Part 44
The sky outside Room 407 was melting into dusk.
Pale gold faded into lavender streaks, casting long shadows across the windowsill. The hospital lights had not yet switched on, leaving the room suspended in that soft in-between—where silence wasn’t empty, only waiting.
Geet sat upright, her bed angled to support her recovering spine. The bruises on her face were lighter now. Her skin, once drained of color, carried the faintest blush of warmth. Her fingers were steadier, her lips no longer cracked. But her eyes—those held everything.
A quiet storm that hadn’t passed yet.
Maan sat in the chair beside her.
His posture relaxed, but his gaze never drifted. Not from her. Not once.
She picked half-heartedly at her dinner—plain rice, soft spinach. One spoonful at a time. But she wasn’t hungry.
Her eyes flicked to him, then away.
Back to the food. Then back again.
“Do you want to talk...” Maan asked quietly, “about the incident... how did... it—”
“No.”
The word sliced the air like glass.
She didn’t raise her voice.
But it was sharp. Final.
He nodded once. Didn’t press.
The silence thickened between them, but not with discomfort. With the weight of all that remained unspoken.
A minute passed.
Maybe two.
Then she placed her spoon down, her fingers moving to the edge of the blanket, fidgeting lightly—like she needed her hands to do something so her mouth didn’t betray her.
“Maan...”
Her voice was softer now.
“You don’t have to stay here every day.”
His response came without hesitation.
“I want to.”
Just those three words. Uncomplicated. Real.
But she didn’t let it go.
She took a breath, then another.
And then, the question that had been sitting behind her ribs for days finally escaped.
“Why are you really here, Maan?”
She looked at him now. Directly.
No deflection.
No softness.
“I’m not a job,” she whispered. “Not an obligation.”
He didn’t look away.
Didn’t blink.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of him—but his eyes locked on hers, unwavering.
When he finally spoke, it wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t rehearsed.
It was raw.
“I’m here because I love you.”
Her breath caught.
He didn’t stop.
“I’ve loved you longer than I understood it. Before the office. Before you left. Before everything broke.”
A pause.
His voice cracked, but not from weakness.
From truth.
“I was too much of a coward to admit it. I kept telling myself you were just... a complication. Just someone I couldn’t afford to feel this way about.”
“But I did.”
“I do.”
Geet stared at him.
Unmoving.
The words she had hoped for. Feared. Denied.
Now laid out like an open wound.
Her fingers curled against the blanket.
“You don’t mean that,” she said, voice barely above a breath.
“You’re just saying that because of what happened. Because you feel guilty—”
“No.”
He cut her off—not harshly.
But firmly.
“This isn’t guilt, Geet.”
He leaned closer now. Not touching her. But present. Real.
“This has nothing to do with what happened to you.”
“And everything to do with what’s happened to me because of you.”
She looked away, then.
Eyes glistening.
Jaw tight.
Her shoulders stiffened, and her throat bobbed once as she tried to swallow back the tide threatening to rise.
Maan didn’t push.
Didn’t reach.
He just sat there, quiet, letting her have the silence she needed.
Letting her choose if the wall between them would fall—or stay.
+++
The silence held for a long moment.
Maan didn’t move.
Geet kept her eyes turned away, staring at the window where dusk had fully slipped into night. The glass reflected nothing now—just shadow and the faint shape of her own bandaged outline in the reflection. Too much and not enough.
Her jaw tightened.
Her breath came slower, more controlled. But the shimmer in her lashes hadn’t disappeared.
Behind her expression—so carefully blank—was chaos.
He had said it.
I love you.
And she… she didn’t know how to hold it.
Not after what had happened.
Not when her body didn’t feel like her own.
Not when the girl he might’ve loved didn’t feel like she existed anymore.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t argue.
But she didn’t let him touch her either.
Her fingers moved again at the blanket’s edge, tugging the seam toward her palm.
Maan sat back slowly. Gave her space.
“I can give you time,” he said softly.
“I can leave, if you want me to.”
That broke something.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
But enough.
She turned her head—just slightly. The movement restricted by her neck brace.
Her eyes met his.
Red at the rims. Wet.
But holding him.
Her voice had barely landed in the air.
“Don’t go.”
But it was enough.
Enough to stop the distance from widening. Enough to catch the thread of something still unfinished between them.
Maan’s eyes didn’t change much. He didn’t soften dramatically. Didn’t lean forward in some romantic lurch.
But the corner of his mouth tugged—barely.
A quiet smile.
Not triumphant.
Just… his.
“I wasn’t even going to leave,” he said, tone light.
Geet blinked, her brow shifting slightly.
“Huh?”
His voice stayed even. Flat. As if he were discussing the weather.
“Simple. I would’ve just waited outside the room.”
A pause.
“Still technically counts as leaving.”
He said it like standing outside a closed door for hours would’ve been a perfectly logical substitute for sitting beside her.
Like pacing in a hallway, heart clawing itself apart, would’ve been a small price.
Geet stared at him.
The absurd practicality of the answer hit first.
Then the absurd tenderness behind it.
Her eyes narrowed, just faintly.
“You’re so weird,” she whispered.
Maan shrugged one shoulder, unfazed.
“And you’re still stuck with me.”
For a moment, the tension that had been clinging to her chest began to loosen.
Not gone.
But loosening.
And her lips—just barely—curved.
+++
The sun had returned in soft bands, filtering in across the pale window shade.
A new tray had been delivered: breakfast—plain toast, applesauce, and warm water with honey.
Geet was already half-awake when Maan stirred from his seat.
He hadn't left the room.
Not even once.
Her handl rested close.
She blinked slowly, adjusting to the light, adjusting to her own body again.
And then, just above a whisper:
“How long… have I been here?”
Maan looked at her.
His face didn’t change much. But something in his shoulders eased—like that question had taken weight to form.
He leaned forward.
Not too close.
Just enough.
“Seventeen days,” he said quietly.
“Four in ICU. The rest here.”
Geet absorbed that. Slowly. No reaction yet.
But it sat with her.
He waited.
Then, softer—
“I never left.”
She turned her head slightly. The brace still restricted the movement, but her eyes met his.
“I know,” she whispered.
+++
The morning light in Room 407 was soft, filtered through half-closed blinds, casting faint stripes across the sterile floor. Geet was propped up at a careful angle, her neck brace still in place, but her eyes were brighter today, a quiet resilience shining through. The bruises on her face had faded to shadows, and her lips, softened with balm, hinted at the woman she’d been before the accident. The hospital hummed around them—distant footsteps, the murmur of nurses, the occasional beep of a monitor.
Maan sat beside her, his chair pulled close, sleeves rolled up, a tablet on his lap. He wasn’t reading it, his focus entirely on Geet—the way her fingers twitched against the blanket, the slow rhythm of her breathing. He knew her now, every subtle shift, every unspoken need.
A soft knock broke the silence.
Geet’s gaze flicked to the door, a faint crease forming between her brows. Maan stood, his movements steady. “I’ll get it,” he said, his voice low and reassuring. He opened the door to reveal Kavya, Raj, Meera, and Sheetal—Geet’s friends from Maan’s company and her former boss. They stood hesitantly, their faces a mix of relief and worry. Kavya held a bouquet of sunflowers, their bright petals vivid against the sterile room. Raj carried a paper bag, likely snacks, his usual grin softened by concern. Meera clutched a card, her fingers fidgeting with the envelope. Sheetal, poised but somber, stood a step behind, her eyes heavy with guilt.
“Geet,” Kavya said, her voice catching as she stepped forward. “You’re awake.”
Geet’s eyes softened, though a guarded edge remained. She hadn’t seen them since she’d left the company, since her life had unraveled under Priyanka’s relentless bullying and her own choices. “Hi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but clear.
Maan glanced at Geet, reading the slight tension in her face. “I’ll give you some space,” he said quietly, nodding to the group before stepping out and closing the door behind him. His absence left a subtle void, but it allowed the room to breathe.
Outside, Maan stood a few steps from the door, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze fixed on the polished hospital floor. The weight of the past weeks pressed against him—Geet’s fragile recovery, the company left in Mr. Rao’s hands to keep Priyanka at bay, the endless hours spent in this sterile corridor. His jaw was set, his posture rigid, as if holding himself together through sheer will.
A familiar voice broke his thoughts. “Hi, Maan.”
He looked up to see Priyanka approaching, her heels clicking against the tile, a calculated warmth in her smile. She’d followed Geet’s friends and Sheetal, though clearly not to see Geet. Her eyes swept over him, lingering too long, her expression a mix of feigned concern and something more calculated.
“How are you, Maan?” she said, her voice syrupy as she stopped closer than necessary. “It must be so difficult, staying in this hospital day after day.” She tilted her head, her gaze softening in a way that felt rehearsed. “You look… tired. You’ve become so weak, haven’t you?” Her hand reached out, brushing lightly toward his arm.
Maan stepped back, his body language closed, arms still crossed, his expression hard and professional. “I’m fine,” he said curtly, his voice clipped, leaving no room for warmth. His eyes met hers briefly, cold and unyielding, before flicking away, dismissing her attempt at familiarity.
Priyanka’s smile faltered, but she pressed on, undeterred. “You’ve been so dedicated, staying here for… her.” She paused, her tone implying more than she said. “It’s admirable, really. But you need to take care of yourself too, you know.”
Maan’s jaw tightened, his patience thinning. “My focus is where it needs to be,” he said, his voice low and controlled, each word deliberate. “If you’re here to see Geet, she’s with her friends. If not, I suggest you head back to the office. Mr. Rao’s handling things.”
The rebuke was subtle but sharp, and Priyanka’s eyes narrowed briefly before she masked it with another smile. “Of course,” she said, her voice overly sweet. “I just thought I’d check in. You know where to find me if you need… anything.” She lingered for a moment, waiting for a crack in his resolve, but Maan’s stance didn’t soften, his gaze already drifting back to the door.
Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heels echoing down the corridor. Maan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing only slightly, his focus returning to the room behind him.
Inside, Kavya approached Geet’s bed, her eyes tracing the neck brace, the IV lines, the faint scars. “We were so worried,” she said, her voice trembling. “Mr. Khurana told us you were stable, but… seeing you like this…” Tears blurred her eyes, and she stopped, swallowing hard.
Geet’s fingers tightened on the blanket. “I’m… here,” she said, her voice steady despite the strain.
Raj set the paper bag on the side table. “Got you some coconut biscuits,” he said, aiming for humor but falling short. “The ones you used to sneak from the office kitchen. And some magazines, you know, for when you’re bored.”
Geet’s lips curved faintly. “Thanks, Raj.”
Meera stepped forward, holding out the card. “We made this,” she said softly. “Everyone at the company. Even the new hires.” She placed it on Geet’s lap, her hands shaking slightly. The card was simple, with “Get Well Soon” in gentle script, filled with messages inside.
Geet’s fingers brushed the card’s edge, but she didn’t open it yet. “That’s… kind of you,” she whispered.
Sheetal moved closer, her heels clicking softly. “Geet,” she began, her voice calm but laced with regret. “I should’ve noticed what was happening at the company. Priyanka’s behavior… I should’ve stepped in. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it.” Her composure faltered, her eyes glistening.
Geet met Sheetal’s gaze, the weight of their shared past settling over her—long hours at the company, Priyanka’s cutting remarks, the isolation that had driven her away. But there was no bitterness in Geet’s expression, only quiet understanding. “You didn’t know,” she said softly. “It’s okay.”
Kavya sniffled, placing the sunflowers on the table. “You’re so strong, Geet. I don’t know how you’re doing this.”
Geet’s eyes flickered to the door where Maan had gone, then back to Kavya. “I’m not,” she said quietly. “I’m just… trying.”
Raj rubbed the back of his neck, glancing at the others. “You know, Maan sir’s been here every day since the accident. Haven’t seen him leave once.” His voice was low, almost awed. “He put Mr. Rao in charge of the company so Priyanka couldn’t take over while he’s here with you.”
Meera nodded, her eyes soft. “He’s the one who told us to visit. Said it might lift your spirits.” She hesitated, then added, “He’s different here. Not the boss we’re used to. He’s… I don’t know, real.”
“Devoted,” Sheetal said quietly, her gaze on the door. “He’s been by your side, Geet. Every single day.”
Geet’s breath hitched, her fingers gripping the blanket. She’d known Maan was there—felt his presence in every quiet moment, every steady glance—but hearing it from them, knowing he’d rearranged his world for her, made it heavier, more real. “He… told you to come?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
Kavya nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah. Said you might like seeing us. We should’ve come sooner.”
Geet’s eyes glistened, but she managed a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Raj grinned, softer now. “You’re stuck with us, you know. More biscuits next time.”
The room lightened at Geet’s faint chuckle, a fragile sound that warmed them all. Sheetal stepped forward, her expression gentler. “The company’s keeping a spot for you,” she said. “Whenever you’re ready. No pressure. Just… take your time.”
Geet nodded, her gaze drifting to the card. The thought of returning felt distant, but the offer meant something. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“We should go,” Meera said, sensing Geet’s fatigue. “You need to rest.”
They said their goodbyes—Kavya squeezing Geet’s hand, Raj waving awkwardly, Meera whispering, “You’re incredible, Geet.” Sheetal lingered at the door, her eyes heavy with unspoken regret, before stepping out.
When the door closed, the room felt quieter. Geet exhaled slowly, her eyes closing briefly. Maan slipped back in moments later, his presence steady and grounding. He didn’t sit right away, standing near the bed, watching her with quiet intensity.
“You okay? They didn’t smother you with affection while I was gone?” he asked, his voice low.
Geet looked at him, her voice dry. “You sent them.”
He shrugged. “I needed backup. You’re scary when you sulk.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
“You’ve been here every day,” she said softly. “Even when I didn’t ask.”
“I’m difficult to get rid of,” he said. “Ask anyone.”
She hesitated. “You put Mr Rao in charge.”
Maan leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Couldn’t risk Priyanka turning the office into a mascara-sponsored dictatorship.”
Geet bit her lip, but the corner of her mouth lifted.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
His gaze met hers, steady and raw. “I *wanted* to.”
She nodded. Slowly. Her fingers reached toward his—hesitating for just a second.
He didn’t move, didn’t rush her.
Their hands met—not in a clasp, but in a brush. A whisper of touch. Skin against skin, barely there, achingly tender.
And still, it changed everything.
It was not a promise.
It was not a confession.
It was simply *there*.
And for now, it was enough.
Outside, the blinds cast soft lines of light across the floor, but the room no longer felt like a recovery ward.
It felt like air after drowning.
Like silence before music.
Like something that might become real—if they both let it.
CID
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