Something About Us- MG || (Part 52|Page 53) - Page 53

Awesome part

Maan going all way to make Geet comfortable

Cont soon

Beautiful wonderful update simply amazing read few all together ❤️

Superb i think best friends need is the most when u are vulnerable and they make ur life easy and don't judge u geet colleagues are like that they Are happy that maan and geet like each other

I want to geet know that maan is not doing for sympathy he loves her and cherish her he want to love with her whole lifetime as a partner and give her the happiness she deserve

Hello Nilanjana

hope that you are well

update soon

Hope all is well with you

please do try and update

One day

She never wants to leave

So lovely.

Maan changed own home 🏠

So sweet

Part 52

Guest Room – Later That Night
Setting: Maan’s Penthouse – Guest Bedroom

The ceiling fan hummed faintly, slicing shadows across the whitewashed walls. Maan lay flat on the guest bed, one arm behind his head, the other stretched over his stomach. His shirt was half-buttoned, the fabric rumpled from hours of twisting restlessness. The room was colder than his own—not in temperature, but in familiarity. It didn’t smell like cedar or him. It smelled like linen spray and new paint.

He hadn’t even unpacked his clothes yet. Just dumped a spare toothbrush in the attached bathroom and changed into an old grey T-shirt he found in his gym bag.

Sleep didn’t come.

Not because of the mattress—he could sleep on stone, if needed.

Not because of the unfamiliar room—he’d lived in hotels for half his life.

But because she was here. In the next room. In his bed.

Not like that. Not how his body ached to imagine.

But there. In his room. Draped in cotton and recovery and the quietest kind of surrender.

He hadn’t even knocked on her door. He’d told himself she needed rest. But the truth?

He didn’t trust himself not to linger.

His eyes flitted toward his phone charging beside the bed, screen dark, and then—

It lit up.

One notification.

He grabbed it immediately.

A photo.

He opened it.

There she was—propped up against the pillows, one shoulder slightly slumped in its brace, a faint glow from the bedside lamp catching the healing curve of her cheekbone. Her hair was brushed, messily pinned behind her head. She wore the burgundy wrap he’d picked out, wrapped around her like a cocoon, the soft neckline of the white tee peeking out beneath.

And on her face?

A half-smile. Not whole. Not full-throated.

But real.

She was giving a shy, awkward peace sign, her casted hand awkwardly raised just enough to count.

Her message followed seconds later:

Geet:
“Guess I’m settling in just fine.”
🕊️

Maan’s lips twitched into a smile before he could stop himself. He stared at the photo for a few seconds longer, zooming in on the slight bruising under her eye, the pale hue of exhaustion beneath the mischief. He didn’t know what stirred more—the ache of how much she’d endured, or the fact that she was still trying to smile for him.

He turned the camera on himself, shifted a little on the bed, and took a photo—lying flat, arm dramatically flopped over his head like a mock theatre artist who had lost his kingdom.

Then, with his free hand, he raised a lazy thumbs-up.

Captioned it:

Maan:
“Good to know you’re enjoying the upgrade.”
😩😤🛏️

Sent.

He set the phone down slowly this time, the screen still glowing in the corner of his eye. For once, the stillness in his chest didn’t feel like restlessness. It felt like—

Contentment.

Raw. Real. No theatrics. No heat. Just her. Breathing in his sheets. Existing in his space. Trusting him with the aftermath.

He turned his head slightly toward the shared wall between the rooms.

He could almost feel her presence through it.

She was here.

He’d carry her pain, build her rails, switch rooms, fight her ghosts.

Whatever it took.

Even if she didn’t understand why yet.

Because he knew.

+++

The clock ticked past two.

The penthouse was wrapped in silence, but Maan lay wide-eyed in the guest bed, rigid beneath the sheets. One arm flung over his forehead, the other resting on his stomach, rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths that failed to calm him.

He’d told her she was safe now.

He’d promised.

But ever since the car ride home… ever since tucking her into his own bed, adjusting her pillows, placing her meds within arm’s reach—he hadn’t felt peace.

Not really.

Every creak of the central heating, every rustle from the vents, every imagined sound from her room made his pulse jolt like a live wire.

She hadn’t called out. She hadn’t stirred. That was part of the problem. She was too quiet. Too still.

Might be the meds, he told himself. Might be nothing.

But his gut churned. The same gut that hadn’t let him leave her side at the hospital for more than a few hours, even when doctors insisted she was stable. He knew the signs now—the soft furrow of her brows when she was in pain, the twitch of her fingers when she tried to suppress it.

He’d seen it too many nights to mistake it.

After another restless toss, Maan sat up abruptly, ran both hands through his hair, and let out a low exhale.

Maan’s Internal Monologue:
I can’t stay in here. Not while she’s alone.
Not after everything.

He padded down the hallway barefoot, the wood cool beneath his feet. The light from the city outside spilled in through the glass walls, painting long lines across the floor. Her door was slightly ajar. Just like he’d left it—just in case she needed anything.

He pushed it open quietly.

Geet lay curled slightly to her side, cradled in pillows, her leg brace tilted outward. The wrap he’d picked out for her was bundled around her shoulders, and the soft glow of a salt lamp on the bedside table bathed the room in an amber hue. She was asleep—chest rising in steady rhythm, one hand tucked under her cheek.

But the bruises on her skin were still visible. The bandage on her forehead still fresh. A line of tension lingered around her mouth, even in sleep.

He just watched her.

Watched her breathe.

+++

The city had gone to sleep long ago, but the penthouse was still awake—hushed, stretched under the glow of muted lamps. From her bed, Geet could see only a sliver of the skyline through the half-drawn curtains. Everything was soft here: the sheets under her palms, the weight of the cashmere wrap around her shoulders, even the air.

She should have been asleep. The painkillers were strong enough to blur the edges of her thoughts, yet every time she began to drift, she felt it—the shift of air, the faintest creak of wood.

At first she’d thought she was imagining it.

Then she realised it was him.

Maan.

She never actually saw him come in—he was too careful for that. His bare feet made no sound on the hall carpet. But she could feel him. The way you can feel someone staring at a portrait in a museum; that almost-electric awareness of being seen.

He’d pad in, pause at the threshold, then slip inside just far enough to lean against the doorframe. Sometimes he’d lower himself into the armchair in the corner, elbows on knees, breathing so quietly it was almost nothing. A minute. Two. Then back to his room.

She pretended not to notice, because at first it was almost endearing—the CEO of half the city sneaking like a guilty schoolboy to check if she was breathing.

But by the sixth time, it had stopped being endearing and become something else. She’d drift into sleep and, sure enough, her body would register his presence—his breath in the darkness, the warmth of his gaze—and she’d wake again. The cycle repeated itself like a heartbeat.

He wasn’t sleeping. Not like this. Not tonight.

When she opened her eyes again, the clock read 2:47 a.m.

And there he was—silhouetted in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, his head bowed slightly as if listening to her breath.

She exhaled slowly and spoke before she could overthink it.

“Maan.”

His head lifted. The darkness cut across his face but not his eyes. “You’re awake?”

She shifted carefully, turning her head toward him. “I’ve been awake. You’re not as discreet as you think.”

He stilled, caught off guard, and for a moment even the air between them felt shy.

“I…” he started, then faltered. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I know,” she said softly. “I could feel you.”

He let out a breath and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Sorry. Habit. At the hospital I—”

“You stayed with me every night.” Her voice was quiet but steady. “I know.”

He nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “I can’t just sleep in there while you’re alone in here. It’s—” He cut himself off. “It’s nothing.”

Her lips curved faintly, a small, tired smile. “It’s not nothing. But sitting in the dark, breathing like a ghost every fifteen minutes… you’re going to collapse before I do.”

A flicker of humour crossed his eyes, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders.

She shifted again, wincing as her back brace pressed into her ribs, and then glanced at the empty space beside her on the wide bed. Her voice was drowsy, but there was no mistaking the sincerity under it.

“There’s enough room, you know,” she murmured. “You don’t have to keep doing this to yourself.”

Maan hesitated, his body still in the doorway, every instinct telling him to keep the distance he’d set for himself.

“Are you sure?” he asked at last.

She nodded, her lashes lowering again. “Just sleep, Maan. You’ve been taking care of me for weeks. It’s okay to be close.”

He stood there for another heartbeat. Then his shoulders dropped, and a soft exhale left him like a surrender.

He crossed the room slowly, careful not to bump the foot of the bed, and eased himself onto the far side. The mattress dipped beneath his weight. He lay on his back, rigid at first, leaving a wide gap between them.

Her eyes were already closed again.

“Goodnight, Maan,” she whispered.

He turned his head slightly, his voice low. “Goodnight, Geet.”

The salt lamp’s glow pooled around them. Outside, the city moved on. Inside, for the first time in months, he stopped counting her breaths and simply listened to them. The sound steadied him, lulled him. And as her breathing evened out again, his own finally began to slow, his eyes sliding shut.

For tonight at least, he was exactly where he needed to be—no longer at a doorframe, no longer a shadow, but beside her. Close enough to protect her. Close enough to rest.

The bed dipped gently on the far side, and Geet felt it—not the weight exactly, but the cautiousness of it. Maan had slipped under the covers with the same restraint he’d shown all week, not letting even sleep be an imposition.

He lay curled up near the edge, almost as if apologizing for being there.

Facing away from her, his tall frame had folded in on itself—one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting limply in front of him. The broad shoulders that usually held the tension of a hundred decisions looked… smaller now. Softer. He had pulled the sheet only halfway up, careful not to tug the blanket from her side.

And then, slowly, something changed.

His breaths, which had been shallow and rhythmic from habit, grew deeper. Slower. There was a tiny hitch in his exhale—like the body releasing something it had carried for far too long. Then stillness.

Geet lay still, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

He had fallen asleep. Not restless. Not twitching or murmuring like he had in the hospital armchair. No furrow between his brows. No defensive hunch to his shoulders. Just… stillness.

She blinked slowly, the soft hum of the city far below their floor like a lullaby. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him like this—unguarded, unaware, at peace. Something about the way he curled into himself, the way he took up so little space, made her heart ache.

He didn’t want to disturb me. Even here. Even now.

He had guarded her like a fortress through the worst nights of her life. Now, in the safety of his own home, in the bed he gave up for her, he’d finally allowed himself to sleep.

And not just sleep—rest.

True, unburdened, tensionless rest.

Geet turned her face slightly toward the ceiling, the soft brace at her neck tugging as she adjusted, but she didn’t mind. Not this time. The warmth of the bed, the quiet closeness of him, the steady sound of his breathing… it wrapped around her like another blanket.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep like this, she knew. He had come to sit in silence, to check on her, like he’d done in the hospital so many times.

But maybe tonight, his body knew what his mind refused to admit.

That being close to her—not outside the room, not on a stiff chair, not behind a door—but right here, sharing space and silence, was the only way he could breathe.

She watched him for a few more seconds. His lashes fluttered once. His foot twitched gently under the blanket.

Then her eyes fluttered closed too.

Neither of them moved.

And in the soft amber light of the salt lamp, sleep took them—quietly, side by side, with no walls, no pretenses.

Just breath. Just warmth.

Just them.

+++

The world was quiet when Geet stirred. No blaring alarms. No sterile clatter of IV carts. Just the faint hum of city silence—so rare, it almost felt like a dream.

Her eyes opened slowly, the soft pillow beneath her head unfamiliar but warm. The muted light from the high windows had turned the ceiling pale gold, and somewhere far off, a bird called once before falling silent again.

For a moment, she forgot where she was.

And then she turned her head—just slightly, careful not to tug at her back brace—and saw him.

Maan.

Still curled at the far edge of the bed, deep in sleep.

But it wasn’t just that he had fallen asleep beside her—it was how.

His back was to her now, but she could see the outline of his body folded inward, legs tucked slightly, arms close. He wasn’t sprawled or relaxed across the bed like someone at home in his own space.

He had taken the narrowest strip of mattress possible—so narrow he was barely still on it.

Her gaze lowered.

He’s on the side of my casted arm.

Only now, in the quiet morning light, did she notice it.

He had deliberately taken this side—the side that would make him uncomfortable, force him into an awkward position, just so that she could sleep any way she needed. So her fractured arm had more room to stretch. So her cast didn’t press against a wall or bang into furniture. So that if her hand accidentally slipped over the edge in her sleep, it would fall into open air—not knock against a nightstand or bruise against a sharp edge.

So that she would be safe. Even in unconsciousness.

Her throat tightened.

He hadn’t just slept beside her. He’d planned this. Thought it through. Quietly. Completely.

She shifted her eyes to him again. His shoulders, usually held with such tense command, were slouched in sleep. His face, partially hidden by the sheets, was relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in weeks—no furrow between his brows, no shadows of sleeplessness under his eyes.

There was a small crease on his cheek, from the pillow. One hand rested near his jaw, fingers half-curled, as though even in rest, he held onto something invisible.

He looked young.

No—he looked tired. But finally, finally not haunted.

And still—he hadn’t taken her side of the bed. He hadn’t even crept closer in the night. He’d stayed folded in that narrow space like a silent vow, his presence protective, not invasive.

Geet turned her head back slowly, her own body aching but her chest soft with something else.

This man. This absurd, sharp-edged man.

He could never say what he felt out loud.

But in every pillow fluffed, in every railing installed, in every midnight check-in and now this—giving up not just the room, not just the bed, but even the best side of it so she could sleep more comfortably—

He had already said everything.

She closed her eyes again, not to sleep, but to hold the moment.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she was recovering in someone else's house.

She felt like she had come home.

+++

The soft clink of porcelain and the faint scent of cardamom hung in the air when Geet stirred from sleep. She blinked, trying to get her bearings, still adjusting to the quiet warmth of Maan’s home. Her body ached dully, but the sheets smelled clean, the light was soft, and for the first time in weeks, she hadn't been woken up by beeping monitors or fluorescent lights.

A knock—light and deliberate.

Then the door eased open. Maan leaned in, dressed in a casual black T-shirt and soft grey lounge pants, barefoot on the wooden floors.

"You okay?" he asked, stepping in. His voice was gentler than usual, like he wasn’t sure if she was fully awake yet. “Sleep alright?”

Geet nodded slowly, still bleary-eyed. “Yeah. Better than I expected.”

Maan hovered for a second, then came in fully, folding his arms. “Good. Because I have to ask your permission for something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He tilted his head toward the hallway. “There are… a few people outside. You’re not under attack, don’t worry. Just some people I’d like you to meet—if you’re up for it.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “What kind of people?”

Maan kept his expression neutral. “The kind that cook, clean, wipe down every damn surface with disinfectant, and know exactly how many milligrams of ibuprofen you’ve had since 6 AM.”

Geet blinked. “You hired staff?”

“I already had some help,” he said smoothly. “Just… upgraded the lineup a little.”

Her expression told him she wasn’t buying the nonchalance.

He sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to overwhelm you. But if you’re going to recover here, you need help. Real help. So yes, there’s a cook who also keeps the place spotless, a nurse, a physiotherapist, and a dietician. But I’m only introducing them if you say yes.”

She stared at him. “You really set up a full hospital wing in your penthouse?”

He shrugged. “Minus the beeping and the suspicious jelly they use for ultrasounds? Yes.”

“…Maan.”

He held up a hand. “I know. It’s a lot. Which is why I’m asking. If you’re not ready, I’ll send them away for now.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Okay. Just… not too many people at once.”

Maan smirked. “Good. Because they’re already eavesdropping in the hallway.”

He walked to the door and opened it wider.

In stepped four women, each barefoot, quiet, and visibly respectful of the space.

The first, a middle-aged woman in soft cotton pants and a loose kurta, carried a clipboard. She smiled warmly. “Namaste, Geet. I’m Sister Revathi. I’ll be monitoring your meds, changing dressings, helping with hygiene support, and tracking your vitals. Quietly. Always from the side. You won’t even notice I’m there unless you call.”

The second was a lean woman in her thirties, hair tied in a practical ponytail. “Hi Geet. I’m Parul, your physiotherapist. We’ll work together—gently—to get your mobility back. And I promise never to use phrases like ‘no pain no gain’ unless I want you to throw something at me.”

Geet smiled faintly at that.

Next was a woman in her early fifties with calm eyes and a light pink dupatta neatly pinned over her shoulder. “I’m Mrs. Das. I’m your housekeeper and cook. I’ll be in the kitchen or tidying up—never in your way. You’ll always get hot food, warm towels, and floors clean enough to perform surgery on.”

Maan muttered under his breath, “That’s not a challenge, Mrs. Das.”

She ignored him politely.

The final woman stepped forward with a small tablet. “Leena. Nutritionist. I create meal plans based on your healing progress and taste preferences. I don’t believe in bland food. Unless you like bland food. In which case, I’m judging you silently.”

Geet blinked, overwhelmed. She looked from one face to another—all of them kind, competent, and strangely… grounding. There was no pity in their eyes, just professionalism.

She turned back to Maan, who was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed.

She narrowed her eyes. “You hired all of them just for me, didn’t you?”

He pretended to think. “That seems a little self-centered of you. Maybe I just woke up one day and realized my lifestyle lacked structure.”

Geet gave him a flat look.

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. Yes. It’s all for you. Happy now?”

Her voice dropped, raw. “I didn’t ask for all this.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I did it.”

Silence followed.

Then Mrs. Das stepped in. “I’ll bring a light breakfast, beta. Would you like poha or dalia?”

“…Poha,” Geet said softly.

The women filed out quietly, leaving Maan and Geet alone.

She sank a little deeper into the pillows, processing everything.

Maan watched her for a moment, then said in a low, dry voice, “If this gets too much, just say the word. I’ll tell them I’m downsizing due to a sudden spiritual awakening.”

Geet smiled—small, but real. “You use sarcasm to hide the fact you care way too much.”

Maan raised an eyebrow. “You’re just figuring that out?”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t need to.

Because this—this quiet surrender—was her answer.

And Maan, for once, didn’t press further. He simply leaned forward, plucked a corner of the blanket over her feet, and tugged it straight.

“Breakfast in fifteen. Try not to scare the staff with your grumpy face.”

Her pillow hit him square in the chest.

He took it as a win.

Part 52

Amazingly Awesome Update

Oh Maan cannot get out of habit on checking on Geet

well he stayed by her side at hospital

but I'm glad that Geet invited him to sleep on the bed

and wow the manner in which he slept just showed how much he values and respect

Geet while at the same time making sure she does not strain or hurt her arm

next morning brought on new adventures for Geet as Maan hired

new staff

all that will be helping in Geet's recovery