Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 47

Beautiful ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ update simply amazing

Part 45

Their hands remained close—barely touching—but neither of them moved away. The quiet stretched, but it wasn’t empty. It breathed.

Geet exhaled softly, her eyes still on his fingers.

Maan leaned back in the chair, watching her for a beat. Then, almost offhandedly, he said, “By the way… your favorite person stopped by.”

Geet blinked, confused. “Who?”

He arched a brow, sarcasm laced through his voice. “The one with the designer claws and soul made of recycled PR statements.”

Geet stared. Then it clicked.

“…Priyanka?”

Maan gave a slow nod. “She tried to stage a heartfelt performance in the hallway. Something about me being tired, vulnerable, and—wait for it—‘needing care.’ I think she was going for Florence Nightingale meets passive aggression.”

Despite herself, Geet let out the ghost of a laugh. It hurt her ribs, but it came anyway.

“She really came?” she murmured.

“Oh, she did,” he said dryly, leaning back. “Wearing three layers of fake sympathy and probably plotting how to get Rao fired.”

Geet shook her head slowly. “What did you say?”

“I told her if she wasn’t here to see you, she could go back to the office and bully someone else’s spine.”

Geet’s lips parted—half in surprise, half in amusement.

“You’re… oddly protective,” she said.

He shrugged, gaze still steady on her. “I’m oddly a lot of things these days.”

There was a beat.

“She wanted to see you,” he added, voice softer now. “But I didn’t let her in.”

Geet’s brows furrowed. “Why?”

“Because you’ve been through hell,” Maan said simply. “And I didn’t think you needed to smell her perfume on top of everything else.”

Geet looked at him for a long time. Really looked. His face was still drawn, dark circles under his eyes, his stubble uneven. But his presence—anchored and unflinching—wasn’t something she could look away from.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

He gave a lopsided smile. “For what? Being rude? That comes naturally.”

Geet smiled—truly, this time. The ache in her chest didn’t vanish, but it softened.

And with Maan there, it was easier to breathe.

+++

The soft glow of Room 407’s dimmed lights wrapped around Geet and Maan, the hospital’s quiet hum a steady backdrop. Geet’s hand still lingered near his, their fingers brushing in that tentative, unspoken connection. The weight of Priyanka’s brief appearance outside the room hung between them, stirred by Maan’s earlier mention of her calculated charm. Geet’s expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and something playful as she tilted her head, her voice teasing despite the hoarseness.

“Why don’t you like Priyanka?” she asked, her eyes glinting with mischief. “She’s smart, sexy, gorgeous. I mean, I would’ve fallen for her.” Her lips curved into a faint smirk, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “When she walked into the office that first time, I gasped. Couldn’t help it— blurted out loud that she was so sexy. That body, that hair, that style… everything.”

Maan’s eyebrow shot up, his smirk freezing into a look of mock disbelief. “Seriously? We’re having *this* conversation?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, his dark, sarcastic humor kicking in as a glint of playful hurt flickered in his eyes. “I guess that explains why you looked utterly bored when I said I love you. Here I was, pouring my heart out, and you were probably daydreaming about Priyanka’s hair flip.”

Geet gasped, her eyes widening as she tried to object, her hand swatting weakly at the air. “Maan, that’s not—” she started, but he cut her off, his voice dripping with exaggerated indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

“No, no, don’t backtrack now,” he said, leaning forward, his smirk sharpening. “I get it. Why settle for a guy who’s been camped out in this hospital, dodging nurses and Priyanka’s claws, when you could’ve had Miss ‘I’m a Walking Magazine Cover’? Bet she’d bring you better biscuits than Raj’s sad pantry rejects.”

Geet’s lips trembled, caught between a laugh and a protest, her eyes sparkling with the familiar joy she found in his biting wit. “Stop it,” she managed, her voice hoarse but warm. “I didn’t mean it like *that*. I just… she’s hard to miss, okay?”

Maan’s smirk softened, but the playful hurt lingered in his tone as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a mock-wounded drawl. “Hard to miss? Geet, I’ve been sitting here for weeks, perfecting my brooding hero routine, and you’re out here gushing over Priyanka’s *style*? I’m wounded. Truly. Next time I’ll show up with a blowout and stilettos, see if that gets your attention.”

She chuckled, the sound fragile but genuine, her hand inching closer to his on the blanket. “You’re ridiculous,” she said, her smile betraying her fondness for his dark humor. “And I wasn’t gushing. I was just… observing.”

“Observing,” he repeated, his eyebrow arching again as he leaned back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Like I ‘observe’ the hospital coffee and decide it’s better used as paint thinner. Face it, you were half in love with her before she opened her mouth and ruined it with her personality.”

Geet’s laughter bubbled up, soft but real, easing the tension in her shoulders. “Okay, fine,” she conceded, her eyes meeting his, a mix of amusement and sincerity. “Maybe I was a little dazzled at first.” She hesitated, her voice softening, “…and little jealous...and...anyways...you are not so bad yourself ”

Maan’s smirk faltered for a split second, the playful jibe giving way to something deeper, rawer. He held her gaze, the hurt in his eyes fading into warmth, though he couldn’t resist one last jab. “Not so bad, huh? High praise, considering I’m competing with Priyanka’s shampoo commercial vibes.” He leaned forward, his voice quieter now, laced with that rare gentleness beneath the sarcasm. “But for the record, I don’t like her because she’s all flash, no substance. Smart? Sure. Gorgeous? Maybe. But she’s got the heart of a viper and the tact of a bulldozer. You deserve better than that kind of noise.”

Geet’s smile softened, her fingers brushing his more deliberately now, a silent acknowledgment of his words. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know,” she murmured, her voice teasing but earnest. “Even without the stilettos.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his hand slipping over hers, the touch light but steady. “Good to know I’m not completely outclassed by her hair,” he said, his smirk returning, his eyes locked on hers. “But next time you’re swooning over someone, maybe give me a heads-up. I’ll bring my A-game—maybe even a tie.”

Geet’s laughter filled the room, a fragile but beautiful sound, and for a moment, the hospital, Priyanka, the past weeks melted away. The monitor beeped softly, the sun’s last rays slipped through the blinds, and their hands stayed entwined, a quiet promise growing stronger.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered, her smile lingering.

He shrugs.

+++

The silence after laughter is a strange thing—especially in hospital rooms. It lingers longer than you'd expect, as if the walls are still echoing the warmth, hesitant to go back to sterile quiet.

Geet leaned back against her pillows, breath still a little winded from too much smiling. The bouquet from Kavya sat lopsided in a reused IV jug beside the heart monitor. The stuffed unicorn stared at her from the windowsill—glassy eyes full of judgment. A half-crumpled biscuit pack lay abandoned on the table, tilting off the edge like it was trying to escape the indignity of being forgotten.

Maan sat in the corner beside her, sleeves rolled, ankle over knee, arms loosely folded. He eyed the unicorn suspiciously.

“You're definitely more cheerful since they came,” he said, voice low and even. “The laughter’s back. The room feels less like a crime scene.”

He paused, then flicked his gaze to the table.
“Though the gifts…” He pointed at the unicorn, the tangled mess of flowers, and the crayon-colored card. “They’re delightfully absurd.”

Geet chuckled, her voice hoarse but warm.
“It’s Raj. He thinks sugar heals trauma. And Meera believes the uglier the card, the more sincere it is.”

“Right.” Maan leaned forward, picked up the sad biscuit packet and gave it a small shake.

“Is it just me, or is this practically empty?”

She blinked, caught.
“I didn’t eat them.” A beat. “I’m not even allowed outside junk food yet.”

He arched a brow.
“So your friends brought you biscuits, then ate them in front of you?”

“It’s the thought that counts.” She smirked. “And technically, I got one crumb. Raj dropped it. I inhaled deeply and counted it as a snack.”

Maan shook his head like he was witnessing a great betrayal.
“I’ve been sleeping in a chair for two weeks, and they can’t even save you a full biscuit.”

Geet reached for the packet and pushed it toward him.
“There’s one half left. Want to split it with me?”

He peered inside dramatically, then extracted a broken piece between two fingers like he was excavating an artifact.
“To biscuit theft, emotional manipulation, and makeshift family.”

She smiled.
“To sharing trauma via snacks.”

They bit into their halves in silence. The coconut crunched softly. For a second, the entire world felt as small as that sound. Warm. Close.

Maan glanced at her again.

“Thanks for calling them,” she murmured. “They told me you asked them to come.”

He shrugged.

“I figured you were bored out of your mind with me.”

Geet gave a knowing look and raises an eyebrow at his sarcasm

He turned to her slowly, offended.
“Cool. Didn’t even pretend to deny it.”

“Maan…” she tried to stifle her laugh.

“Unbelievable.” He leaned back with a sigh. “I skip work, sleep beside a beeping monitor, dodge Priyanka in hallways—and I get upstaged by biscuits and a unicorn with lazy eyes.”

Her shoulders trembled as she laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” He leaned in, mock serious. “Do you know what vending machine coffee does to a man’s soul?”

But even as he teased, his eyes drifted to the door again—quiet now. And his thoughts pulled backward.

+++

FLASHBACK – Outside Room 407, Earlier That Day

The door had barely clicked shut behind Geet’s friends when Maan emerged from the opposite side of the corridor. He stood silently, arms folded, back straight, his face unreadable as they spotted him.

There was a pause—like they were unsure if they were about to be dismissed, thanked, or politely ignored.

Kavya was the first to speak.
“She looked… lighter,” she said softly. “Thank you, sir. For letting us come.”

Maan nodded once.
“She needed a reminder of before.”

Meera stepped up next, her fingers wringing the edge of her bag.
“If she needs anything—books, food, extra clothes—we’ll bring it. We just want to help.”

He gave a small nod. “I'll let her decide.”

Sheetal lingered behind them, hesitant. Her eyes held the regret she hadn't voiced in weeks, but she only nodded, lips pressed together.

Then Raj stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck.

“Sir… if you need anything—errands, laundry, a ride—just let me know. I'm nearby.” His voice was casual, but the offer wasn’t.

Maan looked at him, surprised.

“Appreciated.”

“We’ve noticed. You’ve been here a lot. Every day,” Raj added.

They didn’t linger. No excess words. Just soft exits, one by one. But they left something behind—a thread of normalcy, however thin, that wove itself into Maan’s quiet watch.

He stood there for a long minute after they left.

Not as her boss. Not as her savior.

Just a man who wasn’t alone in holding her world up anymore.

+++

Back in Room 407 – Present

Geet had shifted slightly, settling against her pillow, eyes now on the card again. Her thumb brushed the corner.

“I didn’t think they’d still think of me after I left.” Her voice was small. “After everything.”

Maan leaned in slightly, voice softer now.
“They didn’t forget. They just… didn’t know how to show up. Sometimes people wait for a sign. I figured it was time to send one.”

She looked at him, eyes glimmering.

“You did.”

He nodded toward the unicorn. “That thing’s still staring at me. Like it’s judging my life choices.”

Geet laughed softly. “Raj said it reminded him of me.”

Maan recoiled in mock horror. “He’s not your friend. He’s your enemy.”

She leaned her head back, gaze unfocused and fond. “You’re still here,” she whispered. “After everything.”

Maan looked at her—at the exhaustion, at the bruises, at the half-eaten biscuit, at the glint of warmth that hadn’t quite gone out in her.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

This time, no sarcasm.

Only truth.

And she reached for his hand, slow and deliberate, her fingers sliding against his like they finally remembered how.

+++

The café, a block from the hospital, was a warm respite from the sterile chill of Room 407. Its fogged windows glowed softly in the late afternoon light, the air rich with coffee and cardamom. Kavya, Raj, Meera, and Sheetal huddled around a small table, coats slung over chairs, a plate of half-eaten pakoras between them. The sunflowers they’d brought Geet were gone, left to brighten her room, but the weight of the visit lingered in their quiet pauses.

Kavya swirled her masala chai, her brow creased. “Her smile today,” she said softly. “It was… real. Haven’t seen that in months. Not since before she left the company.”

Meera nodded, cradling her coffee. “It’s not just Geet, though. It’s Maan sir. He’s… softer there. Not the CEO we’re used to.”

Raj snorted, grabbing a pakora. “Softer? Guy’s still got that ‘don’t waste my time’ glare. Just swapped the boardroom for a hospital.” His grin faded under Sheetal’s sharp look.

“It’s more than that,” Sheetal said, her voice measured, ever the poised manager. “Seventeen days. I asked the nurse last week—he hasn’t left her side. Not once. Cot in her room, barely checks in with Mr. Rao. He’s our CEO. Why Geet?”

The question settled heavily. Kavya’s fingers stilled on her cup. “Seventeen days? Like, *never* left?”

“Never,” Sheetal confirmed, her eyes narrowing. “Mr. Rao’s holding the fort, but Maan’s all but vanished from the company. For her. A former employee.”

Raj leaned forward, voice low. “Alright, I’ll bite. You think there’s… something more? I mean, 17 days isn’t just ‘boss being nice.’ That’s personal.”

Meera’s eyes widened, and she nudged him. “Raj, come on. She was his employee. That’s… not how it works.”

“Isn’t it?” Raj countered, undeterred. “Look, Geet was good—great, even—but she wasn’t his right-hand or anything. Yet he’s camped out in a hospital for her. You don’t do that unless it’s deeper than work.”

Kavya bit her lip, twisting a napkin. “Maybe it’s guilt. You know, because of Priyanka. Geet went through hell with her bullying. Maybe Maan sir feels he should’ve stopped it.”

Sheetal’s jaw tightened, a flicker of regret in her eyes. “I should’ve caught that sooner,” she muttered. “But guilt doesn’t explain this. Maan’s not the type to play caretaker out of obligation. He’s too… deliberate.”

“Deliberate, yeah, but he’s not a robot,” Raj said, shrugging. “I saw him today, standing by her bed. He was watching her like… like he was making sure she was still breathing. That’s not just a boss thing.”

Meera’s voice was thoughtful, her coffee cooling untouched. “He called us to visit, you know. Said it’d help her. That’s not something CEOs do unless they really know someone. Like, really know them.”

Kavya’s eyes sparked with curiosity. “Remember how he was when Geet would give any inputs in any meeting —nothing big, just little inputs—and he’d smirk. Not glare, not nod. Smirk. Maan sir doesn’t do that with anyone else.”

Sheetal tilted her head, intrigued. “True. I saw it in project reviews. He’d challenge her ideas, but he listened. Really listened. That’s rare for him.”

Raj grinned, leaning in. “So, what’s the deal? Secret romance? Old friends? Or is Maan sir just the world’s most intense ex-boss?”

Meera groaned, hiding her face. “You’re turning this into a drama. Maybe he just cares. Geet’s been through so much—the bullying, the accident, leaving us. Maybe he feels protective.”

“Protective enough to ditch the company for 17 days?” Raj raised an eyebrow. “I’m telling you, there’s history. Maybe something from before she joined. Or maybe…” He paused, smirking. “Maybe it’s love.”

Kavya gasped, half-laughing. “Love? Raj, slow down. Maan sir’s all business. But… the way he stood outside her room, like he was her shield? That felt… different.”

Sheetal sipped her tea, her gaze distant. “I checked Geet’s file once, during the Priyanka mess. She’s brilliant, but nothing suggests she was close to Maan professionally. Yet he’s risking his reputation. The board’s not happy—clients are asking questions. Why her?”

Meera’s voice was soft, almost a whisper. “Maybe she’s worth it to him.”

The table stilled, her words sinking in. Kavya’s napkin was a shredded mess. “You think… he could love her?”

Raj chuckled, but it was gentle. “Love’s a stretch, maybe. But 17 days? That’s not just duty. That’s something real.”

Sheetal set her cup down, her expression unreadable. “It’s not our place to guess. But Geet’s lucky to have him. And he’s lucky she’s still fighting. They… balance each other, somehow.”

Meera smiled faintly, her eyes warm. “I hope she knows he’s there for her. Really there.”

Kavya giggled, “They look cute together though”

Raj raised his coffee in a mock toast. “To Maan sir and Geet. Whatever’s keeping him in that hospital.”

They clinked their cups, the sound blending with the café’s hum. Outside, the city buzzed on, but their thoughts stayed with Room 407—Geet’s quiet strength, Maan’s unwavering presence, and a bond they could only wonder about.

++++

Room 407 basked in mid-morning sunlight, the golden rays streaming through the window and softening the sterile hospital walls, a quiet echo of the laughter that had filled the space yesterday. Geet’s friends had swept in with infectious joy—teasing banter, shared stories, and warm embraces that left her smiling long after their reluctant goodbyes. Now, she lay propped against the pillows, her neck brace a faint reminder of the brutal assault that had nearly ended her, her face still lit with a soft, lingering cheer, a gentle hum escaping as she fiddled with the edge of her blanket. Maan stood by the window, stretching his stiff limbs after another night on the narrow cot the hospital had arranged beside her bed, his eyes softening as he watched her. The woman who’d once tackled his company’s challenges with unyielding resolve now glowed with a fragile warmth, a sight that eased the weight of his 18-day vigil.

He hadn’t sat by her side all night, as Geet’s teasing friends had assumed. Each evening, when the hospital dimmed and her breathing steadied, Maan unfolded the cot, its creak a familiar ritual, and slept close enough to hear her stir, waking at dawn to resume his watch. His hand now rested lightly on hers, fingers brushing hers with a quiet warmth, grounding them both as he leaned against the bed’s edge, his presence a constant even when not seated.

The door creaked open, and a nurse entered, her clipboard clutched tightly, her expression professional but tinged with unease. “Ms. Kumar,” she said, glancing between Geet and Maan, “I need to discuss your billing. Your health insurance is inactive—canceled several months ago. The hospital expenses will be your responsibility.”

Maan’s breath caught, his hand tightening briefly on Geet’s. *Canceled?* The word jarred, slicing through the morning’s warmth. Geet had been enrolled in his company’s corporate health plan, a robust policy auto-deducted from her paycheck, designed for crises like this. He’d ensured its continuity, even after Priyanka’s bullying drove her from the company, a quiet amends for failing to protect her—from that venom, and from the assault that had landed her here. Months ago? Why? His eyes darted to Geet, expecting shock—but her smile dimmed only slightly, her gaze dropping to the blanket, a faint nod her only response. Her lack of surprise was a cold shock, more unsettling than the news.

“Geet,” he said, his voice low, urgent, stepping closer to the bed, “did you know about this? Why is your insurance gone?”

She didn’t meet his eyes, her fingers twitching beneath his, a subtle tremor beneath her fading cheer. “It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, a dismissal that felt practiced. “I’ll figure it out.”

Part 45

Absolutely Fabulous Update

Maan and Geet are getting more involved in conversations

while the office staff talking about the days Maan has spent with Geet

in hospital

so Geet's insurance will not cover her hospital expanses

wonder what will happen now

Part 45

well Maan told Geet that Priyanka stopped by

pleased that Maan mocked Priyanka

Geet's question was understandable

she was indeed shocked with Maan's reply

at least Geet knows that Maan is protective of her

of cos Maan did not let Priyanka see Geet

his reasons were justified

Geet's further question was reasonable

loved Maan's dark sarcastic humor

enjoyed their banter

great that Maan was direct with Geet

ahh Geet had a hearty laugh

liked Maan and Geet's convo

ha ha Maan is so dramatic

so the staff offered help

Raj's comment about Maan being there was anticipated

hmm Geet reached for Maan's hand

oh Sheetal, Meera, Kavya and Raj discuss Maan and Geet

they were clearly curious about Maan being there

Gosh Geet's health insurance was cancelled several months ago

Maan was certainly amazed

now the hospital bills are her responsibility

what will she do?

update soon

45

maan ask geet's friends to meet her so she shill positively think of life n happyness

So happy

Itni casual talk ye bhut less krte hai

And all friends just guessing

But why geet policy get cancelled at first place

Waiting anxiously for an update please

Part 46

Room 407 basked in a quiet mid-morning glow, sunlight softening the sterile edges of the hospital. The hum of machines blended with the gentle whoosh of the heater, creating a strange illusion of calm.

Maan sat beside her bed, one hand resting lightly atop Geet’s. She was half-upright against the pillows, a blanket drawn to her waist, the curve of the neck brace still a sharp reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Her face looked better in the light—less hollow, less broken—but the stillness in her eyes hadn't shifted.

He didn’t say much. He never did during the mornings.

He just… watched. As if every breath she took proved the universe hadn’t entirely lost its mind.

The door creaked open.

A nurse entered—early thirties, brisk and polite—with a clipboard pressed to her chest and a too-cheerful smile. The kind of smile hospital staff wore when they had difficult news and were trying to cushion the blow.

“Good morning!” she chirped. “Just here to check vitals and discuss some billing formalities.”

Maan straightened slightly, his hand instinctively tightening around Geet’s. Geet didn’t respond, her eyes remaining on the wall.

The nurse moved efficiently, noting her vitals, checking the IV drip, adjusting the pulse oximeter.

Then she flipped the page on her clipboard.

And paused.

Her fingers stopped mid-motion. Her smile flickered—just for a second—before she caught it and turned toward Geet again, clearing her throat lightly.

“Ms. Geet,” she said, her tone now shifting, tinged with uncertainty. “I… need to let you know that your medical insurance is showing as inactive. There’s no current coverage listed.”

Maan blinked. “That’s not possible.”

The nurse glanced up at him.

“She was on corporate insurance,” he said, already frowning. “Full coverage. I personally approved it. It should’ve auto-renewed unless—”

“She canceled it,” the nurse said gently. “The file says she voluntarily opted out several months ago. There’s no active policy in her name.”

Silence dropped like a weight.

Maan’s head snapped toward Geet.

She was still staring at the ceiling. Unblinking. Unmoved.

Not surprised.

“Geet,” he said quietly, brows furrowing. “You canceled the insurance?”

She didn’t answer. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

The nurse, sensing tension, stepped back. “I’ll give you two a minute.”

The door clicked softly behind her.

Maan leaned forward, his voice low. “You knew?”

A beat. Then a whisper.

“I’ll manage.”

He stared at her. “You’ll manage?” His voice sharpened. “Geet, this is a hospital bill. It’ll run into lakhs. You were unconscious when you came in. You needed emergency care. How were you planning to manage?”

She still didn’t look at him. Her fingers curled slightly into the blanket.

“I didn’t think it would come to this.”

His jaw tensed. “No one ever does. That’s what insurance is for. Why would you cancel it?”

Her voice was quiet, almost flat. “It was a few thousand a month. I needed it elsewhere.”

He stared at her like she’d just admitted to drowning with her eyes open. “You needed what elsewhere?”

She didn’t answer. Not really.

Just that same phrase: “I’ll manage.”

It wasn’t defiance. It wasn’t even pride.

It was resignation.

Like she’d already done the math, already accepted the fallout, already figured the price of her decisions—and was ready to carry it alone.

But Maan wasn’t.

He leaned back slowly, eyes narrowing—not with judgment, but with a quiet, growing confusion. Geet wasn’t reckless. Wasn’t impulsive. She was… methodical. Quiet. Thoughtful.

Frugal.

She packed her own food. Walked to work. Didn’t even keep backup shoes at the office.

So why?

Why risk everything to save a few thousand?

What had been more urgent than her life?

He watched her for another long beat. She still wouldn’t look at him. And that hurt more than the words.

+++

Maan sat still for a long moment, his thoughts grinding louder than the machines beside her.

She had canceled her insurance. Voluntarily.

She wasn’t shocked by the news. Didn’t even flinch.

It gnawed at him—because nothing about that made sense. Not for someone like her.

He studied her profile, the line of her jaw against the brace, the stubborn stillness of her expression. She wasn’t withholding out of malice or pride. She was… protecting something. Or someone. Or maybe just hiding pain so deep it had calcified into silence.

She shifted slightly, her voice almost hesitant now. “Maan?”

He turned toward her instantly, his eyes softening. “Yeah?”

A small breath escaped her lips. Then, cautiously:
“Can you… ask someone to check my bank balance?”

His brows drew together.

She said softly. “And I… So I can… pay what I can.”

Her words were quiet, but that last line hit him like a slap. So I can pay what I can.

Even now—bruised, stitched, in a neck brace—she was thinking about paying back what life had stolen from her.

Maan didn’t argue.

He simply reached for his phone.

A few quick taps. A short message to a discreet contact in his finance team. Nothing elaborate. Just a direct instruction: Check Geetanjali Kumar’s salary account balance. Immediate.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at her.

“You sure you want to know right now?” he asked gently.

She nodded once, without looking at him. “Yeah.”

Silence returned, stretching like a held breath. Outside the window, a crow landed on the ledge and cawed twice, as if to fill the stillness.

A buzz. His phone.

He pulled it out, thumb sliding across the screen—and then he froze.

His body didn’t move. Just his eyes.

Reading.

And then reading again.

Slowly, he looked up at her.

“Geet…”

Something in his voice made her lift her gaze.

“It’s… zero,” he said quietly. “Your account’s empty.”

She blinked.

And for a second, her face betrayed nothing—no shock, no fear.

Just stillness.

Then a tiny flicker passed across her features. A blink too long. A sharp inhale too soft.

Like she'd hoped it wasn’t true. But had known it was possible.

“Oh,” she said.

Just that.

“Oh.”

Maan stared at her. “You didn’t know?”

Her eyes flicked away. “I… I thought there might be something left.”

“You saved,” he said slowly, almost to himself now. “I know you saved. You were careful. You weren’t reckless with money. You—” He stopped himself.

She didn’t deny any of it.

Didn’t explain either.

Just sat there, a little smaller than before, her hand slowly retreating under the blanket.

His mind raced. Where the f** did it all go?*

He felt a tightness in his chest. Not because of the money—but because of what it meant. Something had happened. Something she wasn’t saying. She had drained every rupee and canceled her health insurance… knowing full well that no one would be there to help her if something went wrong.

And yet—she hadn’t asked him. Not once.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” he asked, voice quieter now.

She didn’t answer.

Her lips parted, maybe to offer a lie, maybe a half-truth—but nothing came out.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at her like he was seeing a stranger.

And all she did was blink slowly, eyes glistening—not with tears, but the weight of knowing she had no answers to give. Not the kind he wanted.

Not yet.

+++

The tension in Room 407 was no longer subtle.

It pulsed.

Beneath the sterile quiet, beneath the humming machines and filtered sunlight, something had begun to shake loose—something neither of them could name, but both could feel.

Maan hadn’t moved from the chair since checking her balance. His phone lay screen-down beside him, as if turning it over could undo what he’d just learned.

Zero.

The word echoed in his mind like a scream in a marble corridor.

“You had savings,” he said again, voice low. “You were always careful. You canceled your insurance to save more. You never bought yourself anything. You lived in that tiny flat—hell, you even walked to the office whenever possible, didn’t you?”

Geet didn’t answer. Her fingers were twisted into the bedsheet now, knuckles pale, nails biting into cotton.

Maan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her. “Geet, talk to me.”

“I’ll manage,” she murmured.

He sat back, shaking his head slightly—frustrated, helpless. “That’s not an answer. I’m not asking as your boss. I’m not asking out of pity. I’m asking because I can feel it—something’s not right. Something deeper than the assault. Deeper than you’ll admit.”

She didn’t move. Her throat worked silently, but her gaze stayed fixed on the far wall.

“You’re hiding something,” he said gently, but firmly. “The insurance, the account, even the way you’re reacting to all this—it’s like you expected to fall. Like you… planned for it.”

She flinched. Barely.

“I didn’t plan for this,” she whispered.

“Then why won’t you tell me what happened?” he pressed. “Why you’re broke? Why you canceled your only safety net months ago? What happened, Geet? Did someone take your money? Did you give it away? Did someone—”

“I’ll manage.”

That was the third time she’d said it.

And this time, Maan’s voice cracked with anger. “Stop saying that like it fixes anything. You’re lying in a hospital bed. You can’t manage. You’re barely eating, your hands tremble when you reach for water, you—”

“I said I’ll manage.”

His jaw clenched. He reached across the bed, gently taking her hand.

“I’m not asking because I don’t think you’re strong enough. I know you are. But I can’t help you if you keep shutting me out. Let me pay the bill—just that. Nothing else.”

Her head snapped toward him then.

And her eyes—

He would never forget that look.

It was as if he’d stripped her bare with a sentence.

She didn’t speak. But the shame on her face—sharp, blinding—spoke louder than any scream.

Maan froze.

“Geet…”

She pulled her hand back, fingers curling against her chest, like she was trying to hold her ribs together. Her mouth trembled. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.

And then—

“That’s why…” Her voice broke.

Maan’s heart stilled.

“That’s why I didn’t want to come back…” she whispered.

He frowned. “What?”

She looked up at him—and this time, the tears were there. Her eyes shone with them, wide and wet and terrifying in their honesty.

“I didn’t want to wake up,” she said.

Maan sat frozen.

“I didn’t want to come back from the coma.” Her voice cracked again. “I have nothing now. Not my money. Not my body. Not even my dignity. Everything I fought for—it’s gone. And now… now I’m here, reduced to this—” She gestured weakly to the hospital gown, the machines, the brace around her neck. “—this… version of myself.”

“Geet…”

“It would’ve been easier if I hadn’t made it,” she said, her voice rising into a choked whisper. “At least then, I’d still have my self-respect. I wouldn’t have had to look at you… while you offered to pay for me like I’m a burden.”

Maan’s chest felt like it was cracking.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “Don’t do that. Don’t twist what this is. I offered because I care. Because I’m here. And I’m not leaving.”

“But I am a burden,” she whispered. “I lost everything.”

Her shoulders heaved once, and she broke.

No more holding it together.

No more polite silence or brave half-smiles.

She cried.

Not loudly. Not with sobs.

But with silent, wracking tremors that shook her entire frame—her fingers clenched into fists, her eyes squeezed shut like she could will herself to disappear.

Maan stood. Slowly. Moved around the bed. Sat down beside her—not on the chair now, but directly on the edge of the bed, gently ignoring the wires.

He didn’t speak.

He just pulled her hand into his and let her cry.

Let her break.

Because even the strongest structures collapse when the weight becomes too much.

And she had carried too much, for far too long.

+++

She had turned her face to the side, away from him, as if even eye contact would fracture what little was left of her composure.

Her breaths came in sharp, shallow waves, like she was trying to swallow her grief but choking on the pieces.

Maan moved closer, careful not to jostle her wires or press against the bruises that still marred her skin. Slowly—almost hesitantly—he slipped his arm around her narrow shoulders and pulled her into him.

A semi-embrace. Just enough that her head could rest against his chest, above the steady thrum of his heart.

His other hand hovered for a moment—then gently cradled the back of her head.

She didn’t resist.

Didn’t lean in, either.

She just… allowed it.

And he held her, as gently as one would hold something already shattered.

His chin rested lightly on the top of her head, his breath threading through the loose strands of her hair, and when he spoke, his voice cracked under the weight of emotion he no longer tried to hide.

“Geet… Geet,” he whispered, her name trembling in his throat. “My stupid, stubborn, impossible Geet.”

She didn’t flinch.

He tightened the hold, just slightly, just enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the shelter of him.

“I’m offering to take care of you,” he murmured, choosing every word like it was breakable porcelain. “Not because you’re a burden. Not because I pity you. Not because I’m trying to fix anything.”

His voice dropped lower, rough with feeling.

“I’m offering because you’re my girlfriend. And that’s what boyfriends do.”

He swallowed thickly, resting his cheek gently against her temple.

“Silly girl.”

For a second, the silence held.

Then came a hoarse, broken croak from her chest.

“No.”

His arms loosened just enough for him to lean back, just enough to see her face.

Her eyes were closed, and her lips trembled—not in defiance, but grief.

“No?” he echoed, voice gentler than wind. “No?”

She turned her face toward him. Barely. Her lashes were damp, clinging to her cheeks. Her lips parted, then closed. She couldn’t say more yet. But the ache in her refusal wasn’t rejection.

It was sorrow.

Loss.

Fear.

He didn’t push.

He didn’t tease.

He just cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek.

And whispered, “Okay. Then say something else. Anything else. But don’t say I can’t help. Don’t say you’ll manage alone. Not with me here. Not anymore.”

Her lips trembled again.

And for the first time, she didn’t look away.