Part 8
As weeks turned into months, Geet found herself slowly but steadily carving out a space for herself at Khurana Enterprises. While the weight of her work and the occasional tension with Maan still loomed, the growing connections she was forming with her colleagues brought a surprising sense of belonging she hadn’t expected.
Raj was the first to break the ice. A junior analyst in another team, he had a knack for drawing people in with his easy humor and infectious energy. Tall and slightly lanky, with perpetually messy hair and a mischievous grin, Raj had a way of making even the most tense meetings feel like casual conversations over coffee.
It started with a simple joke. Geet had been frowning at her screen, struggling with an overdue report, when Raj strolled by and leaned against her cubicle.
“Careful,” he said, feigning seriousness. “If you keep staring at that screen like that, it might start staring back.”
Geet blinked, caught off guard, and then laughed despite herself. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll keep that in mind.”
From that moment, Raj became a regular presence near her desk. Whether it was a quick comment to make her laugh or a shared snack during breaks, he had a way of lightening the mood.
“Did I tell you about my band?” he asked one afternoon, tossing a paperclip into a mug on her desk as if it were a basketball hoop.
“You’re in a band?” Geet asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yep,” he said, puffing out his chest dramatically. “We’re called The Midnight Notes. Mostly soft rock, a little fusion. You should come to a gig sometime.”
Geet chuckled. “I didn’t know I was working with a rockstar.”
“Future rockstar,” he corrected, flashing her a grin. “Right now, I’m just a guy with a guitar and a dream.”
Raj’s lightheartedness was a stark contrast to Maan’s intensity, and Geet found herself looking forward to his company. His stories about his band, his terrible puns, and his uncanny ability to turn mundane office moments into mini-adventures became a much-needed escape from the pressure of her work.
In addition to Raj, Geet began forming bonds with some of the other women in the office. Meera, an HR associate with a warm smile and an encyclopedic knowledge of corporate policies, was the first to invite Geet to lunch.
“You’re too quiet,” Meera said one day, sliding into the chair next to Geet in the break room. “Come join us. We’re not as intimidating as we look.”
Geet hesitated but eventually joined Meera and her group, which included Nisha from marketing, a bubbly woman with a love for all things fashion, and Kavya, an operations manager with a dry wit and a penchant for eavesdropping on office drama.
The lunch conversations ranged from harmless gossip about the latest workplace romances to debates about the best street food spots in the city. Geet found herself laughing more often, her usual reserved demeanor giving way to moments of lightheartedness.
“Do you think Maan Sir ever eats lunch like a normal person?” Nisha asked one day, stirring her coffee with exaggerated thoughtfulness.
“He probably eats spreadsheets,” Kavya replied, smirking. “With a side of sarcasm.”
Geet stifled a laugh, unsure if she should join in, but Nisha caught her reaction and grinned. “See? Even Geet knows he’s secretly terrifying.”
“He’s not that bad,” Geet said cautiously, though her voice lacked conviction.
“Oh, he is,” Meera said, her eyes twinkling. “But we don’t mind. Keeps the rest of us on our toes.”
++++
As the weeks passed, Geet’s friendships deepened. Meera became her go-to confidante, someone she could talk to about work frustrations and personal dilemmas. Nisha often dragged her into impromptu shopping trips after work, insisting that “retail therapy is the best therapy.” And Kavya’s sharp humor kept everyone grounded, her dry commentary adding an edge to their conversations.
These bonds gave Geet a sense of belonging she hadn’t felt in years. For the first time since stepping into Khurana Enterprises, she didn’t feel like an outsider. Instead, she felt like part of a team—a family of sorts, with all its quirks and camaraderie.
+++
From his corner office, Maan couldn’t help but notice the change in Geet. Her once solitary demeanor had been replaced by an easy rapport with her colleagues. She laughed more, her desk was often surrounded by visitors, and she seemed lighter, freer.
Though he never acknowledged it aloud, he found himself watching her more often, his gaze lingering when she shared a joke with Raj or when her laughter echoed faintly across the office.
One evening, as Maan left his office late, he passed by the break room and heard the familiar sound of Geet’s laugh. Peeking in, he saw her surrounded by her friends, her face alight with joy.
For a moment, Maan stood there, the warmth of her laughter pulling at something deep inside him. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned and walked away, leaving her to her newfound happiness.
++++
The office was a ghost town by the time Geet looked up from her laptop, her eyes stinging from the glow of the screen. It was well past midnight, and the only sounds were the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional creak of the building settling into silence. With a sigh, she began packing up her things, stifling a yawn. Another late night.
The ding of the elevator down the hall caught her attention, followed by the unmistakable echo of steady footsteps. Her pulse quickened before her mind even registered why.
Maan.
He appeared moments later, walking toward the elevator bank, his jacket slung over one shoulder and his tie loosened. His movements were fluid but slower than usual, his sharpness dulled by the faintly visible flush on his cheeks. His signature cologne mixed with the unmistakable scent of whiskey, a telltale sign of yet another networking event.
Geet froze, willing herself to focus on adjusting the strap of her bag as she waited for the elevator to arrive. She could feel his presence even from across the room, the weight of it pressing against her awareness like a magnetic pull she couldn’t escape.
“Burning the midnight oil again, Miss Geet?” His voice was dry, his dark humor cutting through the quiet like a knife.
“I could say the same for you, Sir,” she replied without looking up, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.
“Well,” he said, leaning casually against the wall as the elevator arrived, “networking events require survival tactics. Mine just happens to involve whiskey.” He glanced at her, his lips curving into a smirk. “You should try it sometime. It does wonders for tolerating people.”
Geet raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, stepping into the elevator when the doors slid open. To her dismay—and perhaps a trace of something else—Maan followed, his tie swinging lazily as he leaned against the railing inside the car.
The doors slid shut, and silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Geet could feel her skin prickling with the weight of the unspoken tension that always seemed to bubble to the surface whenever they were alone. She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and his usual sharp demeanor was softened by the slightly disheveled air about him.
Dangerous, she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. The memory of their previous kisses—the electricity, the sheer force of them—flooded her mind, making her grip the strap of her bag tighter.
Maan, for his part, seemed perfectly at ease, though his dark eyes occasionally flicked toward her, the intensity in them betraying the casual demeanor he worked so hard to maintain.
The elevator jolted to a stop on the 15th floor, and the doors opened. Geet turned her gaze forward, assuming they’d remain empty, but the sight that greeted them froze her in place.
A couple stood in the middle of the hallway, locked in a passionate embrace. Their bodies were pressed together, and their lips moved with an urgency that made the air in the elevator feel suffocatingly thick. For a moment, neither Geet nor Maan moved, both caught off guard by the raw intimacy of the scene before them.
“Well,” Maan said finally, his voice low and laced with dark amusement. “Looks like someone’s having a productive evening.”
Geet’s cheeks flushed instantly, and she snapped her gaze away, her embarrassment amplified by the slight quirk of his lips as he observed her reaction.
“Maybe they just closed a big deal,” he added, his tone dry, though his gaze lingered on Geet for a beat longer than necessary.
“They could be married,” Geet said, her voice a little sharper than she intended, though she didn’t look at him. “Or celebrating something meaningful.”
“Hmm,” Maan mused, his smirk deepening. “Or maybe they’re just two people who can’t resist temptation.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with implication. Geet felt her pulse quicken, her thoughts racing back to the last time they had been that close, the way his hands had gripped her waist, the way his lips had felt against hers. Her stomach tightened as she fought to keep her expression neutral.
The couple in the hallway pulled apart, laughing breathlessly, oblivious to the silent audience they’d had. They disappeared around the corner, leaving the elevator to close again with an almost mocking finality.
Maan tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking to Geet once more. “Jealous?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.
“Of what?” Geet replied, feigning nonchalance despite the heat creeping up her neck.
“Of their... spontaneity.” His tone was casual, but his dark eyes burned with something far less so.
Geet turned to him then, her gaze steady despite the hammering of her heart. “Some of us have more self-control.”
Maan’s lips curved into a slow, almost dangerous smile. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor, breaking the moment like a splash of cold water. The doors opened, and Geet stepped out quickly, eager to escape the charged air between them.
“Goodnight, Sir,” she said over her shoulder, her tone clipped but her voice betraying the faintest tremor.
Maan lingered in the elevator, watching her retreat with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something darker that he refused to name.
As the doors slid shut once more, his smirk faded into a thoughtful frown, and he leaned his head back against the cool metal. The memory of her lips, her fire, and the way she had looked at him just moments ago all played in his mind, relentless and consuming.
“Self-control,” he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with dry irony. “Sure, Geet. Let’s call it that.”
++++
The silence in Maan’s penthouse was absolute, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his skin. With his tie undone and whiskey swirling in his glass, he leaned against the glass railing, his sharp gaze fixed on the skyline.
From here, the city stretched endlessly, a glittering sea of lights that Maan often found both beautiful and suffocating. Tonight, however, his attention wasn’t on the view or the liquor in his hand. It was on the massive billboard just across from his building, its illuminated surface casting a pale glow over the penthouse.
There she was—Geet.
The image wasn’t new to him. It had been there for months, an advertisement from her modeling days, a reminder of her past life that she never spoke about. She stood poised, elegant, her eyes holding a depth that seemed to pierce through the layers of polish and glamour. It was meant to sell something—perfume, perhaps—but all Maan could see was her.
The real her.
He tipped his glass, taking a slow sip as his thoughts wandered back to the elevator. Her face had been flushed, her eyes wide with barely masked emotions. He’d seen the way her pulse quickened at his words, the way her composure faltered just slightly under his gaze. And yet, she held her ground, meeting him barb for barb, her sharp wit cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Self-control,” he muttered to himself, his voice thick with irony as he stared at the billboard. “You’re full of it, Geetanjali Kumar.”
He downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the railing with a clink. The memory of her laughter with her colleagues earlier that week floated into his mind, unbidden. She was different now—more at ease, more open. She had begun to carve out a space for herself at Khurana Enterprises, surrounded by people who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company.
People like Raj.
The thought of Raj made Maan’s jaw tighten. He’d watched the younger man charm his way through the office, his easy humor and carefree demeanor drawing people in like moths to a flame. Geet had laughed at Raj’s jokes, her face lighting up in a way that Maan couldn’t quite forget.
He let out a quiet sigh, his fingers tightening around the railing. “So, you laugh for him,” he murmured, his voice low and bitter. “But with me, it’s all sharp edges and careful words.”
The billboard seemed to mock him in its silence, the larger-than-life version of Geet staring back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. He found himself speaking to it, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability he would never allow anyone else to hear.
“Why do you do this to me?” he asked, his tone half-accusatory, half-wistful. “You fight me at every turn, push me away every chance you get. And yet, here I am, staring at you like some lovesick fool.”
He let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re not even here, and you still manage to drive me insane.”
The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy with truth. He didn’t understand it—the pull she had over him, the way she seemed to slip past every wall he’d built over the years. She wasn’t the kind of woman he was supposed to notice, let alone feel anything for. And yet, she was everywhere.
In his office, in his thoughts, in the damned billboard that refused to let him forget.
Maan turned back toward the penthouse, his steps slow and deliberate. The whiskey had dulled the edge of his frustration, but it hadn’t silenced the voice in his head—the one that whispered her name every time he tried to think of something else.
As he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the billboard casting shadows across his face, Maan let out a quiet sigh. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes closing briefly as if to block out the image of her.
“Goodnight, Geet,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the city’s distant hum. “Wherever you are.”
But even as he said the words, he knew sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight. Not with her laughter echoing in his mind, and her face—both real and imagined—haunting his every thought.
+++++
Next evening after office, the team went for a team dinner to celebrate a project milestone.
The mood in the restaurant was jubilant, laughter and chatter filling the air as the team from Khurana Enterprises celebrated their recent project milestone. Plates of steaming appetizers were passed around, glasses clinked in toasts, and the camaraderie was at an all-time high.
Geet sat sandwiched between Raj and Meera, her laughter ringing out as Raj recounted a hilariously exaggerated tale of his latest band rehearsal. The team’s energy was infectious, and even the usually serious Sheetal had softened, smiling more often than anyone could remember.
Then, the door to their private dining area opened, and the atmosphere shifted.
Maan Singh Khurana walked in.
For a moment, the table fell silent, every pair of eyes turning toward him in disbelief. Maan never joined team celebrations. It was an unspoken rule—he operated in his own sphere, separate and untouchable. His presence now felt almost surreal.
Raj, ever the bold one, broke the silence first. “Well, well, the man himself,” he said, grinning as he gestured dramatically. “Didn’t think we were important enough for you, Sir.”
Maan’s lips quirked in a faint smirk as he adjusted the cuff of his shirt. “Important enough to warrant drinks on the company card,” he replied dryly, earning a ripple of laughter.
Geet stayed silent, her fingers toying with the edge of her napkin. She hadn’t seen him all day, but the sudden weight of his presence made her pulse quicken. Her gaze flicked toward him briefly before she looked away, focusing on the glass of water in front of her.
Maan moved to the head of the table, where a seat had been left conspicuously empty. As he settled in, the conversation slowly resumed, though the energy at the table now felt slightly charged.
Raj leaned toward Geet, whispering just loud enough for her to hear. “Why do I feel like I should be sitting straighter? He’s got that scary principal vibe.”
Geet bit back a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re fine. Just don’t start singing.”
“I make no promises,” Raj quipped, his grin widening.
Across the table, Maan sipped his drink, his sharp gaze sweeping over the group. It was clear he wasn’t there just for appearances—he was observing, assessing, and perhaps, in his own way, trying to connect.
Geet couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at him. His tie was gone, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and a glass of whiskey rested in his hand. He looked more relaxed than usual, though his presence still carried the same commanding weight it always did.
When their eyes met for the briefest second, her breath caught, and she quickly turned back to her plate. She felt foolish, like a schoolgirl caught staring, and cursed herself for being so affected by him.
As the evening progressed, the team grew more comfortable, the conversation flowing freely. Raj kept the mood light with his endless stream of jokes, and Nisha playfully teased him about his “rockstar aspirations.” Even Sheetal joined in, her usual sharp demeanor softening as she shared a rare story from her early days at the company.
Geet found herself laughing along, grateful for the distraction. She chatted easily with Meera and Kavya, the bond they had formed over the past months evident in their natural camaraderie. But no matter how much she tried to focus on the people around her, she was acutely aware of Maan.
He didn’t say much, but when he did, his words carried weight. He responded to Raj’s teasing with dry wit, deflected Sheetal’s pointed comments with ease, and even indulged in a toast proposed by Nisha.
“Here’s to the team,” Nisha declared, raising her glass. “And to surviving the wrath of Sheetal during crunch time!”
The group laughed, lifting their glasses in unison. Geet hesitated for a moment before joining in, her hand brushing against Raj’s as they clinked glasses.
Maan’s eyes flicked to her then, his expression unreadable as he watched her laugh with the others. His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, though he didn’t say a word.
As the plates emptied and the drinks flowed, the atmosphere grew looser, more relaxed. Geet leaned back in her chair, listening as Raj launched into another wild story about his band’s mishap during a wedding gig. She laughed along with the others, but every now and then, her gaze drifted to the head of the table.
Maan sat with his usual composure, though there was a faint glint in his eyes as he sipped his whiskey. Geet wondered what he thought of all this—did he see them as silly? Beneath him? Or was he... enjoying himself in his own reserved way?
Her thoughts were interrupted when Raj nudged her. “You’ve been quiet tonight,” he said, his tone playful but curious. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” Geet replied quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
Raj studied her for a moment before grinning. “Well, don’t fall asleep on us yet. The night’s still young!”
Geet chuckled, but her mind wandered back to Maan. She felt his gaze on her more than once, though she pretended not to notice. It was maddening, the way he seemed to linger in her periphery, a constant, unshakable presence.
The conversation at the table had loosened significantly as the night wore on, aided by rounds of drinks and the relaxed camaraderie among the team. Geet sat with Meera, Nisha, and Raj, their easy banter laced with the kind of warmth that only came from shared triumphs and long hours of work.
It was Nisha who turned the conversation toward Geet, her sharp eyes glinting with curiosity. “So, Geet,” she began, leaning forward with a grin. “You were an actress, right?”
Geet felt the attention shift to her, a faint blush creeping up her neck as she nodded. “I tried to be, yeah,” she admitted, her tone humble. “Did some modeling, a few small roles... nothing major.”
Nisha waved her hand dismissively. “Please, you’re being modest. You’re actress-level beautiful.” Her comment earned a round of agreeing nods from the table, and Raj gave an exaggerated gasp.
“I second that,” Raj said dramatically. “How did we get so lucky to have someone this stunning join our boring office?”
Geet chuckled, looking down at her drink. “Thanks, guys. That’s sweet.”
“Sweet? It’s the truth!” Nisha teased, her grin widening. “But seriously—how are you still single?”
Geet blinked, the question catching her off guard. “What?” she asked, laughing nervously.
“Don’t ‘what’ me,” Nisha pressed, leaning forward eagerly. “Half the office has a crush on you. So, how are you still single?”
Geet could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as Raj chimed in with an exaggerated groan. “Nisha’s right. Do you know how many guys are too scared to even talk to you? They think you’re out of their league.”
Geet shook her head, chuckling softly. “I’m not out of anyone’s league. And yes, I’m single.”
Meera, who had been quietly observing, raised an eyebrow. “Single, but is there a reason? No crushes, no flings, nothing?”
Geet hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. “Well...” she began, biting her lip as she tried to find the right words.
The table erupted with mock gasps and teasing laughter. “Oh, that means yes!” Nisha exclaimed, her voice full of excitement. “So who is it? Why is he still just a crush?”
Geet looked away, her lips curving into a sheepish smile as she tried to hide her embarrassment. “I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice light but tinged with something deeper. “What can I do if the other person doesn’t respond?”
The laughter at the table stilled slightly, replaced by a mix of surprise and disbelief. Raj leaned closer, his expression incredulous. “What? Seriously? Is that guy blind?”
Nisha clapped a hand to her forehead dramatically. “Oh, come on! Geet, spill. Who is this clueless idiot?”
Geet laughed softly, her blush deepening. “It’s nothing, really. Just... someone who doesn’t see me that way.”
From his seat at the head of the table, Maan sipped his drink, his expression outwardly indifferent. But his dark eyes flicked toward Geet, his grip tightening slightly around the glass as he watched her carefully. The faintest twitch of his jaw betrayed the crack in his composure, though no one else seemed to notice.
As the conversation drifted on to lighter topics, Maan’s mind remained fixed on Geet’s words. What can I do if the other person doesn’t respond? The line echoed in his thoughts, relentless and sharp.
He hadn’t missed the way her eyes darted away when her friends pressed her, the way she bit her lip as if holding something back. It was a habit he had come to recognize—a tell of hers that betrayed her vulnerability.
And then there was the laughter that followed, the disbelief from her colleagues who clearly thought the unnamed man was a fool. Maan’s lips quirked into a faint, humorless smile.
“Blind, huh?” he muttered under his breath, tipping his glass slightly before taking another slow sip. The whiskey burned, but it didn’t drown the thought that lingered like a persistent shadow: Was she talking about me?
Edited by NilzStorywriter - 6 months ago
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