Part 4
Geet kept her distance from Maan during the parties, acutely aware that her job depended on her ability to remain professional and discreet. She was there to serve, not to engage in idle conversation with one of the wealthiest men in the room.
Whenever Maan was present, she made it a point to maintain her composure, avoiding eye contact unless necessary. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself or jeopardize her position by appearing too familiar with him.
Still, she couldn't help but notice the way he interacted with others. Despite the laughter and glitz around him, he often seemed lost, a flicker of restlessness in his eyes as he moved from one group to another. He would sip his drink, trying to fit in, but Geet could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he used alcohol to mask his discomfort.
On particularly hectic nights, when the parties became overwhelming, Maan would sometimes appear more intoxicated than usual. It was during one of these moments that Geet found herself breaking her own rule.
She was cleaning up a mess of empty glasses when she noticed Maan slumped against the bar, his expression clouded and dazed. The laughter and chatter of the other guests felt far away, and he seemed detached from the world around him. It was in that moment, seeing him so vulnerable, that her resolve faltered. “Do you need some water?” she asked, her voice barely rising above the noise.
He turned to her; eyes unfocused but searching. “Geet?” His tone was thick with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend why she was speaking to him.
“Yes, it’s me,” she replied, moving closer, cautious but intent. “You should drink some water. You’ve had enough for tonight.”
“Who’s counting?” he said, managing a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Besides, I’m just trying to survive this circus.”
“It’s not a circus,” she shot back gently, a hint of concern in her voice. “But you need to take care of yourself.”
He seemed to consider her words, the fog of alcohol momentarily clearing. “And why do you care?” he asked, a note of defensiveness creeping in.
“Because you look like you’re about to fall over,” she replied, folding her arms and standing her ground. “And it’s not a good look for a billionaire.” He laughed softly, but it quickly turned into a cough. “Touché.”
For a moment, they stood in an awkward silence, the chaos of the party swirling around them. Geet felt a tug of empathy toward him, something deeper than their usual encounters.
Maan studied her for a long moment, and she could see the weight of his world in his eyes.
“You really think it’s that simple?” he asked, his tone shifting from sarcasm to sincerity as if reading her mind and responding to her thoughts.
“I do,” she insisted, surprising herself with her conviction. “You’re not just a puppet in this game. You have the power to step back and choose what matters to you.”
As the party carried on around them, Maan seemed to let her words sink in. He took a deep breath, his façade cracking just a bit.
Just then, the music changed to a more upbeat tempo, drawing the attention of the partygoers. Maan seemed to snap back to reality, the moment between them quickly dissipating.
With that, she turned away, heading back to her duties, her mind racing. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of their brief interaction. In that moment, she had seen a glimpse of the man beneath the mask, and it terrified her.
++++
The next few parties passed in a blur. Geet maintained her professional distance, serving drinks and clearing plates, all while keeping an eye on Maan from afar. It was a delicate dance—one where she felt both drawn to him and fearful of the repercussions of crossing the invisible line that separated them.
She witnessed his ongoing struggle, his need for alcohol to socialize with the elite, and how, despite his wealth and privilege, he often appeared more isolated than anyone else in the room. It reminded her of her own position, the way she was often belittled and dismissed as just a “tiffin service lady or caterer or server”
Each time she saw him, there was a flicker of something between them—an unspoken understanding of their shared experiences. Yet, the tension lingered, held back by the boundaries of their worlds. Geet knew that while they could connect in their vulnerabilities, the risks of stepping outside their roles loomed large.
And so, the slow burn continued, simmering beneath the surface, each encounter a delicate balance of proximity and distance, pushing and pulling at the fragile thread that bound their fates together.
++++
As Geet navigated the bustling atmosphere of yet another high-society party, her attention often drifted toward Maan. From her vantage point as a caterer, she had come to notice his peculiar patterns. He was a man of routines—arriving with his usual air of quiet confidence, commanding attention without even trying. He moved through the crowd with sharp ease, his laughter measured, his interactions deliberate. Yet, as the night wore on, his demeanor would begin to shift.
It always started the same way. A single scotch in his hand, his movements fluid, his smile effortless. But by the time the night reached its peak, his steps grew heavier, his laughter louder, and the lines of his perfectly tailored suit seemed to tighten as if the weight of the evening was pressing down on him. He would retreat to the bar eventually, but not before enduring what seemed to be an endless loop of superficial conversations.
From her position near the hors d’oeuvres table, Geet’s sharp eyes followed him as he flitted between clusters of guests. A group of investors had him cornered, their voices carrying over the hum of the music.
“So, Maan, what’s next on your agenda? Expanding into luxury yachts?” one of them asked, his tone dripping with self-satisfaction.
Maan’s response was instant, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Yachts? How daring. Nothing screams innovation like floating excess.”
The group laughed, oblivious to the sharp edge in his words, but Geet noticed the way his jaw tightened and his fingers flexed around his glass. He didn’t enjoy these conversations—he tolerated them, a performance he seemed to have mastered over time.
As the night wore on, Geet worked efficiently, weaving between guests with practiced ease, ensuring the trays remained full and glasses were topped off. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from observing him. There were moments when their eyes would meet briefly across the room—a fleeting connection that left her chest tightening. She didn’t linger; she had her duties, and he had his world.
++++++
It wasn’t her job to cater to individual guests, but she couldn’t help herself when it came to him. As she passed by his table with a tray of appetizers, she tilted it just slightly toward him, offering him the choice without a word. Maan raised an eyebrow at her but took one of the delicately arranged canapés, his lips quirking into an almost imperceptible smirk.
A little while later, when his glass sat empty on a table and no one had refilled it, Geet placed a glass of water discreetly at his side. He glanced at it for a moment before looking up, but by then, she was already gone, blending back into the crowd.
Maan’s gaze followed her for a beat longer than usual. He didn’t say anything, but the faint smile playing on his lips suggested he noticed. It became a pattern throughout the evening—Geet slipping glasses of water or plates of food into his space, her care quiet and unobtrusive, as though it was second nature.
By the time the night began to wane and the guests started trickling out, Maan had settled into his usual spot at the bar. His tie was loose, and his once-sharp demeanor was softened by exhaustion and the haze of alcohol. He leaned back on the stool, his elbows resting on the counter, surveying the remnants of the grand event.
Geet spotted him as she cleared tables nearby, her tray balanced perfectly in her hands. He looked heavier somehow, as if the weight of the evening had finally caught up with him. Gathering her courage, she approached the bar, setting her tray down gently before picking up a fresh glass of water.
“Maan,” she said softly, her voice low enough to avoid drawing attention.
He turned his head slowly, his expression flickering with surprise. “Geet?” he said, his voice hoarse but carrying an undercurrent of curiosity. “Is it safe to talk to you, or will I be reported to the manager?” His lips twitched into a half-smile, but there was something raw in his eyes that betrayed his attempt at humor.
“You’ve had enough for tonight,” she said simply, placing the glass of water in front of him.
He chuckled softly, the sound uneven. “You’ve been counting, haven’t you? It’s like you’re my personal bartender.”
Geet didn’t rise to the bait. She continued her task in silence, her calm presence oddly disarming. Maan’s smirk faltered as he watched her, the haze of alcohol momentarily lifting.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” he asked after a pause, his tone quieter now.
She glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable. “Not unless I have to.”
“Smart,” he murmured, taking a sip of the water she’d left for him. He leaned against the bar, studying her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.
Maan glanced at the water, then back at her. “It’s my shield,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now. “It’s easier to hide behind the alcohol than to face… all of this.” He gestured vaguely to the empty glasses, the dimmed lights, the echoes of the night’s festivities.
Geet felt her chest tighten, an ache she couldn’t quite name.
He looked at her, his expression inscrutable. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The tension between them crackled in the air, a delicate thread that connected them in ways neither fully understood.
“Why do you care?” he asked finally, his tone carrying a faint edge of defensiveness.
“Because…” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes it’s hard to watch someone else fall when you’ve been there yourself.”
Maan studied her for a beat longer before letting out a soft sigh. “Touché.”
Geet didn’t linger. She turned back to her tray, picking it up with quiet efficiency. As she walked away, Maan’s gaze followed her, his mind turning over her words.
+++++
In the weeks that followed, their interactions remained just as subtle. Geet continued to slip water and food his way during parties, her care silent but deliberate. Maan, for his part, seemed to accept it with a kind of unspoken gratitude. Their moments of connection were brief but electric, a slow burn that simmered beneath the surface.
Geet couldn’t explain why she cared so much, and Maan couldn’t bring himself to ask. But as the nights stretched on, it became clear to both of them that their connection—silent and fragile as it was—was beginning to grow into something neither of them had anticipated.
+++++
The weeks rolled on, and Geet found herself entrenched in the rhythm of Maan's life at the parties. Each event became a delicate balancing act for her—serving guests while observing the intricate dance of social interactions that Maan so expertly navigated, albeit with an air of detachment.
She continued to count the drinks he consumed, often tallying them in her mind as she worked. Each time she noted the numbers rise, a knot of concern tightened in her stomach. He was intelligent, sharp-witted, and undoubtedly a force to be reckoned with, but the alcohol seemed to blur the edges of his brilliance, leaving behind a lingering sadness she couldn’t ignore.
One evening, as Geet prepared for a particularly opulent gala, she overheard a conversation between Maan and another guest. The man was discussing business ventures, boasting about his latest acquisitions. Geet watched as Maan stood slightly apart, arms crossed, listening but visibly unimpressed.
“Did you hear about the new beach resort I’m buying?” the man bragged, his voice dripping with entitlement. “Only the best, of course. You should join us for a weekend getaway, Maan.”
Maan smirked, a flicker of sarcasm dancing in his eyes. “I’d rather swim with sharks, thanks.” His tone was casual, but Geet caught the underlying frustration.
As the night progressed, she noticed Maan retreating further into his shell. He was no longer engaging in conversation, instead opting to lean against the bar, staring into his drink as if it held the answers to all his questions. The weight of the world seemed to press heavily on him, and Geet felt a pang of empathy wash over her.
++++
As another event wound down and the last of the guests trickled out, Geet remained busy clearing up the aftermath. The clinking of glasses and soft chatter faded into the background as she worked, focused on her task. Her movements were efficient but graceful, a practiced ease honed from years of staying in the shadows of such glittering occasions.
She’d borne the evening’s slights with her usual quiet dignity. The dismissive glances, the muttered complaints about the service, the haughty tones that reduced her to “just the help”—all of it washed over her like waves against a stone. She didn’t let the cracks show. Not once. Geet had learned long ago that the only way to survive these moments was to endure them silently, to hold her head high and let her work speak for itself.
But Geet was not the only one observing Maan. He had been observing her too.
In the weeks that followed, Maan observed while Geet continued to endure the quiet humiliations that came with her role. The whispered barbs, the dismissive gestures, the occasional outright insult—none of it fazed her outwardly. She had perfected the art of bearing it with grace, her calm demeanor a shield that protected her from the condescension of the wealthy.
Maan noticed her resilience more with each passing event. He saw the way she moved through the room, her head held high despite the disdainful glances and cutting remarks. It intrigued him, this quiet strength that seemed so at odds with the frivolity of the world around them.
Occasionally, their paths would cross—brief, fleeting moments that left an impression on both of them. She would offer him water without a word or clear away his empty glass with a polite nod. He, in turn, would watch her from afar, his gaze following her as she disappeared into the crowd.
One evening, after yet another opulent party filled with shallow conversations and endless rounds of drinks, Maan found himself lingering near the bar again. The weight of the evening pressed heavily on him, and the noise of the remaining guests felt oppressive. Geet approached quietly, placing a fresh glass of water in front of him without meeting his eyes.
“Why do you do it?” he asked suddenly, his voice low but insistent.
She paused, her fingers still resting on the edge of the tray. “Do what?”
“Put up with… all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the room around them. “The way they treat you.”
Geet straightened, her calm gaze finally meeting his. “Because it’s not about them,” she said simply.
Her words, quiet and resolute, struck him harder than he expected. He nodded slowly, a flicker of understanding passing between them. For the first time in a long time, he felt the need to reflect instead of drink.
“What about you? Why do you put up with …all of this? ” she asks, keeping her voice light.
Anupamaa
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
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