Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 44

Part 41

Amazingly Awesome

Geet is truly showing positive signs

especially now trying to take Maan's name

while Maan is learning every move and sound off Geet

Hi hope that you are well

thank for the pm and update

Part 41

liked Maan's care and concern for Geet

of cos he understands Geet

great seeing some improvement again

glad that Maan feels alive and hungry

as expected Geet noticed things

oh she saw the sky and wanted him to see it too

feeling for Geet

loved that she does not feel alone anymore

good that Geet is now having solids

pleased that she managed to speak

well Maan thanked Geet for coming back

not surprised that Maan opened up to Geet

so she called him and smiled

Maan's thoughts and comments were reasonable

update soon

Great part

Geet trying to talk and sees through Maan

Cont soon

Try for maan geet because he is waiting for you with patience and love towards you please fight back for him whose life is in ur happiness anf and your whole existence

Part 42

The room smelled faintly of boiled rice and turmeric.

Lunch had just arrived—a bowl of pureed soft khichdil, a spoon tucked neatly under a folded napkin. The tray was wheeled in quietly and left on the side table, along with a warm cloth and a glass of diluted juice.

Geet had been awake for nearly forty minutes now. Her bed had been inclined to a careful 40 degrees by the nurse, her head cushioned inside the neck brace, spine supported. Her left leg remained in a cast, elevated slightly, and her right arm—still threaded with IV lines—rested over a foam wedge. But she looked stronger today.

Not cured. Not confident.

But present.

Her breath was steady. Her fingers curled slightly against the sheet. The bruises around her jaw were fading, but they were still there. Her voice, when it came, was quiet—low and worn from weeks of disuse—but it had shape now.

Maan sat beside her, sleeves rolled up, hands freshly washed. He hadn’t reached for the tray yet. He was watching her.

She looked at the food.

Then at the spoon.

Then—tentatively—at her own body.

Her left arm was still bound tight in a support sling, fingers barely able to twitch. But her right…

She lifted it.

The motion was slow. Weak.

But she managed to reach for the spoon.

Maan didn’t stop her.

He let her try.

Her fingers wrapped clumsily around the handle. The moment she began to lift it, the IV line tugged at her wrist, pulling against the cannula. Her shoulder stiffened.

She flinched.

“Ah…”

It was soft—but sharp.

The spoon tilted in her grip. Her arm gave out before it reached her mouth.

Maan reached forward quickly, catching it before it fell.

“Don’t,” he said gently.
“Don’t push it.”

Geet’s jaw set slightly.

“I can…” she whispered.

He looked at her.

And softened.

“I know.”

He placed the spoon back into the bowl, then pulled his chair in closer.

“But not yet.”

She didn’t argue.

Not with words.

But her eyes—lowered now—carried something like frustration.

Maan said nothing. He just picked up the spoon again, scooped a small bite, and offered it to her.

“Let me,” he said, voice steady.

Her lashes flicked up.

Then, after a beat—

She opened her mouth.

He fed her.

The spoon passed gently between her lips. She chewed slowly, swallowed once, and gave a faint exhale after.

No complaint.

No blink.

Just a breath.

He scooped another spoonful. Raised it again.

“Too hot?” he asked.

“No,” she murmured.

They continued like that. Slowly. One spoonful at a time.

After five, he paused to offer her a sip of juice. She blinked once. He guided the straw to her lips. She sipped. Swallowed.

Her voice—tired, but clearer now—broke the quiet:

“You don’t have to.”

He met her gaze.

Didn’t flinch.

“I want to.”

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t look away.

Just opened her mouth again, ready for the next bite.

+++

The afternoon light settled into soft gold across the windowsill of Room 407. The room smelled faintly of boiled rice and sanitizer, a quiet blend of routine and recovery.

Geet lay propped up on the incline she could now tolerate—a slight lift to her torso, enough to ease her lungs and allow her to sip fluids more comfortably. Her eyes were open, steady. Watching.

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t have to.

Maan saw her lick her lips—small, habitual, a sign of discomfort more than thirst. The skin had cracked. The dryness visible.

He stood beside her, holding a damp cloth he’d just used to wipe the corners of her mouth.

He hesitated.

Then moved toward the nurse’s trolley near the door, rummaging quietly until he found a small white tube. Lip balm. Unscented. Medical-grade.

He returned to her bedside, unscrewed the cap.

But when he raised his hand toward her face, toward her lips—he froze.

Not because he was unsure of what to do.

But because she was watching him.

Her eyes calm. Unblinking.

And suddenly it wasn’t just cracked lips.

It was her lips.

The same lips he’d kissed —desperate, breathless, unforgettable. And now, here she was. Weak. Bedridden. Bruised. But undeniably still her. Still a woman.

And he was still… him.

His hand hovered. Just for a second.

He blinked once, then lowered it, clearing his throat quietly.

“I’ll just—get someone,” he mumbled, stepping back.

He didn’t explain further. Didn’t wait for a blink or protest.

He slipped out of the room and found Nurse Tara outside near the nurses’ desk.

“Could you…” he gestured vaguely with the tube, not finishing the sentence.

Tara glanced at the lip balm.

Then at him.

Then at the open door behind him.

And smiled.

“Of course,” she said, rising.

Maan waited outside.

Back pressed gently against the wall, one hand running through his hair.

Inside, Tara walked over to the bed, her presence light and warm.

“Hey sweetheart,” she said to Geet gently. “He brought this for you. Was going to do it himself, but... got a little shy.”

Geet’s eyes followed her.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Tara added, lowering her voice playfully as she uncapped the tube. “Takes care of everything else and this is where he gets nervous.”

She smiled as she dabbed the balm softly on Geet’s lips with a gloved finger.

“I think you intimidate him.”

Geet’s lips parted faintly. Not to speak.

But to smile.

Small. Soft. Her eyes gleamed.

Outside, at the far end of the hallway, two junior nurses walked past the open gap in the door and spotted Maan leaning awkwardly beside the entrance.

One of them whispered to the other:

“Is he really waiting outside just because of a lip balm?”

The other grinned.

“He’s been with her every day. I’d trust that man with my life.”

They passed quietly, the air humming with something tender.

Tara screwed the cap back on and wiped the corners of Geet’s mouth one last time.

“There,” she said, tucking the balm into the drawer at her bedside. “Much better.”

She looked at her for a long moment.

Geet was still smiling. Not out of amusement—but because she knew.

She saw him. She’d always seen him.

Tara straightened, her voice gentler now.

“Would you like to see yourself?”

Geet blinked.

Then slowly—deliberately—nodded.

Tara gave her a soft smile.

“I’ll be right back with a mirror.”

+++

The room settled again.

The door clicked shut softly behind Tara, but Geet didn’t move. She lay still—unnaturally still—her fingers curled weakly over the edge of the blanket as if bracing for impact she already knew was coming.

Silence. Then, footsteps. Soft. Hesitant. Tara again.

In her hands, a small mirror.

Rectangular. Rounded edges. The kind used to check sutures or wound recovery. Sterile. Clinical. But it might as well have been a weapon.

“Are you sure?” Tara asked gently.

Geet didn’t reply. Her lips didn’t move. But her eyes shifted—barely. A blink.

That was her answer.

Tara adjusted the bed by a few degrees so Geet’s neck, braced as it was, could just slightly turn. She slid a folded towel beneath the brace. Then she lifted the mirror and held it just under Geet’s chin.

Geet’s gaze hovered.

Blank.

For a moment, she didn’t register.

But then—her pupils dilated.

She saw.

And the breath she’d been holding snapped from her chest in a soundless exhale.

Her mouth parted in disbelief. Her gaze locked—glued—onto the reflection. No movement. No blink. As if blinking might erase her last memory of the girl she used to be.

Faded bruises darkened her jaw like forgotten fingerprints. A fresh gauze curved over her temple, the edges taped tightly, hair jagged from where they'd cut it. Her lips looked split, one corner healing in a warped scab that hadn’t been there before. Her cheeks—hollow. Her skin—ashen. And her eyes—

God.

Too big.

Too hollow.

Too wrong.

She didn’t know this girl. Didn’t want to.

A small, wounded noise escaped her throat.

Her breath stuttered. Her chest heaved shallow, rapid gasps that caught like sobs but never quite became them.

“No,” she whispered, so cracked it barely sounded human.

Her voice trembled. “No, no—no—”

The mirror shook. Tara instinctively lowered it, alarmed.

“Sweetheart—”

“Take it away,” Geet whispered.

“Geet—”

“I said take it away!” Her voice broke open, sharp and terrified.

Tara quickly set it down.

But it was too late.

Geet was trembling now. Her body curled inwards as much as her injuries allowed, like she was trying to disappear into herself. Like she wished the blanket would swallow her whole.

“I’m not— I’m not her,” she gasped, her breath ragged. “Not the girl who—who laughed—who danced—who wore earrings even when—” Her voice broke. “She’s gone.”

Tears spilled down her temples, soaking her pillow.

“He can’t see me like this,” she whispered, her voice choking on humiliation. “Not like this… please.”

“Geet—”

“Tell him to go,” she pleaded, each syllable ripping through her like broken glass. “Don’t let him see me like this—don’t—please—”

The door creaked faintly.

She heard it.

Her heart dropped.

Her eyes widened in horror as she turned her head with difficulty, as far as the brace allowed. The agony wasn’t just physical now—it was existential. She couldn’t breathe.

And then he was there.

Maan.

Standing at the threshold, his face frozen—ravaged. Eyes wide with panic he was trying to contain. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to go to her. But his feet—planted. Unmoving.

“No,” Geet gasped. Her hands moved under the blanket as if to cover her face, but even that was beyond her now. “No. Don’t—don’t look at me. Please, Maan—go.”

He didn’t move.

“GO!” she screamed, finally—hoarse, broken. “GET OUT! Please—I can’t—please just leave—I don’t want you here—”

The words shattered her. And him.

Maan flinched like she’d slapped him. His jaw clenched hard, muscles jumping, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t beg.

He just turned to Tara, his voice rough and low.

“Stay with her.”

Then, his eyes found Geet’s again.

And for one moment—they locked.

His were soft.

Devastated.

Not with pity—but something that looked a lot like grief.

“I’ll come back,” he said, barely audible.

She turned her head away.

And so, slowly, he left.

Closed the door behind him.

And Geet wept like her soul had finally cracked open.

Because she wasn’t scared he wouldn’t come back.

She was scared he would.

And she’d have to let him go anyway.

Because no matter how much he cared…

She couldn’t let him ruin himself for someone who had already disappeared.

+++

Tara stayed. Wiped her tears. Brushed her hairline gently with cool gauze. Gave her sips of water through a straw. Whispered stories about patients who had once felt the same.

Eventually, Geet quieted.

The sobs faded into shallow breathing.

Her eyes remained red. Her mouth trembled.

But she was still.

She didn’t sleep.

But she closed her eyes.

The light in the room dimmed as the hour passed.

And then—

The door opened again.

Softly.

Maan entered, holding something in both hands.

A small linen pouch. Pale cream. Hand-sewn.

He walked to her bedside.

Placed the pouch gently on the tray.

Opened it.

Inside—bundled sprigs of lavender. Damp with rinsed water. Cool and fragrant.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t ask if she wanted to see him.

He just sat beside her.

Didn’t reach for her hand.

Didn’t fill the silence.

He let the lavender speak.

Let the quiet mean he still saw her.

Let her know she was allowed to break, and he’d still be here.

Ye nurse ne kya kr diya

Maan ka dil tut gya

Poor geet suffered so much

Part 42

Painful yet Endearing Update

As Geet is improving so is her food intake

and when she request nurse Tara to bring a mirror

seeing herself actually scares her and with this thought

she ask Maan to leave her alone

but he returns later with lavender

I just hope Maan stands strong by Geet's side and she too realizes

he has been there by her side in her worst condition

she may not look like herself but to Maan she is still beautiful

42

painful

geet is recovering slowly n responding to maan

geet broke down when she saw herself in mirror

geet ask maan to leave her alone

maan is hurt with geet's words but stay with her

Great part

Geet is too broken but hope is able to come out of shell she is keeping herself

Cont soon

Thanks for pm

She did not want anyone to see her now, least of all him. But he still understood and came back. This is where it will matter that he stays.