Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 42

Relaxing 😌 part

All are happy to see geet open the eyes

Hoping for best

Give next part soon

Beautiful update fantastic update finally she's awake

Part 39

A Miracle and Amazing Update

Geet finally opens her eyes but it almost feels like

she has been searching Maan even in her coma state

and now that she sees him

she cannot take her eyes off him

the entire ice scene was so beautiful and shows Geet's trust on Maan

39

nurses feel energetic seeing geet open her eyes n looking in to maan's

air in room 407 change with positive energy

every action is soft but notable

tara can see same thing in geet's eyes like maan

Part 39

great that she did not look away

glad that she recognised and knows he was there

of cos Maan was relieved

liked that he told that he missed her

Maan's thoughts were reasonable

as expected Geet was only focused on Maan

pleased that Tara did not interrupt

loved that all the nurses were praying for Geet to stay awake

they are clearly happy that Geet was awake

not surprised that Maan fed Geet the ice

update soon

Maan waiting is over now geet is slowly waking up now knowing he is there no matter what circumstances will be he will be there for her

Part 40

That afternoon, Nurse Reema adjusted Geet’s vitals monitor, checked her oxygen saturation for the third time in an hour, then turned to Tara at the door.

“She’s steady. Has been for a while.”

Tara nodded.

They both looked at her—lying still, eyes half-lidded but alert now. Breathing through her nose. Chest rising gently, rhythmically. No gasping. No struggle.

“Let’s try her without the oxygen mask,” Tara said softly. “Just nasal cannula for support.”

Reema unhooked the mask slowly, slipping the clear curve of it away from Geet’s face. Her skin was slightly flushed where it had rested. Her cheekbones looked more defined now, her lips dry but visible again.

She blinked. Just once.

Then breathed in.

On her own.

Not deeply. Not with ease.

But enough.

Maan watched from his chair, saying nothing.

His jaw clenched—but not from fear.

From awe.

He didn’t move. Just looked at her face, bare now in a new way. And for the first time, she looked like herself again.

+++

It started without planning.

It wasn’t language. Not really.
There were no full words. No scripted signals.

But Maan spoke to her like he understood every pause.
Every blink. Every almost-sound she made.

Because he did

A blink for yes.
A frown for no.
A shallow breath in or “mmhh” when she wanted him to speak again.

He understood all of it.

Sometimes she tapped her pinky weakly against his palm—three times—that meant don’t leave yet.

When a nurse asked if she was tired, and her eyes drifted toward Maan instead of blinking, he answered for her.

“She’s fine. She just doesn’t like small talk.”

The nurses caught on quickly. They didn’t interrupt.

And she?

She didn’t speak yet.

But she didn’t need to.

Because he always knew what she meant.

And somehow, that knowledge made her eyes soften just a little more every time he was near.

+++

It had been seventeen days.

Maan had told himself he didn’t care. He hadn’t. Not when she wasn’t awake.

But now—now that she looked at him and saw him—he did.

He called his housekeeper at 5 a.m. and asked for a bag. She didn’t question it.

A fresh shirt. A real razor. Toothpaste, a comb, his usual deodorant. Nothing fancy. Just… him.

He used the hospital room bathroom. Quietly. Efficiently.

By the time the nurses came in for morning vitals, he was changed into a clean, crisp black shirt. His jaw was smooth. His hair combed back. He looked like a man again.

He came back into the room that morning freshly showered—black shirt clinging crisp to his frame, hair still damp, stubble gone.

He looked more like himself.

He hadn’t shaved in over three weeks, but she’d opened her eyes that morning, seen him as he was, and something in him had shifted.

She noticed.

He saw it in the way her lashes lifted slightly. How her eyes followed him, slowly, deliberately, from the door to her bedside.

He settled into the chair, not quite looking at her yet.

Then glanced up.

“What?”

She didn’t blink.

He tilted his head.

“I look better now, is that it?”

A pause.

She blinked—once.

His brows rose. His whole face lit, just a little.

“Was that a yes?”

Another blink. Slower.

He stared for a second, then exhaled a quiet, surprised laugh.

“You’ve been holding back judgment all this time and now you’re rating my grooming routine?”

She blinked again. Just once.

Maan sat back, hand at his mouth to stop the grin.

“Unbelievable.”

Later, he was watching the news on low volume, his elbow resting on her bed frame.

“Stocks are down. Maybe the world missed you.”

No response.

“You gonna blink if I’m being annoying?”

One blink.

He turned, stunned.

“Wait—that was a yes?”

She blinked again.

He laughed. Just laughed—soft and real.

The nurses noticed.

Tara told Reema later,

“He smiled three times today. Full smile.”

Reema nodded, eyes shining.

“She does that to him. Just by blinking.”

+++

They kept going.

Each day, a little longer.
Each sound she made, he caught.
Each glance, each twitch of a finger—he understood.

And with every tiny cue from her, he filled the silence with more of him.

Not to overwhelm.

Just to anchor her.

So she always had something to respond to.

So she always had him to come back to.

+++

Late morning light spilled through the blinds in Room 407, casting pale lines across her bedsheet, across the side of his wrist resting gently against hers.

The tray had arrived earlier: a small paper cup of warm broth, a glass of apple juice diluted with water, a spoon.

Her first real intake.
No ice chips this time.

Maan hadn’t spoken much today. She’d been awake only ten minutes, and he’d stayed in the chair beside her, not filling the silence like before.

But when she blinked once—deliberate, slow—his head lifted.

He stood. Wordlessly picked up the spoon.

“Let’s try this,” he said softly, voice like worn velvet. “Only if you want to.”

She didn’t blink again.
But her lips parted.

He took that as consent.

Her neck brace restricted much of her head’s movement, but he’d already raised the hospital bed enough. Her eyes didn’t leave him as he scooped a small spoonful of broth, steady hand bringing it toward her.

She sipped it. Weakly.
Swallowed.

And then—

A slow breath. Faint. Rough.

“...mmhh…”

He paused, brows drawing in—watching her, not reacting, just reading.

Her gaze stayed on him.

He didn’t smile. Not at first.
Just tilted his head slightly.

“What?” he murmured. “It wasn’t awful, was it?”

A blink. Once.

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile.
Not yet.

“Or is that approval?”

She blinked again.

Then a breath, soft, barely shaped.

“...huhhh…”

His mouth lifted just slightly.

“You’re still judging me, even now.”

She didn’t blink this time. But her brow arched, only faintly—barely there—but it was enough.

He saw it.

“I talk too much,” he guessed. Quiet. Flat. But something flickered in his voice.

Her eyes didn’t move.

Then:

One blink.

He didn’t laugh.
He exhaled through his nose and shook his head, slow.

“Noted.”

He went quiet.

But he didn’t move back.

He sat there, one arm resting on the edge of her mattress, spoon still in hand, broth cooling in the cup.

“You’re allowed to insult me,” he said, softer now. “I just didn’t expect that to be the first thing you’d manage.”

She blinked.
Then again—slowly this time. Less deliberate.

He saw the fatigue pressing behind her lashes.

He placed the spoon down. Wiped her mouth gently with a tissue. Didn’t speak again.

But when she closed her eyes a minute later, her hand weakly shifted beneath his.

And he—without a word—threaded his fingers through hers.

Across the glass, Nurse Tara stood outside the door, not entering.

Reema stepped beside her.

“Did she respond?”

Tara didn’t take her eyes off them.

“He said three words. She blinked once. That was the entire conversation.”

Reema frowned.

“What did she say?”

Tara’s voice was almost a smile.

“She told him he talks too much.”

+++

Evening came with soft grey light and tired shadows.

The noise of the hospital quieted again. The hallway lights dimmed. Nurses changed shifts in low voices, and the world beyond Room 407 grew still.

Inside, Geet had been awake nearly thirty minutes.

Still not speaking.

Still unable to move more than her eyes and the faintest shifts of her jaw.

But present. And that was enough.

Maan sat beside her again, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a fresh bruise beneath his eye from lack of sleep, skin still damp from his second shower of the day in the cramped bathroom off her room.

He lifted the small paper cup of diluted apple juice from the tray and brought it toward her.

“Time for Dinner. Let’s try this,” he said, gently. “Just a sip. If it’s too much, blink twice.”

She blinked once.

That meant yes.

He moved closer, held the spoon near her mouth.

Her lips parted—not with ease, but trust.

He tipped the spoon slightly. A single drop passed her lips. She swallowed with effort.

Then—

“...hhuh…”

A breath. Weak. From exertion. From trying.

He paused. Didn’t bring the spoon again just yet.

Her eyes fluttered—not from pain. From exhaustion.

They always did near the end of her waking window.

He set the cup down.

Waited.

Watched.

And then, for the first time, he spoke not for her benefit—but for his own.

Not with composure.

Not to reassure her.

But because if he didn’t say it now, in the hush between breaths, he might carry it forever.

“Do you know how loud silence is?” he asked, voice low, steady, breaking only at the edge.

She didn’t answer.

Her lids fluttered again.

“I used to think I liked it. Silence. Peace. Not needing people.”

He looked at her then—not as the woman recovering in the hospital bed, but as her.

The only person he’d ever waited for.

“But yours…”
“Yours didn’t feel peaceful.”

He ran his thumb lightly over her wrist.

“It felt like I was buried under it.”

“Every hour you didn’t blink… every time your hand wouldn’t move… I thought—”
He stopped.

Swallowed.

“—I thought maybe you were already gone.”

Her breathing slowed.

She wasn’t asleep yet. But almost.

His voice softened further.

“So you don’t need to say anything, Geet. Not now. Not ever if you don’t want to.”

“You came back.”

“That’s more than I’ll ever deserve.”

Her lashes fluttered one last time.

And just before her eyes closed fully—

One blink.

Soft. Slow.

Intentional.

And Maan smiled.

Not in victory.

Not in relief.

But in awe.

Because even now—barely awake, barely able to move—she answered him.

40

beautiful update

maan awe seeing how geet understand him in this condition also

maan confess to geet what is her position in his life

Part 40

Sweet and Relaxing Update

Maan has very well learned Geet's eye movements

and what they indicate

but the best part is that he truly understands her and it also seems like

Geet herself depends on him especially when nurses ask questions

Geet wants Maan to answer them

great that he had spoken about his fear when she was in coma state