Something About Us- MG || (Part 51|Page 52) - Page 48

Part 46

Painful Update

Geet is told that her insurance has been cancelled by her

while her bank balance is zero and Maan truly wants to help

but she also feels as if she would be a burden on him

but I think either Geet's family wanted the money or someone was threatening her

and she had to always pay

perhaps she got herself in some danger

I just hope she allows Maan to help her and also tell him everything that

has been happening to her

Here is more story

Geet ko saving kaha gyi

Why she said she have no dignity

I mean us assault me geet ke sath kuch galat bhi huya tha

More than that

Nice

46

painful n shocking update

maan feel like he is nothing to geet with her response to his every question

Part 46

of cos Maan was there for Geet

so Geet's insurance was cancelled

Maan was indeed shocked

his question was anticipated

well Geet cancelled it as she needed the money elsewhere

Maan's reaction and thoughts were reasonable

Gosh Geet's has no money in her account

Maan was clearly amazed as he knows Geet well

as expected Maan confronted Geet

Maan's concern was justified

his questions were understandable

not surprised that Maan wanted to pay the bill

oh Geet broke down

glad that Maan is there with her

liked that Maan assured Geet

he wants to help her and explained

hope Geet opens up to Maan

update soon

Part 47

Her voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and raw from days of disuse and tears unshed.

“I didn’t want to rely on anyone,” she said, the words like threadbare cloth barely holding together. “Especially not you…”

Maan stilled.

His thumb froze against her cheek, his jaw tensing—but just for a second.

Then he exhaled, a slow, quiet breath. Not angry. Not hurt.

Just aching for her.

He pulled back slightly, enough to meet her eyes, still cupping her face with one hand.

“It’s not about relying on anyone, Geet,” he said gently, his voice now steady but low. “It’s about you not stressing over useless crap like money when your ribs still sound like bubble wrap every time you laugh.”

Her lips twitched—barely. A shadow of a smirk.

He tilted his head, letting his dark, sardonic humor peek through.

“Really,” he continued, mock serious now. “Hospital bills? Stress? Dignity? You think I came here for 18 days straight, slept on a glorified ironing board, drank tar disguised as coffee, and got judged daily by a unicorn soft toy—just so you could give me a TED Talk on financial independence?”

She blinked. A tiny sound escaped her throat—half protest, half laugh.

“You think this is funny?” she rasped.

He gave a lopsided shrug. “A little. Especially the part where you think I’d rather watch you crumble than help carry the weight.”

His thumb brushed under her eye again, catching the start of a tear before it could fall.

“Listen,” he said more softly, his smirk fading but the warmth remaining. “You don’t owe me strength right now. You just owe me… a chance to be here. To be part of the mess. To be with you.”

She swallowed hard. Her face crumpled for just a breath, then steadied.

Still unsure. Still scared. But the ice around her words had started to melt.

“Maan…” she began, but he shook his head slightly.

“No big speeches,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Just heal. That’s your job. Let me worry about the rest.”

She didn’t reply.

But her fingers curled slightly into his shirt, her forehead resting against the edge of his collarbone. Not quite an embrace.

But not resistance, either.

And that—he knew—was more than enough for now.

+++

She didn’t say anything—not right away.

Still pressed to his chest, Geet’s breath was uneven, shallow. Her grip on his shirt hadn't tightened, but it hadn’t let go either.

Maan exhaled, slow and deliberate, his chin resting against the top of her head.

But then… his whole body shifted.

Not in posture.

In energy.

That calm warmth—the one that coaxed her to speak, that held her when she broke—was gone.

When he finally pulled back to look at her again, his expression had changed. Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. A stillness that didn’t comfort—it coiled.

Deadly quiet.

“Maan?” she murmured, startled by the tension suddenly vibrating through him.

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze locked onto hers like a storm gathering over calm water. “Geet,” he said softly—too softly—“you not wanting to rely on me… I can live with that. For now.”

His voice dropped lower, firmer.

“But don’t confuse my patience with ignorance.”

She blinked, frozen.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to.

“You think I can’t tell you’re still holding something back?” he asked, voice like steel beneath velvet. “You think I didn’t notice how not surprised you were when your bank balance came up zero? Or how calm you were about the insurance?”

She tried to look away.

He didn’t let her.

His hand caught her jaw gently—not rough, not hurting—but commanding, bringing her face back to his.

“I don’t need the full story right now,” he said, his tone sharpening. “But don’t think for one damn second that I won’t find out. With or without your help.”

His next words came with such slow, deliberate force that each one cut through the air like a scalpel.

“I swear to fcking god, Geet,” he breathed, “whoever did this to you—whoever hurt you, whoever took from you—whether it was your body or your money or your fcking peace—I will not spare them.”

Her eyes widened.

“I don’t care if it takes me a week or a year,” he said. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll dig it up myself. One thread at a time.”

He leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching hers now, voice low and lethal.

“But make no mistake, Geet. That son of a b*tch didn’t just mess with you. He declared war on me.”

Silence.

Heavy. Electric.

Geet’s eyes brimmed, not just from pain—but from the weight of how deeply he meant it. There was no bravado in his words. No performance. Just raw, undiluted conviction.

And in that moment, something inside her—something that had been clenched so tightly for so long—threatened to give.

He didn’t say “I love you.”

He didn’t say “trust me.”

But the way he looked at her—like she was his to protect, like her pain had become his own—that said everything.

And somehow, even through the tears, her voice came.

“Maan,” she whispered. “Please… don’t do something reckless.”

His lips twitched bitterly. “Reckless would be not doing anything.”

Geet didn’t speak.

Not for a long time.

The silence between them wasn’t vacant—it was thick, almost oppressive. Alive with everything unsaid. Threaded with unshed tears, tight-throated truths, and the ache of someone who’d gone too long without being believed.

Maan didn’t push again.

Not now.

Not after the look she’d given him when he offered to pay. Not after the crack in her voice when she said it would’ve been easier if she hadn’t come back. And not after the weight of her words—her life—started bleeding out, quietly, like a wound reopened under pressure.

She stared down at the hospital blanket. A loose thread curled at the seam, and she tugged at it absently with trembling fingers.

“I used to think…” she began softly, eyes unmoving, “…that if you earned your own money, you were safe.”

Her voice caught on the word safe. She didn’t pause. Didn’t let herself break.

“That if you worked hard, saved quietly, didn’t argue too much or ask for too much… people would eventually leave you alone.”

Maan stayed still. No interruptions. Just that unbearable patience of his when something mattered.

“I sent money home every month,” she said. “Even when I couldn’t afford to. Even when I was surviving on tiffins and leftover catering food. Because…” Her throat bobbed. “…because I thought maybe they’d forgive me. For being different. For not marrying that man. For running away after…”

She stopped. The breath she pulled in sounded like it hurt.

“You remember I told you once… that they burnt my hair?”

Maan’s jaw tightened.

“I didn’t tell you the whole thing. They wanted me to marry someone. Someone I didn’t choose. When I refused, they said I’d shamed them. He—my brother—he held me down. Maa didn’t even flinch.”

Maan’s entire body went rigid. His silence turned colder, heavier.

“I still sent money after that,” she said quietly. “Can you believe that? After I came back to the city, after I started the tiffin service, after I worked as a server to make ends meet. I thought… if I just gave enough, maybe they’d let me exist in peace.”

Her voice cracked like dry paper.

“I canceled the insurance so I could send them more. It was stupid. I thought it’d make them proud. That maybe they’d stop seeing me as the girl who rebelled.”

She gave a broken laugh, joyless and raw.

“Instead, he told me I ruined his life. That I thought I was better than them. That I owed him.”

Her lips trembled. “And I didn’t know he had access to my bank account. I don’t even know when he took it all. It just… vanished.”

Her eyes stayed locked on the blanket—but Maan watched every flicker of her face.

Geet inhaled shakily. “He was furious when I quit the job. Said I’d gotten arrogant. That I’d stop sending money. He kept calling. I didn’t pick up. Then he just… showed up. You know the rest.”

The last line hung there, quietly burning.

Maan didn’t move.

Not yet.

But his fingers had curled into fists so tight, the tendons in his forearm strained beneath his shirt. His entire frame was stone.

Geet wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand, a sharp, angry motion.

“That’s why I didn’t want to come back,” she whispered. “Not because I wanted to die. But because I knew if I lived… I’d have to live with this. With no money. No family. Nothing.”

She laughed again—short, bitter.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

And that’s when he moved.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t jolt forward like some cinematic savior.

He leaned in slow—like the earth was shifting—and folded her into him with both arms. One hand cupped the back of her head, the other steadied at her back.

He pulled her against his chest like he was afraid she’d slip between his fingers and disappear.

His voice cracked when it came.

“You’re Geet,” he whispered into her hair. “The girl who put her pride in tiffin boxes and dignity in catering trays. The one who built her life from the ashes they tried to reduce her to.”

She sobbed once—just once—and he held her tighter.

“You showed up to work everyday, everyday I challenged you and you still looked me in the eye. Everyday you made me proud for choosing you for seeing your talent for believing in your capabilities. You didn’t need earnings or savings or f*cking insurance to be strong.”

He kissed the top of her head, barely a breath.

“They don’t get to take you,” he murmured. “Not your f*cking brother, not your mother, not your past. No one gets to erase you.”

And Geet wept then. Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just a quiet, broken girl letting herself fall, for once, into the arms of someone who wouldn’t ask her to shrink to fit their version of love.

And Maan didn’t let go.

He wouldn’t.

Not until he put her back together.

Piece by sacred piece.

+++

The hospital’s fluorescent buzz was too soft to register—but Maan heard it anyway. Or maybe it was just his mind, electric and sharp, the way it got before a business venture came together. The same brutal stillness, the same tunnel of focus.

Geet was asleep now—finally. Curled slightly toward the side that didn’t ache. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her lashes damp from the storm she’d let out against his chest. Her hand still loosely gripped the edge of his shirt.

He hadn’t moved for over an hour.

Not until he was sure she was really sleeping. Not until she murmured something incoherent under her breath and turned her face against the pillow like a child seeking shelter.

Then—and only then—did Maan get up.

Silently.

Purposefully.

He walked out of Room 407 like a man walking into a war room.

+++

PARKING GARAGE – NIGHT

The sleek black car sat parked beneath a flickering bulb. Maan got in, the leather groaning beneath his weight as he pulled out his phone, thumbed in a code, and opened a secure app. No calls. Not yet. Some things were better whispered directly into the right ears.

He tapped once.

Line rang.

Then: “Ravindra.”

A sleepy, raspy voice answered. “It’s past midnight, Maan—what—?”

“Need a full trace. Account access. Login patterns. Withdrawal logs. Geetanjali Kumar. Last six months.”

Silence.

Then a low whistle. “You don’t waste time.”

“Start with her brother. Last known contact. Track any account in his name or under her linked details. I want timestamps. Locations. If he paid for a f*cking samosa, I want the exact street vendor’s name.”

“Maan—”

“And don’t ask me why,” he growled. “Just do it. I’ll pay double for silence.”

There was a pause. Then Ravindra’s voice, lighter now, resigned. “You always do.”

Maan ended the call.

Sat there a moment. Breathing.

In. Out.

His jaw twitched. His hands were shaking, not from fear. Not from adrenaline.

But from a kind of rage that wasn’t loud. It didn’t scream.

It calculated.

+++

LATER – MAAN’S APARTMENT, OFFICE ROOM

He hadn’t been back in days, but the server bay still hummed when he keyed in. He booted up one of his systems, screen lighting up with code and traces already being processed by Ravindra’s team.

Within minutes, names began appearing.

And there it was.

Her brother’s name. Her money. Dozens of transfers. Linked digital wallet access. A train ticket. A withdrawal in cash. An impulse hotel booking. A bar tab. A gold chain purchase.

Maan stared.

The list was long.

Too long.

And the dates? Aligned with every moment Geet had eaten less, worn the same clothes, refused help.

His hand clenched the edge of the table.

Maan Singh Khurana didn’t believe in fate.

But this?

This was personal.

He opened a second window.

And began to type.

+++

The sun had only just begun to brush the far wall when Geet stirred.

Light filtered in through the cracked blinds, pale gold against the steel blue of early morning. The scent of antiseptic lingered faintly, as always. But today, something else hung in the air too.

Stillness.

A different kind of stillness.

She blinked awake slowly, eyes adjusting, limbs stiff. The neck brace tugged faintly when she turned, and then—there he was.

Maan.

Sitting right there beside her, just as he had for days. Same grey shirt. Same dark stubble grazing his sharp jaw.

But something was off.

He wasn’t looking at her.

He was staring ahead, unblinking. Elbows on knees, hands clasped loosely—too loosely, like every muscle in his body was being told to wait. His phone sat dark on the windowsill behind him. His laptop was gone. His gaze, hollowed out and distant, was fixed on the floor.

But the moment she moved—a slight shift of the blanket, a shallow breath catching—he looked up.

Too fast.

Too alert.

His eyes softened instantly, but not like before.

Not the fidgeting concern. Not the edge-of-panic worry he’d worn yesterday when she’d cried into his chest. This was different.

Quieter.

Stronger.

Scarier.

“Hey,” he said gently, voice low, rough with sleep… or maybe something else. “You’re awake.”

Geet’s brows knit faintly. “You didn’t sleep.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t feel like it.”

She paused. “Did something happen?”

Maan smiled then—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was controlled. Polished. The way a man smiles when he’s hiding something sharper beneath.

“No,” he said simply. “Everything’s fine.”

She didn’t believe him.

And he didn’t try to convince her.

Instead, he leaned forward and carefully adjusted the blanket over her arm. His touch was gentle. Soothing, even. But the silence behind it was taut like a bowstring.

“You hungry?”

She nodded faintly, eyes never leaving his face. “A little.”

“I’ll ask the nurse.”

He rose, slow and smooth, walking to the door with the calmness of a man whose mind was already elsewhere. Not gone—just... marching forward.

And that’s when it hit her.

The danger wasn’t that he was angry.

The danger was that he wasn’t.

He had crossed through something overnight. Past fury. Past grief.

Into resolve.

Maan Khurana wasn’t waiting anymore.

He was already moving.

And for the first time since she’d woken from the coma… Geet felt afraid.

Not of him.

But for whoever he was going after.

Part 47

Fantastic Update

Geet telling Maan how she'd send money home everymonth

in hope they will forgive her

but Maan been the wise intelligent one looked up Geet's bank statement

and realized Brij has been using Geet's money to buy a gold chain

hotel bill and a bar bill

so was enjoying her money

now Maan will sure go after Bri and teach him a lesson

Geet knows this and is scared for Brij but it's time that Maan teaches him

a lesson

Part 47

of cos Geet does not want to rely on anyone including Maan

Maan's reaction was reasonable

admire Maan's efforts to lighten the atmosphere

at least Geet laughed

so Maan wants Geet to let him be there and worry about the rest

he just wants Geet to heal

liked her response

he indeed knows she is hiding something

not surprised that he will find who this to her and make them pay

Maan's anger was justified

Maan's look said everything

Maan had a valid point

glad that Geet opened up to Maan

hate her family

upset that her mom did support

angry what her brother did to her

loved that Maan assured her

everything he said was correct

not surprised that Maan wants all information

he does not waste time

now he has all the information

he was clearly furious

Maan will handle Brij

Geet's fears were understandable

but Brij deserves everything

update soon

So brij take her money

Ussi ne geet ki ye halat ki hai

Itni buri trh

Nice part

Maan in action🤞🤗