Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 41

She is trying so hard to get his name out. She knows he is there, with her.

Nice part

Both are fighting for each other

38

geet respond

maan says geet not to talk as he can understand n he is near her always to which geet give understanding looks as response

maan feeling like weight lifted from his shoulders

geet can see shape of maan's shoulders giving how is his condition

Part 38

Fascinating and Wonderment Filled Update

Finally Geet is coming out of her coma state

and of course it's Maan by her side

letting her know he is with her

it was so heart wrenching yet so encouraging when Geet

tries pronouncing Maan's name

Part 38

glad that Geet's eyes opened and she blinked

of cos she saw Maan there

at least she heard what he said

Geet's thoughts were reasonable

as expected she in pain

liked that she knows she is not alone anymore

not surprised that Maan had not slept

great that Geet was trying to talk

Maan was clearly relieved

so Geet's eyes were locked on Maan

she tried to call his name

this was a positive sign

loved that Maan assured Geet that he is there

update soon

Beautiful update wonderful 💯 💯

Lovely parts

Maaneet going through lot is pain but hope this brings them close too

everyone praying for them and hoping recovery soon

Just hope Maaneet doesn’t let anyone come in between them

Cont soon

Thanks for pm

Part 39

She didn’t look away.

Not when his voice whispered into the quiet.

Not when his tear fell, slow and unhidden.

Her eyes—still cloudy, rimmed in exhaustion—held his like they were trying to say everything her mouth still couldn’t.

There was so much behind them.
Weeks of silence.
Pain her body remembered even if her mind couldn’t shape it yet.
But there was something else too.

Recognition.

Not full. Not sharp.

But true.

Like a part of her had never stopped knowing who he was—even when the world had gone black.

Maan’s fingers trembled faintly as he swept his thumb across the top of her hand.
Not shaking from fear this time.
From relief.
The kind that hurts.
The kind that leaves you stunned.

He wanted to say a thousand things.

That he hadn’t left.

That she could take her time.

That she didn’t owe him anything—just stay.

But instead, all he said was—

“I’ve missed you.”

Her lips moved again, barely parting.

“...Mmmh…”
A dry sound. Nothing more.

But to him, it was thunder. It was wind after drought.

His head dipped forward, forehead hovering close to her wrist. He didn’t kiss it. Didn’t need to.

He just breathed her in.

Alive.

Here.

And for the first time in sixteen nights, he let his eyes close—just for a second.

When he opened them, she was still watching him.

Lashes heavy. Blinking slow. But still there.

Still with him.

He didn’t know how long it would last—if she would slip back into sleep.
If tomorrow she’d remember this.

But it didn’t matter.

Because this had happened.

And he’d seen it.

Felt it.

And in a world that had been nothing but stillness for so long—

That was everything.

++++

The door creaked open softly.

No knock. Just routine.

Nurse Tara entered with a fresh set of chart papers tucked under one arm and a tray of pre-dawn vitals supplies balanced carefully in her hands.

She wasn’t expecting anything new.
Not this morning.
Her body moved on practiced instinct—check vitals, note output, reposition the patient gently. Leave quietly.

But when she stepped fully into Room 407—

She stopped.

Mid-stride.

Her eyes landed on the bed.

And her breath caught.

Geet was awake.

Not flickering.

Not twitching.

Her eyes were open—heavy-lidded and bloodshot, yes, but unmistakably conscious.

And more than that—

they were locked on Maan.

Wide. Focused. Fixed.

She didn’t just happen to be looking in his direction.

She was watching him.

Tara didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there—quiet and reverent.

Because what she saw wasn’t medical.

It wasn’t a recovery milestone.

It was devotion—echoed, mirrored, seen from both sides at last.

Her voice, when it came, was barely audible.

“Geet…”

Maan looked up, as if only now remembering they weren’t alone in the world anymore.

But her gaze didn’t shift.

Still on him.

Still only him.

Tara swallowed hard.

Her fingers tightened around the tray.

Then she whispered, more to herself than anyone else—

“Oh my God.”

Her eyes shimmered. Just once.

Then she blinked it back, straightened her spine, and carefully set the tray down without a sound.

She stepped backward toward the door, pausing only to say—softly:

“I’ll come back in a minute.”

No charts.
No questions.
No interruption.

Because this wasn’t for the record.

This was something else.

Something holy.

And she wouldn’t be the one to cut it short.

+++

The hallway outside Room 407 was still bathed in the sleepy blue of pre-dawn.

Nurse Tara stepped out quietly, the door easing shut behind her with a muted click.

She didn’t move.

One hand still rested on the untouched tray she’d carried in. The other gripped her clipboard so tightly the paper creased beneath her fingers.

She had no memory of what she'd come in to do.

She just stood there.

Frozen.

Her pulse thudded in her throat—not in fear, but something older, something closer to awe. Her eyes shimmered wide, like she’d just walked out of a room where the laws of reality had briefly changed.

Because they had.

Down the corridor, Reema turned the corner, yawning into the sleeve of her cardigan, her bun half-collapsed. She slowed when she saw Tara standing still.

“Did you already do 407? I was just—”

Tara turned to face her.

Pale.

Stunned.

Her voice came before Reema could finish.

“She’s awake.”

Reema blinked.

“What?”

Tara didn’t raise her voice. If anything, she whispered it.

“She’s awake.”

The silence held it there, like it needed to land gently.

Then, softer still—

“She looked at him. Not just moved. Not just reflexes. She looked right at him.”

Reema’s mouth fell open.

Then slowly closed again.

“You mean… really awake?”

Tara nodded. No theatrics. No trembling.

Just quiet truth.

“Really awake.”

Reema’s hand flew to her chest.

She didn’t speak for a long second.

Then finally, voice thick:

“We all prayed last night. After she opened her eyes... we prayed it wouldn’t be a one-time flicker. We’ve seen that before—patients wake up once before they… don’t.”

She swallowed.

“We didn’t know how to tell him that. That sometimes, it’s just the body’s last trick.”

Tara closed her eyes, just briefly.

“But she moved again. She tracked. She made sound. Eye contact. The real kind. She was with him.”

Reema exhaled sharply, like air she’d been holding for days had finally let go.

“Then God’s been kind.”

Tara nodded once.

“ God was also moved by their love. He had to give her back to him”

No one moved to open the door again.

Not yet.

The moment didn’t belong to nurses. Or vitals. Or notes in a file.

It belonged to them—to the girl who fought her way back, and the man who had waited fifteen nights without asking for proof.

Even through the closed door, they could feel it.

The air was different.

The silence had changed.

And somewhere inside that room, the world had shifted.

+++

Outside Room 407, the hallway still held its hush.

Nurse Tara hadn’t moved from her place by the door. Reema stood beside her now, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, the weight of what she’d just heard settling slowly into her chest.

Down the corridor, Aanya, the junior nurse barely a month into rotation, appeared with a tray of clean linens. She spotted them both standing still, eyes glassy, breath uneven—and slowed instinctively.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice tentative.

Tara turned to her slowly, her lips parting in something that almost looked like a smile.

“She’s awake,” she said simply.

Aanya blinked.

“Geet?”

Tara nodded once.

Reema added, her voice still hushed:

“She opened her eyes. Looked straight at him. Didn’t look away.”

Aanya’s arms tightened around the tray pressed to her chest.

She’d heard the stories, of course. Everyone had.

The man in Room 407 who hadn’t left in three weeks.

Not her husband.

Not even her boyfriend.

Just the man who stayed.

And now—she was awake.

Aanya glanced toward the closed door.

Then asked the question like it slipped out of her without warning, like it belonged to all of them:

“What does it look like?”

Tara’s eyes didn’t move from the door.

She answered slowly.

“Like he’s been breathing just for her.”

Aanya swallowed, her throat tight. Her voice was softer this time.

“Does she… love him too?”

No one answered right away.

Reema and Tara looked at each other.

Then Tara spoke—not with certainty, not with assumption. Just with the fragile hope of someone who had seen something too quiet to deny:

“She looked at him like she’d been looking for him. Even in the dark.”

That was enough.

None of them said anything else.

They just stood there, eyes trained on the door like it might open again and show them something they weren’t sure they deserved to see.

Because some awakenings weren’t medical.

Some were reunions.

Silent ones.

And sometimes, even a girl with a broken spine and barely-open eyes could look at a man like he was the only thing worth finding her way back for.

+++

Late morning came slowly to Room 407.

The room had softened. Not just in light, but in air. It was no longer the place of crisis or silence. Now it was the room people walked past with hushed hope. The room nurses paused outside of. The room where something had shifted.

Inside, Geet lay still.

Eyes closed. Breathing steady.

But she wasn’t unconscious. She was resting.

She stirred now, just enough. Shifted under the covers, her brows twitching at sounds, light, the ache crawling through her ribs and spine like a shadow that hadn’t left.

Nurse Tara entered softly, her clipboard in hand, her presence always quieter than necessary—as if she, too, was afraid to disturb whatever fragile magic kept Geeti tethered here.

Maan stood from his chair when she came in, only slightly. He didn’t leave her side. Just straightened—eyes alert but calm.

Tara smiled gently.

“She’s due for her swallow test. Just the basics. Ice chips. Water. We’ll go slow.”

He nodded, silent.

Geeti stirred again.

This time, her eyes opened—slightly.

Tara leaned over her, touching her wrist with careful fingers.

“Hi, Geet. It’s Nurse Tara. You’re doing really well. We’re going to try something small, okay? Just a little ice. Nothing more.”

Geet blinked, the motion sluggish but unmistakable. Her lips moved faintly. She didn’t speak. But she didn’t flinch.

Tara took a plastic spoon and carefully scooped a half-melted chip from the cup. She brought it toward her lips—but paused.

“Would you rather he do it?” she asked, eyes flicking to Maan.

Maan hesitated.

“Only if she wants that.”

Geeti’s eyes drifted toward him. Just slightly.

And then—barely, achingly—

She nodded.

Tara smiled, gently handed him the spoon.

He took it like it was made of glass.

Kneeled by the bed this time, not sitting. Closer. Steady.

“It’s cold,” he whispered. “But I’ll be careful.”

Her lips parted—just enough.

He touched the spoon to them gently, barely letting the chip touch her tongue.

She blinked. Then again.

The tiniest twitch at her throat followed.

She swallowed.

Rough. Audible.

It sounded like nothing.

But it meant everything.

Maan exhaled.

“That’s it,” he said, voice low. “You did it.”

Her eyes closed again. From the effort. From the burn. From whatever it had cost her.

But she didn’t grimace.

And when her lips moved again—barely parting—

He leaned closer, just in case.

“More?” he asked.

She couldn’t answer.

But she didn’t turn away.

So he stayed. Holding the spoon in one hand, her fingers in the other, waiting for her to ask again with a blink or a breath.

Because now she could.

Because now—she was trying to live.

The nurses have seen a miracle unfold right in front of their eyes.