Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 35

Please don't let geet and maan stay apart just now he realised his feelings and he irrevocably love her and geet too please make geet healthy

Part 31

City General Hospital – Doctor’s Office

The blinds were drawn, but sunlight still bled into the corners of the room. The walls were white. The silence clinical.

Maan stood in front of the doctor’s desk, unmoving, fists clenched so tight the skin across his knuckles blanched. His shirt was still wrinkled from four days in the ICU. He hadn’t changed. Hadn’t shaved. He barely slept.

The file in the doctor’s hand looked too thin to contain what Maan feared was coming.

“Mr. Khurana,” the doctor began, voice measured, “we’ve treated her injuries to the best of our ability. Geetanjali is stable. Physically, she’s healing.”

Maan didn’t blink.

The doctor paused.

“But...?”

That single word tore out of Maan’s throat, sharp and ragged. His eyes were dark with exhaustion, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed something deeper. Fear.

The doctor closed the file, folded his hands over it. “She’s been through severe trauma—more than just physical. What’s concerning us now is her mental state.”

Maan’s breath caught. He stepped forward, his voice harsh. “What do you mean? She’s fighting, right? She told me she might not make it—why would she say that?”

He wasn’t asking.

He was demanding.

Begging.

The doctor exhaled and looked at him evenly. “It’s not uncommon for assault survivors to feel disoriented, helpless. What’s alarming isn’t just her pain—it’s her withdrawal. She’s quiet. Apathetic. Not resisting care, but not participating in it either. She’s alive, but… disconnected. That kind of emotional shutdown can affect recovery.”

Maan stared at him.

“It’s as if she’s... lost the will to fight,” the doctor added carefully. “And she’ll need more than time to get it back. She’ll need someone to remind her why she should.”

The room spun for a second. Just a second.

And then everything stilled.

Because Geet—his Geet—was the one who had never given up. Never.

She’d faced closed doors her whole life and kept knocking. She failed as an actress. As a model. She was mocked, erased, shoved aside. She took jobs beneath her talent, cleaned up after people who threw champagne on her shoes—and she still showed up the next morning.

That’s what had drawn him to her in the first place.

She had never stopped trying.

And now she had?

No.

No.

This wasn’t her.

Unless…

Unless he had broken her.

Not the world.

Not the assault.

But the quiet betrayal before it—the way he let her walk away. The way he looked the other way when Priyanka got too close. The way he never said the things she deserved to hear.

He should have seen it. The distance in her eyes. The weight in her silence.

She was slipping through my fingers long before the assault, he realized. I should’ve done something. I should’ve known.

He inhaled slowly, eyes falling shut for just a second.

And when they opened again, they were steady.

Clear.

“I understand,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

The doctor nodded, already reaching for the next file.

But Maan didn’t move.

He lingered for just a breath longer.

Then—

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, voice firmer now. “Whatever she needs. I won’t let her go without a fight.”

And this time, he meant it.

Not just because she was hurting.

But because he knew who she was.

Because he’d seen her carry herself through storm after storm, always alone—until now.

And if the one person who taught him what real strength looked like couldn’t remember it anymore—

Then he would remind her.

Every day.

Every hour.

Until she did.

+++

ICU Room — Late Night

He pulled the chair close to her bedside.

It was the same chair he had been sitting in for hours—maybe days. But this time, he didn’t sit like a man keeping vigil. He sat like a man about to confess.

His hand reached for hers automatically now. No hesitation. No fear of cold skin or IV lines. He simply needed to hold it—needed to remind her that she wasn’t alone. Not this time.

Her fingers didn’t move.

But he didn’t need them to. Not yet.

"Geet," he said softly, just her name. Not whispered. Not broken. Just… spoken.

The sound settled between them like a beginning.

He didn’t talk about her resilience. Not yet. He didn’t tell her who she was—because she already knew. She had always known. That was the problem.

She had never needed reminding.

What she needed now… was truth.

So he gave it to her.

"I never said thank you," he began, his thumb brushing across her knuckles, careful of the tape and the bruises. "Not once."

The monitor ticked softly behind him, measuring time she was barely holding onto.

“You fed me,” he said. “You helped me up when I couldn’t stand. You carried me through doors I don’t even remember passing through.”

He swallowed.

“And you never asked for anything. Not money. Not apology. Not even acknowledgment.”

His voice dropped.

“You gave me kindness… after I gave you humiliation.”

The words sat heavily in the air, raw and unpolished. He didn’t dress them up. He let them bleed.

“I watched you being slapped at a party where you were serving wine. You still handed out dessert. You still packed leftovers into boxes like you hadn’t been humiliated in front of half the city.”

“I heard the way they spoke to you. ‘Background staff.’ ‘Cute little caterer.’ You didn’t correct them. You didn’t flinch.”

His chest tightened.

“And you never asked me to protect you. But you were protecting me. Every time you handed me water before I passed out. Every time you made sure I didn’t choke on my own drunk. Every time you stood a few feet away—quiet. Watching.”

He took a breath, knuckles paling around her hand.

“I let you walk into rooms alone. I let Priyanka take your seat. I let silence do all the talking when you needed truth.”

He leaned forward now, close enough to feel the low hum of the oxygen mask between them.

“I should’ve said something that day in the breakroom,” he murmured. “When you said, ‘Let me go… we’re in the office.’ I should’ve said, ‘Don’t go.’ I should’ve said everything I felt.”

“I should’ve stopped you when you resigned.”

His voice broke.

“I should’ve told you that no one ever made me feel seen like you did. Not when I was sober. And especially not when I was wrecked.”

The machines went on. So did he.

“Do you know the first thing I did after you said you hated me? I went to a bakery two hours away and bought you that goddamn pastry you mentioned once.”

He laughed—low, short, bitter.

“You moaned after the first bite, and I thought I was going to fall apart.”

He didn’t wipe the tear that broke loose.

“I watched you dance with me at the baraat after the gala laughing like you were everything good about this world but yet so far. And I realized you weren’t mine.”

“You were never mine.”

A beat.

“But I want you to be.”

His fingers squeezed hers gently.

“I know it’s too late to say it. But I’m saying it anyway.”

Silence.

And then, finally—his voice softened, shaking but certain.

“You said you didn’t know if you’d make it.”

“I’m here to tell you that you will.”

“Because if I know anything in this world, it’s that you are stronger than me.”

“So fight.”

His hand didn’t move. His breath didn’t falter.

This was his ritual now. Not redemption. Not pity. Just presence.

He would stay.
Until she remembered.
Until she woke.
Until she forgave him, or didn’t.

But she wouldn’t wake up alone.

Not this time.

He pulled the chair closer to her bedside and sat, slow and deliberate. The plastic groaned under his weight, but the sound barely registered over the soft, ceaseless hum of machines.

Her face—half-shadowed, half-bruised—was still. Still too pale. Still too quiet.

He reached for her hand. His large palm enveloped hers gently, thumb tracing over her knuckles where the skin was cool. Cold, even. But steady.

“Geet,” he said, voice low, hoarse.

There was no expectation in the word. No plea. No guilt. Just a beginning. A name carried with reverence—spoken as if her silence deserved a response anyway.

He didn’t start with apologies.

He started with her.

“You used to carry food trays into rooms where people didn’t even know your name,” he murmured. “You stayed after midnight cleaning up after parties where the same girls who mocked your past took selfies with your canapés.”

“You didn’t flinch when they handed you their plates. You just nodded and moved on.”

His eyes drifted down to her IV line.

“I saw it, you know. Every time I pretended not to.”

He shifted closer, his hand never leaving hers.

“I remember the night you found me drunk. You didn’t say a word. You gave me water. Made me sit. You fed me quietly. You helped me get home.”

“You never asked why I drank. You didn’t care if I remembered. You just… helped.”

He exhaled sharply, a breath held too long.

“You hated me once. You had every reason to. I left you with a bill that broke you. And when you came back, you never threw it in my face. You just got to work. Quiet. Unbothered. Unshakeable.”

He paused.

“That’s who you are.”

“Not some broken girl who fades into white sheets and machines.”

His thumb brushed her hand again.

“You’re the girl who carried me when I was too drunk to stand. Who said nothing when I gave you every reason to scream. You’re the girl who kissed me back. Who let me kiss your forehead and still didn’t ask what we were.”

“You’re the girl who left. And still looked back.”

His throat tightened.

“I know I never said it. That I made you feel like none of it mattered. Like you didn’t matter.”

“But you did.”

“You do.”

The words sat between them, soft as dusk.

He kept talking.

Not of dreams she once confessed—she never did.

But of what he witnessed.

Of the nights she fed him from behind a service counter while everyone else laughed.

Of the way she stood outside his cabin door, holding her reports with silent resolve, even when Priyanka sat across from him in glass and gold.

Of how she wore disappointment like dignity.

And how she never once begged—not for clarity, not for affection, not for answers.

He spoke until the room changed color. Until the edges of dawn crept into her silence.

He didn’t stop.

Because this wasn’t a confession.

It was a reminder.

Not of who he was.

But of who she had always been.

And he’d keep reminding her—

Until she remembered it too.

Wonderful update 💝 simply amazing geet will come back for sure looking forward for next update

31

painful update

maan confess what she is when doctor said that she is not supporting n withdrawing herself

everything is about geet not of maan

thanks for the update

Part 35

as expected Maan never left Geet's side

great that Geet is stable and physically healing

but she has been through severe trauma

the doctors are now concerned about her mental state

Maan's fears were reasonable

his question was justified

glad that the doc was honest with Maan

sad that Geet was assaulted

who did that to her?

well Geet has lost the will to fight

the doc gave Maan good advice

Maan's thoughts were understandable

Geet never gave up and rose above every situation

however she has now given up

Maan thinks that he broke Geet

finally realisation dawns

he should have not let her leave.... should have seen the distance in her eyes

pleased that Maan is determined to whatever it takes to bring Geet back

so Maan thanked Geet

at least apologised to Geet for not being there and not doing enough

loved that Maan confessed what he feels for her and wants her to be his

good that he told Geet to fight

not surprised that he encouraged Geet

liked that he reminded Geet who she is

hope Geet fights.....

Part 31

Emotional and yet so Warm Update

I love the fact how Maan is talking to Geet

letting her know who she really is

I'm truly getting so impatient to see what happens when she awakes

oh wow..

maan completely stuck in hospital next to geet....he would not leave her even for a moment...and finally decided to open up and confess everything and make her believe that she is truly who she is because of her courage and strength she should not giveup....he is going to be there with her now in her every step....and also how wrong he was for not openieng up before....lets hope she hears and opens her eyes....

Part 32

City General Hospital – ICU, Room 407
The Morning After

Light bled slowly through the high windows—gray and soft, like it knew how fragile the room was.

The machines still hummed.
The oxygen still hissed.
Geet still hadn’t moved.

But something had changed.

Not in her vitals.

In him.

Maan sat beside her as he had for days—same chair, same shirt, same rumpled slacks that hadn’t seen a hanger in almost a week. His beard was longer now, patchy along his jaw, his hair curling slightly at the ends from unwashed days.

But the frantic edge in him was gone.

He didn’t pace anymore.

He didn’t check the monitors like they were clocks ticking toward a verdict.

He just… sat.

One hand resting lightly over hers, not squeezing. Just there. As if his pulse alone was enough to remind her she was tethered.

He had spoken all his truths into her silence.

And now?

Now he would hold her through it.

Because love wasn’t always a storm.

Sometimes, it was stillness.

Sometimes, it was the refusal to leave.

+++

7:42 AM

Nurse Tara stepped inside with the saline bag and a fresh set of vitals to record. Her shoes made no sound on the floor—she’d learned to walk softly around this room, around this man.

“Good morning, Mr. Khurana,” she said gently, her voice a hush between monitors.

Maan didn’t lift his head.

But his hand moved, just slightly, brushing Geet’s fingers.

Tara hooked the new bag, checked the flow, scribbled her notes.

And then—

She placed a small paper cup of black coffee on the side table, careful not to make noise.

Maan’s eyes followed her hand.

He nodded once. No words.

But it was enough.

He hadn’t acknowledged anyone in days.

Tara felt her throat tighten. She didn’t ask how he was doing.

She already knew.

+++

8:30 AM

Dr. Ahuja entered with his usual crispness, flipping through Geet’s chart on his tablet. He greeted Maan with a polite nod, but Maan didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He was alert. Present.

And the doctor could sense it—the shift.

As if something had steadied inside him overnight.
A decision made.
A battle begun.

+++

9:05 AM

Another nurse, Clara, came in to check the IV line. She’d been there last night too—had heard enough to never forget it.

Geet was still unresponsive, but the bruises along her temple had begun to fade. Her breathing, while shallow, was even.

Clara knelt near the IV stand, checking the insertion point.

She looked up, voice soft.

“She’s lucky to have someone like you,” she said, not expecting an answer. “Most people don’t stay.”

Maan didn’t respond.

He just looked at Geet.

And when he did, Clara looked away.

Because there was something about the way his eyes lingered on that girl—bruised, unconscious, wrapped in gauze and bone-deep silence—

Something undeniably reverent.

Not pity.

Not guilt.

But something holy.

+++

10:12 AM

The hallway outside buzzed with the usual motion—interns, orderlies, residents with charts and caffeine in their veins.

But whenever someone passed Room 407, they glanced in.

And slowed.

Because there was something about the man in that chair that made people pause.

Some thought he was her husband.
Some said boyfriend.
Others whispered, he’s just a visitor.

But whatever he was—

He was still there.

And not with the desperation of a man fearing the worst.

But with the still, unwavering presence of a man fighting for the best.

+++

Later that afternoon

A staff intern walked by with a clipboard. She stopped at the nurse’s station.

“Is he always here?”

Tara didn’t look up. “Every day.”

“Does he talk?”

“Not much.”

The intern hesitated. “He’s not wearing hospital bracelets. Not listed as family either.”

Tara finally looked up, a small smile touching her lips.

“No. But you should see how he looks at her.”

+++

Inside Room 407

Maan didn’t see the world slowing for him.

Didn’t know about the coffee.
Didn’t hear the whispers.
Didn’t register the silence he caused by simply staying.

All he knew—

Was that he had told her everything.

And now, all that was left...

Was to wait for her to come back and hear it.

+++

Khurana Corp – Executive Floor, 7th Day of Maan’s Absence
Priyanka’s Office

The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, casting long shadows across the glass conference table. The sun was sharp today—blinding. It made Priyanka’s headache worse.

Her perfectly manicured fingers tapped against the sleek surface of her tablet, each second passing without a reply tightening the knot in her jaw.

No email.
No call.
No response.
Not even a forwarded calendar alert.

Maan had vanished from the boardrooms, from the group threads, from her reach.

And no one seemed to know why.

Or if they did—they weren’t telling her.

A notification pinged softly at the corner of her screen.

Boardroom 2C: Emergency Status Check-In – 3 PM.

Her heels clicked with practiced grace as she strode down the hallway. Her dress was immaculate. So was her posture. She didn’t let the uncertainty show.

Not in front of them.

Boardroom 2C

Mr. Nandwani, one of the senior board members, adjusted his glasses and looked up as she entered.

“Ah, Priyanka,” he said. “Thank you for joining us. We wanted to understand what the current status is—particularly with the CEO’s absence.”

She gave a soft, clipped smile. “Of course.”

One of the other board members leaned forward. “Where’s Maan?”

She tilted her head, careful with her tone. “He hasn’t returned my calls,” she said evenly. “I’m assuming it’s a personal emergency. He’s been under… strain lately. But nothing has been officially communicated.”

She let the words linger.

Let them assume she was still in the loop. That his silence was temporary. That she was still the gatekeeper to Maan Singh Khurana.

But even as she spoke, her phone vibrated with a fresh notification from the firm’s press monitoring system. Another tag. Another alert.

She tapped it open.

And froze.

It was a candid photo posted on a small hospital’s public event update. Something innocuous. A charity post, barely liked. But someone had shared it further.

Photo:

A young volunteer smiling beside a nurse, in the background blurred—but unmistakable—

Maan.

Unshaven. Hollow-eyed. Shirt crumpled. One hand resting gently on a bedrail beside a woman covered in gauze and casts.

Priyanka’s stomach dropped.

She zoomed in.

The image sharpened.

The girl.

Her.

Geet

And the expression on Maan’s face?

Not distraction.
Not panic.
But devotion.

Like the world had stopped spinning and he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Her fingers trembled before she locked the screen and lowered the phone onto the table with care.

One of the board members asked, “Should we escalate his absence further?”

Before she could respond—

The door to the boardroom opened.

Mr. Rao.

The old man walked in with the unbothered authority of someone who had once been the voice behind the throne. Crisp white shirt. Rolled sleeves. A small file under one arm.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Mr. Rao said mildly. “But I believe this concerns me.”

Everyone turned.

Priyanka’s lips parted. “You…?”

He smiled gently. “I received instructions from Mr. Khurana late last evening.”

He set the file down, opened it without ceremony. “He’s activated emergency protocol for extended absence. Family emergency clause.”

He looked up at her, still kind.

“But it seems the message wasn’t shared with you, Ms. Priyanka.”

Her expression didn’t flicker. Not yet. “I’m his acting secretary. If there was a—”

“Mr. Khurana specifically asked me to resume oversight in his absence,” Mr. Rao said, voice still mild, but now carrying weight. “Until he returns. Which, I was told, will be when the matter at hand is fully resolved. No sooner.”

The room went still.

Priyanka swallowed. “He didn’t mention anything to me. I should’ve—”

“He didn’t need to,” Mr. Rao said simply. “He’s chosen not to communicate through you.”

There it was.

Not a slap.
Not a scream.
Just a simple severance.

Mr. Rao glanced around the table. “Operations will continue. I’ll be liaising directly with him. You can forward all administrative documentation to my office.”

Priyanka couldn’t speak.

Because she understood.

Whatever place she thought she’d carved for herself in Maan’s world—
Whatever confidence she had drawn from the way she moved through his office, his meetings, his calendar—

Was gone.

Because she hadn’t just been sidelined.

She’d been erased.

+++

Later, in her own office

The door clicked shut behind her.

She sat down slowly, the phone still cold in her hand.

She reopened the photo.

Zoomed in one more time.

Maan’s eyes—haunted, exhausted—were fixed on Geet as if nothing else in the universe could touch him.

And in that moment, Priyanka finally understood:

He hadn’t chosen ambition.
Hadn’t chosen legacy.
Hadn’t even chosen her.

He had chosen her.

That girl.

The one who worked invisible jobs, who left without fanfare, who walked away once and somehow became everything he stayed for.

And Priyanka?

She’d never even seen the battle begin.

But now, she knew how it ended.

+++

ICU Room — After Midnight

The clock above the sink ticked faintly, marking time in seconds that felt like centuries.

Outside, the world kept turning.

Inside this room, nothing moved.

Geet lay still.

Unmoved. Unchanged.
Her breath hissed faintly through the oxygen mask—rhythmic, shallow, too fragile for peace. The glow from the machines lit her face in fractured shadows. Pale. Hollow. Still a canvas of quiet devastation.

And Maan…
Maan hadn’t moved much either.

He was still in the same chair, knees drawn in, spine hunched with exhaustion he refused to give in to. His shirt was more wrinkle than fabric now. The collar slack. His sleeves rolled and crumpled from wiping his face too many times.

His hand remained wrapped around hers.

But the fire behind his eyes—the one that burned even through heartbreak—was flickering low tonight.

Not out of anger.
Not out of grief.

Out of something quieter.
Colder.

Doubt.

He’d spoken so much the night before. Said things he hadn’t even admitted to himself until now. Words that bled from the deepest, rawest parts of him.

But she hadn’t stirred.

Not once.

Not a blink.
Not a tremor.
Not even the unconscious twitch he’d once imagined—willed into existence through desperation.

Just stillness.

Still.

His thumb gently brushed over her knuckles again, as if prompting her awake. As if the body remembered even when the mind did not.

But her fingers stayed limp beneath his.

And slowly—painfully slowly—something inside him began to ache in a different way.

Not panic.

Not helplessness.

But the start of a question.

A quiet voice he hadn’t let in until now.

What if she didn’t hear you?

What if none of it reached her?

What if she’s already halfway gone—and this is you, whispering at a locked door that won’t ever open again?

His jaw clenched.

And for a long time, he didn’t say a word.

Just sat there.

Watching her.

Holding her hand like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Then—

His voice broke the quiet.

Low.
Even.
Almost numb.

“Tell me if I’m wasting time.”

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t bitter. They just… were.

“I’ll still stay,” he added, almost like a promise to himself. “But I need to know you’re still in there.”

Still, she didn’t move.

He leaned back slightly, his fingers still cradling hers. But something in his body language changed—his shoulders curved inward, his spine slowly caving like a man bearing invisible weight.

No breakdown.
No storm.

Just… fatigue.

Of hoping. Of waiting. Of talking to silence and pretending it counts.

The room didn’t answer him. Neither did she.

But he didn’t leave.

He sat there as the monitors blinked steady.
As the light above her bed hummed.
As her breath whispered on in soft, mechanical rhythm.

Eyes dimmer now.
Hands still steady.
Voice quieter than ever.

This wasn’t the part of love anyone talked about.

The part where you keep showing up—even when you don’t know if it’s working.

Even when love starts to feel like a one-way road you’re walking blindfolded.

Even when you start to wonder… if you’re the only one left walking at all.

But he stayed.

Because even if he never heard her voice again…
Even if her hand never squeezed his back…

He wasn’t going to let her go through this alone.

Not this time.
Not ever again.

He brought her hand to his lips one more time, eyes closed.

“Still here, Geet.”

His voice was barely a breath.

“But it’s getting hard.”

He looked at her again.

Raw. Stripped. Bare.

“Just… give me something. Please.”

And then silence returned.

And still, he stayed.

Beautiful update finally priyanka knows her place we'll looking forward to see when will geet be ok