.

That night hadn’t been a task. It had been a memory.

A shared secret.

A little rebellion against the world that had tried to crush them both in different ways.

She had come home that night feeling something shift. In her. Between them.

But maybe... maybe that had been her dream. One she mistook for theirs.

Maybe for Maan, it had been a temporary indulgence. A passing amusement. A half-night's distraction from the high-strung precision of his world.

And now—he had taken someone who fit.

Geet closed the app. Locked her phone.

She didn’t cry.

Not then.

She just stared at the wall in front of her, her breath shallow, her thoughts growing darker again.

He took her. He took Priyanka to the investor gala.
The same kind of gala he had once brought Geet to. And maybe that night—maybe she had never belonged there to begin with.

+++

She didn’t move for a long time.

The room around her was dim, bathed in the fading honeyed hues of the late evening sun filtering through half-drawn curtains. Her phone lay beside her, face down now, but it didn’t matter—the image had already seared itself into her mind.

Maan.
Priyanka.
Together.
At the gala.

She had stared at the photo for too long, blinking once, twice, as if somehow the image might rearrange itself into something else—into something less cruel.

But it didn’t.

He was in a black tuxedo. Elegant. Unshakeable. The way he always looked when he stood before the world like it owed him nothing.

And Priyanka—draped in red, radiant, polished to perfection. Her hand resting lightly on his arm like it belonged there.

There had been a caption beneath the photo, but Geet hadn’t read it. She hadn’t needed to. The image had said enough.

So he took her.
To the gala.
With him.

Not a staff event.
Not a strategy meeting.
A gala.

The same kind of night that had once been theirs.

Not officially. Not explicitly. But in the quiet, private corners of Geet’s heart, that night had belonged to them.

The night where Maan had offered his arm—not like a boss, not like a CEO, but like something softer, something that felt terrifyingly close to tender.

The night where they had exchanged glances across rooms full of people who once ignored her.

The night where they had roasted the elite like children sneaking commentary in the back row of class.

The night he had laughed with her.

The night he had run beside her.

The night he had looked at her and made her believe—just for a moment—that she wasn’t an outsider anymore.

And now?

Now, he was at the same kind of gala—with someone else.

Someone flawless. Someone worthy.

And Geet?

She was sitting on the edge of her bed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama, her phone burning against her skin.

She didn’t cry. Not immediately.

Instead, her breath caught—just once—and then stopped entirely.

Because it had happened.
The one thing she hadn’t dared to believe in had broken in front of her.

Not because of a fight.
Not because of rejection.
But because he had made his choice.

And it wasn’t her.

Great part

Hope Maan would have come to Geet earlier

Geet is thinking all negative and this is affecting her

At least Maan would have been better there for her and clear things

Cont soon

Thanks for pm