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

part 48

Geet does not think of herself being worthy of his time and attention. But he thinks otherwise.

One little from her and he was like a schoolboy with a crush.

part 50

Everyone has read what his excitement means. The friends are all happy. Priyanka will just wither hopefully.

Awesome part

Geet’s friends truly making their own story for Maaneet

But hope this brings them closer

Cont soon

Waiting for you to continue please

Part 51

Hospital Room 407 – Late Morning

The hospital room was bathed in soft morning light, the sun filtering through the blinds and casting gentle patterns across the tiled floor. Geet sat in a wheelchair, her arm in a cast, her ribs tender from slowly healing fractures. The neck brace was gone, but every movement felt fragile, her body a map of lingering pain. The steady beep of the heart monitor was silent now, replaced by the rustle of discharge papers on the bedside table. A nurse stood nearby, reviewing the clipboard with a calm, professional tone.

“You’re cleared to leave today, Geet,” the nurse said, offering a warm smile. “But you need to take it slow. Strict bed rest for at least six weeks. Your arm and rib fractures are healing, but they’re still vulnerable—no lifting, no sudden movements. You’ll need physiotherapy three times a week to rebuild strength and mobility, and you’re on painkillers and anti-inflammatories for the next four weeks. Follow-ups with Dr. Sharma every two weeks to monitor progress. You’ll need someone with you for the first few weeks—meds can cause dizziness, and you’ll need help with daily tasks like bathing and dressing. Use the wheelchair for now to avoid strain; you can transition to crutches in a week or two if Dr. Sharma approves.”

Geet nodded, her good hand resting on the blanket, her mind churning. Her small apartment, with its peeling paint and haunting memories of her brother’s assault, loomed like a specter she couldn’t face. Managing physio, doctor’s visits, and meds alone felt impossible, especially with her her savings drained. Her pride stung, but her body’s fragility left no room for denial.

Her fingers played along the seam of the cushion, feeling the threads as if they could anchor her.

What the nurse didn’t say—but what Geet knew—was that they expected her to have someone. Someone steady. Someone in her corner.

But all she had was—

She looked up.

He was already watching her.

Maan stood close by, his presence steady as he listened to the nurse’s instructions. He’d been there for every consultation, every update, never leaving her side through the long hospital days. His grey shirt was slightly creased, his jaw shadowed with stubble, but his eyes were sharp, tracking every detail. He’d already paid her hospital bills—a fact Geet still grappled with, her gratitude warring with her need for independence. That morning, he’d helped her into the wheelchair with careful hands, his touch gentle but firm, ensuring she was settled without pain.

As the nurse left, closing the door softly, Maan crouched beside the , his voice low and resolute. “You’re not going back to that apartment. You’re coming to my place.”

Geet’s eyes met his, her hand tightening on the armrest. “Maan, I can’t just… move in with you. That’s—” She fumbled for words, her heart pounding. “That’s huge.”

“You’re not going back there,” he said, his tone firm, laced with that dry edge he never lost. “Not where he—” He paused, his jaw clenching, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Not where it happened. You need bed rest, physio, someone to make sure you don’t overdo it in this thing.” He tapped the wheelchair lightly. “My place has space, a driver for your appointments, and I’m not letting you argue your way into a setback.”

Geet’s cheeks flushed, a mix of shock and resistance swirling within her. Moving in with Maan wasn’t just practical; it was intimate, a step into uncharted territory. The memory of their kisses, his quiet care through her hospital stay, the way his hands steadied her—it all felt overwhelming, too fast. But the thought of returning to her apartment, where her brother’s rage had left bruises on her body and soul, made her stomach churn. She could still see the shattered lamp, the dented wall, the fear that had choked her.

“I can manage,” she said, her voice softer, less certain, her fingers tracing the wheelchair’s edge. “I’ll… figure it out.”

Maan’s brow arched, his smirk sharp but not unkind. “Manage? Geet, you’ll roll yourself to physio on a crowded bus, dizzy from meds, and hope that b*stard doesn’t show up again. You think I’ll let you answer the door in that condition? What if he comes again? What if someone else does? That’s not a plan—it’s a disaster.”

Her mouth opened. No words.

He continued, slower now, voice rough around the edges.

“I’m not doing this to save you, Geet. I know you don’t need saving. But if you think I’ll sit back and let you crawl through this recovery in silence again, you’ve misunderstood me.”

His hand grazed the side of the bed. Just a brush.

Her eyes lowered. Her casted wrist, her bruised ribs, her hollowing strength.

That flat wasn’t just unsafe. It was humiliating. Haunted.

And she knew it.

She just didn’t want him to know she knew.

“I don’t want to be in your way,” she said, barely audible. “I don’t want your staff thinking I’m some… broken stray you picked up.”

“Then don’t let them think it,” he replied. “Walk in with your chin up. Or wheel in. Either way, it’s my house. If anyone has a problem, I’ll personally fire them.”

Her lips twitched. Just a little. Then pressed tight again.

He stood.

“I have a guest room. A working espresso machine. And I don’t cook, so you’re safe from burnt toast.”

She exhaled. A laugh. Or something like it.

“Maan—this is... too much.”

“It’s exactly enough.”

Geet went quiet again.

The sunlight caught the lines of his face, the stubble on his jaw, the quiet intensity in his gaze. Geet’s heart raced, her mind tangled with fear, pride, and a warmth that felt dangerously like trust. She thought of their kisses, the way his touch lingered, the quiet moments that had woven them closer. She wanted to say yes, to lean into the safety he offered, but the weight of it—living together, letting him see her so vulnerable—held her back.

“I… I need to think about it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers tightening on the blanket.

Maan nodded, standing but staying close, his hand resting lightly on the side of the bed.

+++

The next morning, the sterile scent of the hospital was replaced by the crisp, almost clinical, scent of Maan’s cologne. He was in her room early, a silent, dark-suited presence that filled the space. The nurses, a flurry of cheerful efficiency, bustled around, a whirlwind of white uniforms and soft laughter.

“Looks like someone’s leaving us,” a nurse named Tara said with a wink, pulling the blinds open and flooding the room with sunlight. “And with a handsome escort, no less.”

Geet felt a flush creep up her neck, her gaze darting to Maan, who stood by the small table, meticulously placing her medication bottles into a travel bag. His hands, so often seen commanding boardrooms and signing deals, were now carefully organizing her pain pills and antibiotics. It was a domestic gesture, so unexpected from him, that it made her heart ache with a strange mix of gratitude and confusion.

“Last one, sweetie,” another nurse, a woman named Shanti, announced, holding up a large, soft sponge. “A final sponge bath before you’re officially a free woman.”

Geet’s cheeks burned. “I can manage,” she started, but Shanti just smiled, a gentle, knowing smile.

“Nonsense. You’ve been a trooper, let us spoil you one last time.”

As the nurses playfully teased her, their hands gentle and quick, Geet allowed herself to be cared for. It was a strange, humbling experience, this complete surrender of her body to their hands. Shanti gave her a final, warm sponge bath, and then Priya brought out a set of clothes.

Maan had left them on the bed, a neat pile of fabric, and Geet's eyes widened. A pair of soft, charcoal-grey joggers, made of a material that felt like butter against her skin. A loose, white T-shirt, and a cashmere wrap in a deep burgundy. The clothes were simple, elegant, and clearly chosen for comfort. He hadn't just bought her clothes; he had thought about what she could physically manage. No tight waistbands, no complicated buttons, just soft, easy-to-wear garments that wouldn’t chafe her healing skin or interfere with her braces.

The nurses helped her with the difficult task of getting dressed. The back brace made everything a challenge, but their practiced hands made it seamless. As she finally stood, her leg brace clanking softly, she caught her reflection in the small mirror. She was still bruised, still bandaged, but for the first time in weeks, she didn’t look like a patient. She looked… like herself. A normal person. A wave of emotion, a mix of relief and hope, washed over her, and she felt a single tear escape and roll down her cheek.

Maan was there in an instant, a presence at her side, his hand hovering over her back, unsure whether to touch her. “Ready?” he asked, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.

She nodded, unable to speak, and he knelt down, his large hands carefully positioning a pair of sneakers on her feet. They were slip-on, with velcro straps, another thoughtful detail.

The final hurdle was getting into the wheelchair. The nurses helped her get to the edge of the bed, and Maan took her weight, his arm a strong anchor around her waist. Her leg and arm braces, her neck and back brace, the bandages on her head—every one of her injuries was a weight, a vulnerability he now held in his hands.

With Maan on one side and a nurse on the other, she was gently guided into the wheelchair. Her body, broken and fragile, was a puzzle of splints and braces, and he navigated it with a focused care that disarmed her completely. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with a hundred unasked questions. He just met her gaze, a silent promise in his eyes.

"It's going to be okay," he murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble, as he pushed her wheelchair out of the room, leaving the hospital behind.

+++

The hospital’s parking lot was quiet, the midday sun glinting off the sleek black car waiting at the curb. Geet sat in her wheelchair, her arm in a cast, her leg braced, and a lightweight back brace supporting her healing ribs. Small bandages on her forehead marked nearly healed wounds, but her body felt fragile, each breath a reminder of her limits. She clutched a small duffel bag on her lap, her good hand gripping the strap tightly, her eyes darting nervously—toward the hospital doors, the car, the open sky. Maan stood behind her, his hands steady on the wheelchair’s handles, his face set with quiet determination. He’d been there all morning, packing her meds, helping with her transition, his presence a constant anchor in the chaos of discharge day.

He wheeled her to the car, his movements careful but assured, parking the wheelchair beside the open passenger door. The driver stood nearby, discreetly waiting, but Maan waved him off, crouching to Geet’s level. “Alright,” he said, his voice low, steady. “I’ve got you. Lean on me when you’re ready.”

Geet nodded, her throat tight, but her body felt heavy, weak from weeks of hospital confinement. Maan slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, mindful of her braces and bandages. “On three,” he murmured. “One, two, three.” He lifted her with controlled strength, easing her into the car’s plush seat, his hands lingering just long enough to ensure she was settled. He adjusted the seatbelt carefully, avoiding pressure on her ribs, then placed her bag at her feet.

The silence between them was heavy, charged with everything unspoken—the weight of her agreement to stay at his place, the memories of her brother’s attack, the uncertain future they were stepping into. Geet’s fingers tightened on the bag’s strap, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maan, I don’t want to trouble you. I can go back to my place… I’ll be fine. You’ve done more than enough.”

Maan’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he shut the car door and slid into the seat beside her. “You’re not going back there.” His words were sharp, cutting through the air, but the edge in his voice wasn’t directed at her—it was the anger he couldn’t quite suppress, the thought of her brother’s violence simmering beneath his calm.

Geet froze, her fingers stilling on the strap, her eyes searching his face. “But… Maan—”

He cut her off, his voice rising just enough to betray the storm inside him. “Geet, do you really want to go back to that place? Where he—” He stopped, swallowing hard, his hands clenching into fists on his knees. “Where your brother attacked you? You can’t. Not now. Not ever.”

Her breath caught, his words slicing through her defenses. She hadn’t let herself think of her apartment that way—not fully. But now, the memories flooded back: the shattered lamp, the dented wall, her brother’s rage, the pain that had landed her here. Fear and sadness twisted in her chest, and she looked down, her good hand trembling. Maan noticed, his expression softening, the anger giving way to something gentler, more urgent.

“You’re safe with me,” he said, his voice quieter now, steady but fierce. “I can’t let you go back there, Geet. I won’t.”

She leaned back in the seat, her eyes closing briefly as the weight of it all pressed down—her fractured trust in her family, her fear of being a burden, the complicated pull she felt toward Maan. “Living with you… it feels like too much,” she murmured, her voice raw. “Like I’m asking for something I don’t deserve.”

Maan’s gaze softened, and he reached for her good hand, his fingers closing around hers with a gentle squeeze. “It’s not too much. I’m doing this because I care about you. You need care—real care, not scraping by alone in a place that’s not safe. Let me help.”

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the warmth of his hand, the sincerity in his voice. She saw it then—the depth of his resolve, not born of pity or obligation, but something deeper, something that scared her as much as it steadied her. Her memories swirled—his careful hands helping her into the wheelchair, the soft clothes he’d chosen, the way he’d stayed through her darkest days. It was overwhelming, but beneath the fear, she knew he meant it.

“I’m scared, Maan,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Not just of going back, but… of what this means. For us.”

He held her gaze, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles, a rare tenderness breaking through his usual sharpness. “You don’t have to be scared. We’ll take it one day at a time. But right now, I need you safe. I need you with me.”

Her heart raced, the air between them humming with that slow-burn tension that had defined them for weeks. Slowly, she nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Okay. But don’t think you can boss me around the whole time.”

Maan’s lips curved into a faint smirk, the weight in his eyes easing slightly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The driver started the car, and it pulled away from the hospital, leaving behind the sterile walls and the weight of her recovery. Maan glanced at Geet, his thoughts heavy with a silent vow. He’ll pay for what he did to her, he thought, the anger toward her brother simmering beneath his calm exterior. But for now, she needs me. And I’m not going anywhere.

Geet leaned her head against the seat, her eyes drifting to the window, the city blurring past. The soft fabric of her tunic brushed against her skin, a reminder of Maan’s care, and her good hand rested lightly on his, still holding hers. The future was uncertain, terrifying—but for the first time in months, she felt a flicker of hope, tethered to the man beside her.

+++

The car rolled to a stop beneath the sweeping portico of Maan’s high-rise building. The city shimmered behind them in cold glass and steel, but here, the world quieted. No hospital beeps, no sterile lights. Just the soft whirr of the ramp as Maan unfolded it from the car.

Geet sat quietly in the passenger seat, her eyes cast downward. She hadn’t spoken since they crossed the bridge into the city. Her body, swaddled in cotton layers and splints, was too stiff to hide behind. And her mind—still tender with memory—clutched everything unsaid.

Maan didn’t ask if she was ready. He unbuckled her seatbelt with a wordless efficiency, crouched beside her, and adjusted her arm brace where it had slipped slightly. His hands were careful. He knew exactly where the healing hurt.

“Alright?” he asked, not looking directly at her.

She gave a small nod.

He helped her swing her legs gently toward the door, making sure her foot brace cleared the edge, and then he lifted her—carefully, without theatrics—into the wheelchair waiting just outside.

There was a moment, as she was cradled against his chest, when she stiffened—not from pain, but from proximity.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Still, he said nothing.

+++

The private elevator was silent, its walls lined with pale oak and brushed steel. The only sound was the quiet hum of machinery and the occasional metallic click of her brace tapping against the chair.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. Not while sitting in his wheelchair, not while he stood beside her like a bodyguard who'd just smuggled royalty out of exile.

When the elevator doors slid open directly into his penthouse, Geet’s breath caught.

It wasn’t just big. It was unbelievable.

Glass walls wrapped the room in sky. Sunlight poured in like liquid silk, casting warm rectangles across the dark wood floors. A low sofa stretched toward an open fireplace, and near the window, a white marble island stood like a sculpture beneath a row of pendant lights. Everything smelled faintly of cedar and clean linen and him—that cool, sharp note of his cologne she’d learned to recognize.

Maan didn’t give her time to hesitate. He wheeled her forward gently, past the foyer, into the open living space. Noticing the tension in her shoulders, he spoke—calmly, quietly.

“There’s no step-downs, no thresholds. I had the flooring redone last week. Bathroom’s modified too. Handles, railings, height adjustments—all done.”

She turned slowly toward him, eyes wide. “You… did all that in a week?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Could’ve done it in two days, but the marble guys were slow.”

Geet stared at him.

The kitchen. The living room. The hallways. Every corner was subtly tailored for her. He hadn’t just opened his door. He had rebuilt his home.

Her voice wobbled as she looked away. “This is too much.”

Maan crouched again beside her wheelchair—not to plead, but to level the ground between them.

“No, it’s the bare minimum,” he said, his voice like quiet flint. “You’re not here as a guest, Geet. You’re here because this is the only place where I know you’ll be safe.”

Her throat tightened. “You shouldn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t have to.” His eyes held hers. “I wanted to.”

+++

He stood and began guiding her gently toward the hallway that branched off the main space. She followed the slow turn of the wheels, watching the walls shift from neutral grey to soft taupe, every light automatic, every switch lowered.

He guided her wheelchair down a short hallway, stopping at a set of double doors. “This is you,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of something softer as he pushed the doors open.

Geet’s breath caught as she rolled into the spacious bedroom—his bedroom. The king-sized bed was draped in soft, neutral linens, plush pillows arranged with care. A sleek wooden dresser stood against one wall, a vase of fresh lilies adding a touch of warmth. The room was elegant yet calming, with soft lighting and wide, open space for her wheelchair to maneuver. A low table held a neatly arranged tray of her medications, a glass water pitcher, and a small stack of books—novels she’d mentioned in passing during hospital conversations. The bathroom door was ajar, revealing a spacious, accessible setup with grab bars and a roll-in shower. It was Maan’s room, unmistakably, but tailored for her comfort.

She turned her head slightly, wincing at the pull of her back brace, her eyes wide with surprise. “Maan… this is your room.”

He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, his expression deliberately casual. “Was my room. Now it’s yours.”

Geet stared at him, her good hand resting on the wheelchair’s armrest, a mix of shock and confusion flickering across her face. He’d given her the largest, most comfortable space in the penthouse—his own space—while relegating himself to the guest room. It was a gesture so generous, so intimate, that it left her momentarily speechless. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, shaking her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “The guest room would’ve been fine.”

Maan’s gaze softened, but his voice was firm. “I want you comfortable, Geet. You deserve the best. Especially now.”

She wheeled herself toward the bed, her fingers brushing the plush blanket, its softness a stark contrast to the hospital’s scratchy linens. The room smelled faintly of cedarwood—his scent—and it stirred a mix of gratitude and unease. Being in his space, surrounded by his things, felt like stepping into a part of him she wasn’t sure she was ready to know. She glanced back at him, her voice soft. “Where are you going to sleep?”

“Guest room,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. I’ve survived worse.”

Geet chuckled, the sound light but tinged with disbelief, imagining Maan—tall, commanding, used to luxury—crammed into a smaller room just for her. “How very chivalrous of you,” she teased, her eyes glinting. “Sure you won’t miss this giant bed?”

He smirked, stepping closer, his tone dry but warm. “I’ll survive. Besides, this way I get to spoil you a little.”

Her smile faltered, his words sinking in. Spoil her. The thought was overwhelming—Maan’s care, his devotion, this room, the entire penthouse reshaped for her. Her fingers tightened on the blanket, a warmth spreading in her chest, but doubt lingered, a quiet fear of leaning too heavily on him. “Don’t spoil me too much,” she said, her tone playful but hesitant. “I might get used to it.”

Maan’s eyes met hers, his smirk fading into something quieter, more serious. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

The air stilled, their gazes locked for a long moment. The light banter dissolved, replaced by the weight of his words—not just a joke, but a glimpse of something deeper. Geet looked away, her cheeks flushing, the reality of their connection pressing against her. Living here, in his room, surrounded by his care—it was intimate in a way that made her heart race. She wanted to keep things light, to hold onto the safety of distance, but his presence, his thoughtfulness, was dismantling her walls.

She wheeled herself toward the window, the city sprawling below, and changed the subject. “Thank you, Maan,” she said softly, her voice raw with gratitude. “For all of this. The room, the ramps… everything.”

He moved to stand beside her, his hands back in his pockets, his voice gentle. “Don’t thank me, Geet. Just focus on getting better.”

She nodded, her eyes tracing the skyline, but her mind was on him—the way he’d rearranged his life for her, the quiet care in every detail. The room was more than a space; it was a promise, one that both comforted and unnerved her. She felt the delicate awkwardness of domesticity settling in—sharing a home, navigating this new closeness, learning to exist in his world.

Maan watched her, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft. “You need anything, I’m down the hall,” he said, stepping toward the door. “Rest. I’ll check on you later.”

As he left, closing the door softly, Geet let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She wheeled herself back to the bed, her fingers lingering on the soft linens, the weight of his gesture settling over her. He gave me his room, she thought, a mix of awe and vulnerability washing through her. He’s given me everything.

Maan’s Internal Monologue: She’s here, where she belongs. Safe. Comfortable. I’ll sleep in the damn guest room forever if it means she’s okay. But one day… one day, I’ll make sure she never wants to leave.

Part 51

Fantastic Update

Geet is discharged and of course the nurses want to give her

one final bath before she is free

while Maan packing all Geet's medicine and also listening attentively

on any information given

Maan taking Geet to his penthouse was a great gesture on his side

but the fact that he revamp his apartment to suit Geet's needs

is just not caring but his love coming out

Geet feels happy yet confused as to why Maan gave her his room

while Maan wants Geet in his life and will probably wait until she

all well again before he lets her know he truly wants her in his life

There was no way he was going to back off now. Not after all those days spent by her bed side. He took care of every comfort, every need for her.

Hi there

hope you are well

thanks for the pm and update

Part 51

finally Geet is being discharged

but she has a long road to recovery

Geet's thoughts and fears were reasonable

of cos Maan was there and listened to everything that the nurse said

as expected Maan said that Geet will be staying with him

Geet's reaction was justified

but Maan was firm

he raised valid points

alas Geet was adamant that she will manage

Maan's concern was understandable

he assured Geet that he is not doing this to save her

her comments were anticipated

liked Maan's response

enjoyed their banter

aww the nurses teased Geet

good that that he took her to his place

pleased that she opened up to him

loved Maan's care for her

not surprised that Maan renovated his place for Geet

he even gave her his room

agree with him that she belongs there

he just wants her to get better

update soon