Something About Us- MG || (Part 53|Page 54) - Page 54

He brought her home with him. She is in his room and settling in well. Its good to see that little smile from her. She is letting him take care of her.

Next to each other, both got a good night sleep. No tension, no hesitance, just letting go fully. At peace.

She felt like she was home! That is huge. She did not want to burden him, take anything from him before. Now for her to feel home at his place is a sign of acceptance.

All the ladies he hired are perfect for their roles. They seem warm and kind. They will have her on the road to recovery.

Hi there

hope you are well

thanks for the pm and update

Part 52

Maan's thoughts well portrayed

great that Geet sent him a message

enjoyed their banter

liked that Maan felt contented

Maan's concern and dilemma was reasonable

of cos he went to see her

he was indeed relieved that she was fine and asleep

now Geet noticed him there

Geet's thoughts were understandable

well she confronted Maan

at least Maan was honest with Geet

so she told him to share the bed with her

Maan's reaction was justified

however she assured him

Maan was clearly cautious

Geet obliviously noticed this

finally Maan fell asleep

not surprised that Maan ensured that she was comfortable

loved that Geet felt that she has come home

adore Maan's care and concern for Geet

as expected Maan hired some staff to help Geet

he wants to recovery

Geet was certainly overwhelmed

glad she understands Maan

ha ha Maan teased Geet

update soon

Hope geet and maan come near during her healing process maan loves her irrevocably and geet feel home with him

Great part

Both Maaneet trying to be there for the other

Maan going all the way and Geet accepting

Cont soon

Thanks for pm

Part 53

The air smelled of curry leaves and mild ghee, the faintest clink of cutlery echoing from the kitchen beyond the hallway. The blinds were partially drawn, letting in slanted golden light that fell gently across the plush bed where Geet sat, propped up on pillows, hair freshly brushed by Nurse Revathi, her injured limbs neatly supported by rolled towels.

She wasn’t used to this—being served, being fussed over. But something about this place—the people, the stillness—made her feel like she didn’t have to brace for the next blow.

A knock. Then the door creaked open.

Maan entered first. Barefoot. Shirt rumpled from sleep, joggers low on his hips, holding a tray with both hands as if it carried crystal. Behind him, Mrs. Das walked in with another tray, and Nurse Revathi followed with a pill caddy and water jug.

“Breakfast service,” Maan announced dryly. “Five-star only. Unfortunately, the owner is also the waiter.”

Geet blinked, surprised. “You didn’t have to—”

He raised a brow, already walking over. “Don’t start. This took strategy.”

He set the tray across her lap with slow, deliberate precision. Mrs. Das placed a cloth napkin gently over the blanket near Geet’s casted arm, and Revathi adjusted her pillow to a better incline before stepping back.

On the tray: a steel bowl of soft, warm poha speckled with peanuts and grated coconut, a side of fruit salad—papaya, banana, and kiwi slices, neatly fanned—and a small tumbler of freshly squeezed mausambi juice.

Geet looked at the plate. Then at him with her soft grateful eyes.

He didn’t respond. Just gave her that sideways look—the one with mischief smothered under concern.

“She won’t finish the whole bowl,” he muttered, turning to Mrs. Das like she was part of a military strategy meeting. “Give her small servings, no overfilling. If she finishes it, give more. But she won’t ask, so you’ll have to check her plate.”

Mrs. Das nodded solemnly.

“And pills after she eats,” he told Revathi. “Last time she took them before and almost gagged. Make sure she has two sips of juice first.”

Revathi smiled, scribbling mentally.

Then he stepped back, arms folded, observing the entire setup like a project manager whose prototype had finally gone live. Geet picked up the spoon with her good hand, cheeks tinged pink.

Mrs. Das and Nurse Revathi quietly exchanged a glance behind his back—eyebrows raised, lips twitching. "Hopeless," the glance said. Completely hopelessly gone.

And when Geet took her first bite—tentative, slow, testing her coordination—they saw the shift in him.

Maan's posture changed.

His arms dropped. His expression softened. His jaw unclenched. His eyes never left her face.

He was watching her eat like it was a miracle. Like every successful bite was a small victory only he could appreciate.

Mrs. Das caught Revathi’s elbow, both of them pretending to fix the tray setup.

“He’s looking at her like she invented the sun,” Revathi whispered.

“Let them be,” Mrs. Das whispered back, grinning.

When Geet finished nearly three-fourths of the poha, Maan exhaled quietly. “Progress.”

Geet noticed.

And she noticed him noticing.

Her spoon slowed, her gaze lifting to his. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t flinch. “You’re eating.”

“That’s a low bar.”

“For someone who was half-dead two weeks ago and lived on bitter hospital oats? It’s a damn gold medal.”

She snorted—light, embarrassed. But her smile lingered as she chewed, and he sat on the armchair beside her bed, leaning forward with elbows on knees, letting the moment stretch.

Mrs. Das brought a small extra napkin and dabbed a bit of poha off the edge of Geet’s lip before she could stop her. “Next time I’ll make steamed idlis. You’ll like them,” she said, motherly.

Geet flushed. “Thank you, aunty.”

Maan cleared his throat. “Careful. You call her aunty once, she’ll adopt you.”

Mrs. Das slapped his arm lightly with the corner of the napkin. “If you had any manners, I’d have adopted you years ago.”

Geet laughed softly, and the sound filled the room like early morning sunlight—warm, quiet, rare.

Maan didn't say it aloud. But he thought it, crystal clear:

God, I missed that sound.

+++

Maan’s voice was low but firm as he paced his study barefoot, phone pressed to his ear, the morning sun casting long shadows over the hardwood floors.

“Yes, Ajay, I know what the contract says,” he snapped, then softened. “I just don’t care what the board thinks the contract says. Redraft clause 7.2 and send it to legal by two.”

He paused, running a hand through his hair, eyes flicking toward the hallway outside Geet’s room.

He lowered the phone briefly. “Revathi?”

From the kitchen, the nurse called back, “She’s resting, sir.”

Maan nodded slightly. Good. He didn’t want her trying to play hero today.

Back on the call: “No, I’m not coming in. I’m working from home until further notice. Prioritize R&D. And put Anand on the prototype testing; he’s the only one I trust with it.”

He continued pacing, but every ten minutes—without fail—he paused the call or put it on speaker, padded silently down the hallway, peeked into her room, and ensured the shape beneath the blanket hadn’t moved too much.

The fifth time, he saw her turned to her side, visibly asleep. He exhaled, more relaxed.

The sixth time, the bed was empty.

He blinked.

Stopped.

Then blinked again.

The tray was still there, her meds half-touched, the blanket slightly slid off.

“—Khurana? Are you there?” the voice crackled in his ear.

“One sec,” he said distractedly, hanging up without waiting for a reply.

Maan strode toward the bed, heart hammering.

She wasn’t in the bathroom.

Not near the window.

Not in the chair by the bookshelf.

“Revathi?” he called again, louder this time.

The nurse appeared instantly. “Yes, sir?”

“Where is she?” His voice was calm, but the steel beneath it glinted.

Revathi blinked. “Oh. I helped her into the wheelchair. She said she wanted to look around the apartment. Mrs. Das is with her—”

But Maan was already moving.

He turned on his heel, heading for the living room like a man possessed, chest tight with a strange, unnameable panic. Her back brace. Her ribs. The arm cast. What if she slipped? What if she—

Then he saw her.

Near the glass wall overlooking the skyline, Geet sat calmly in the wheelchair, back straight, bandaged fingers lightly curled over the armrests. Her hair was loose, her face pale but glowing in the daylight. She wore the soft burgundy wrap over her shoulders with the white soft T-shirt dress pristine.

She wasn’t in distress. She wasn’t breathless. She wasn’t in pain.

She was smiling.

And when she saw him—

A tiny, unmistakable smirk tugged at her lips.

She lifted her good hand and waved.

Like she hadn’t just knocked the air out of his lungs.

Like she hadn’t been missing from the room where he’d left her less than fifteen minutes ago.

Maan stopped dead in his tracks, hands on his hips, one eyebrow slowly rising.

Geet’s smirk widened. “Hi.”

“Hi?” he repeated, dry as winter dust. “That’s all I get?”

Geet blinked innocently. “I just wanted to see your stupidly expensive skyline view.”

He crossed his arms, stepping closer, jaw tight. “You nearly gave me a stroke.”

“Didn’t you just check five minutes ago?” she asked, cocking her head. “You really think I don’t know about your secret hallway visits?”

His eyes narrowed. “They were discreet hallway visits.”

“Not really. You breathe like a stalker and sit near the door for thirty seconds thinking no one can see you.”

He exhaled—half frustration, half surrender—and shook his head, pacing a small circle around her.

Geet turned her face back to the window, lips twitching. “Don’t worry. I had help. Mrs. Das did all the heavy lifting. I just… needed to feel human again.”

Maan stood behind her chair, staring out at the skyline she was admiring, then slowly leaned forward, his voice low near her ear. “Next time, warn me. Or leave a note. Or send up a flare.”

Geet glanced up, her eyes warm but cheeky. “I’ll consider it.”

They stood in silence, side by side. The city pulsed far below them, unaware of the strange domestic world unfolding in this glass-wrapped tower.

Maan muttered, mostly to himself: “If this is what bed rest looks like, I need to build you a leash.”

Geet burst out laughing—light, soft, free.

And though his arms were crossed and his jaw still sharp, Maan smiled too.

She was safe. She was home.

And clearly, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

Good.

He wouldn’t want it any other way.

+++

Geet sat quietly in the wheelchair, her body still stiff from sleep and bandages, but her gaze steady as it wandered across the familiar space.

The living room.

Sunlight poured in through the tall glass windows, casting gold across the hardwood floor. It was peaceful. Open. Warm.

But a year ago, this room had felt like a trap.

Her eyes landed on the far corner of the living room—the one place that seemed to hum louder than the rest of the space. The memory bloomed uninvited.

That night. That kiss.

Her second kiss. Her first real one.

She remembered the scent of his cologne, the tension in his jaw, the way he’d stood by the window and simply said, “You’re here because you want to be.”

And she had let him kiss her.

No—she had kissed him back. With all the heat, confusion, and hunger she didn’t even know lived in her. She had let herself fall, just for a second. And then... she had run.

Because she thought he was dangerous. A man who burned too hot, too close, too much.

He had been dangerous. Not in the way she’d feared—but in a way far worse.

He had gotten under her skin.

And now?

Now she sat in his home, bruised, broken, barely whole. Wrapped in bandages and pain... but safe.

Safe in the home of the man she had once fled.

A soft smile flickered on her lips as her hand absently clutched the wheelchair’s side. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

Back then, she had convinced herself she needed to escape him.

Now... she didn’t feel safe anywhere else.

That same man—who once felt like fire in her veins—had become the warmth in her bones. He had stayed by her hospital bed for weeks. Refused to sleep. Spoken to her when she was unconscious. Fought the world for her. Hired doctors when she couldn’t speak for herself.

He had believed she would come back—when even the nurses had stopped hoping.

She remembered the first time she’d opened her eyes in the ICU, only to find him asleep in a stiff plastic chair, one hand wrapped around her fingers, his body curled toward her like he couldn’t bear to let go.

It was his belief that brought her back from the silence. His presence that anchored her.

She blinked rapidly, swallowing the lump rising in her throat.

A year ago, this space had terrified her.

Now it felt like the safest corner of the world.

Her gaze drifted across the living room again—still modern, still minimalist, but not cold anymore. He’d changed the furniture layout. There were no sharp corners. A warm rug covered the hardwood.

All of it—for her.

She didn't hear his footsteps, but she felt him before she saw him.

Maan’s quiet presence hovered behind her, the air shifting with it. She didn’t turn right away.

When she finally turned her head, their eyes met.

"You remember this place?" he asked, his voice unusually quiet.

She nodded. "I’ve been here before. Once. Almost a year ago."

He stepped beside her, gaze following hers across the room.

"That night..." he said, almost to himself, "I didn’t think you’d ever come back."

Geet didn’t answer. Not with words. Her expression said enough.

Neither did I.

Silence curled between them. But it wasn’t strained. It was... full.

Then, Maan muttered, deadpan, “And now you’re back—in a wheelchair. With me lurking around like a part-time butler, full-time surveillance system.”

Geet let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing from her spine. "You’d be a terrible butler."

Maan sniffed. "I’ll have you know, I personally manage a staff of four and two shifts of specialists. I'm basically a healthcare CEO now."

"Oh? Should I call you Dr. Khurana then?"

“God, no. I’d flirt with the patients and get fired on day one.”

They stood side by side, sunlight trailing across the floor, shadows flickering underfoot. Geet leaned back slightly in the wheelchair, her gaze returning to the far end of the room again.

"It doesn’t feel like the same place," she said softly, her voice laced with memory.

Maan turned to look at her fully, his eyes serious. "Because you’re not the same girl."

Their eyes locked.

And just like that, the room—this home—became something else entirely.

Not a sanctuary.

Not a battleground.

Just a quiet beginning.

++++

She was still by the window, her hand gently curled over the wheelchair armrest, when he returned.

Maan’s voice floated in before his footsteps did—firm, clipped, that same undercurrent of steel softened only slightly when he was talking about her.

“Revathi, did she take the midday meds on time?”
“Yes, sir. Exactly as per the chart.”
“Monitor her vitals after that. And make sure the food doesn’t interfere with the absorption window. Give a two-hour gap before the evening pills.”
“Yes, sir.”

He stepped into the living room fully then, barefoot again, sleeves rolled up. He wasn’t the Maan Singh Khurana people met in boardrooms and signatures. He was something quieter now. Sharper, in a different way. All the noise of the world funneled into a single point of obsession:

Her recovery.

Geet raised her brows as he crossed the floor toward her like a thundercloud in joggers.

“I’m right here, you know,” she said.

His brow twitched. “That’s not a guarantee you’re following instructions.”

“I took the meds.”

“Then why aren’t you lying down?” He stopped beside her chair, arms folded. “You’re supposed to rest in intervals. Upright activity window is over.”

Geet arched a delicate brow. “Do I look like I’m out here running a marathon?”

“You’re out of bed. That’s step one to rebellion.”

“Maan—”

“I’ll carry you if I have to.”

She stared at him.

He didn’t flinch.

Typical.

She sighed, dramatic. “Fine, your highness. I’ll go.”

He reached for the chair’s handles. She batted his hand away. “I can wheel myself.”

“I didn’t doubt that. But my ancestors would roll in their graves if I watched a wounded woman drag herself around while I stood nearby doing nothing.”

“I didn’t realize your ancestors were orthopedic specialists.”

“Some were warriors. Same thing.”

She snorted. “Please stop talking. It hurts to laugh.”

But she was smiling as she said it. And he was already steering the chair gently toward the hallway, navigating the turns like he’d memorized every inch of clearance.

Halfway to her bedroom, she turned her face up to him, soft curiosity in her voice.

“Maan?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you eat anything?”

He paused.

Didn’t answer.

Geet tilted her head. “You didn’t, did you?”

“Not important.”

She exhaled, slow. “You’ve been running around since six. Coordinating with the staff, checking on me every ten minutes, managing your company—”

“Which part of that sounded like breakfast time to you?”

“Maan.”

He glanced down at her then.

Her voice wasn’t scolding. It wasn’t mothering either.

It was... full.

A kind of full that came from seeing someone, really seeing them, and being just a little furious that they didn’t see themselves the same way.

He looked away first.

“I had coffee,” he muttered.

“Is that your new dietary plan? One espresso and four panics a day?”

“Espresso is efficient.”

“Sit with me after I lie down,” she said quietly. “Eat something then.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You never are.”

Her tone wasn’t accusing.

It was observant.

He said nothing, wheeling her the last few feet toward the bedroom door, slowing just before it. But when he leaned to help her off the chair, she paused him with a hand.

“Maan?”

He met her gaze.

Soft. Steady.

“You can’t take care of me if you fall apart.”

He blinked. For once, he had no ready sarcasm. No witty retort. No dry line about how he thrived in chaos.

She held his eyes a moment longer, then let him help her up gently.

And when she lay back on the bed, head sinking into the pillow, she patted the mattress beside her—just a tiny gesture.

“Five minutes. Then go eat.”

He looked at her, then the spot on the bed.

Then back at her.

And wordlessly, he sat. Not close, not crowding her. Just enough that she could feel the weight of him.

Enough to know he was still there.

Still holding it all together.

Even when no one asked him to.

+++

They stayed like that for a while.

Geet on the bed, nestled into her pillows, her arm carefully supported in the cast sling. Maan sitting on the edge, elbows on his knees, his body turned slightly away like he was trying not to intrude. But his hand hovered near her wrist—close enough to catch, not quite touching.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

It had turned into something else between them lately.

Something warm.

Something lived-in.

After a few minutes, she cracked one eye open. “You’re still here.”

“You said five minutes,” he said, eyes still on the floor.

“Exactly. It’s been six.”

He didn’t move.

Geet sighed, turning her face toward him. “You’re being stubborn.”

Maan shrugged. “It’s one of my most attractive qualities.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I don’t want to leave while you’re still this pale.”

She huffed lightly. “I’m not going to faint, Maan. You’ve got me on a perfectly scheduled med chart. I’ve had juice, a full breakfast, and three check-ins. I’m not the problem here.”

He didn’t respond.

She narrowed her eyes. “You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday evening, have you?”

Silence.

That was all the answer she needed.

She turned slightly, wincing as her ribs protested, but determined. “Okay. New rule. I don’t eat unless you do.”

He raised a brow. “Are you threatening to starve yourself?”

“Yes.”

“That’s manipulative.”

“That’s effective.”

He let out a dry breath, rubbing his face. “You’re impossible.”

“I learned from the best,” she quipped, smiling faintly.

Maan stood without a word, disappearing into the hallway. She thought he was leaving—until she heard the soft hum of the intercom.

Then the clink of crockery.

And footsteps returning.

Ten minutes later, he was back with a tray.

Not fancy.

Not curated.

Just a warm bowl of chicken curryl, a few rolled chapatis, and a small katori of sautéed vegetables. Mrs. Das must’ve put it together while pretending not to listen to everything, Geet figured.

Maan set the tray down on the side table and sat again beside her, this time slightly closer.

She watched him quietly as he broke a piece of roti and dipped it into the curryl. No flourish. No performative effort. Just... eating.

“Finally,” she murmured, letting her eyes close.

“You act like this is a victory.”

“It is.”

He chewed silently for a few seconds. “You really weren’t going to eat unless I did?”

Geet peeked one eye open, voice soft. “You spent weeks making sure I didn’t waste away. Let me return the favor just a little.”

He didn’t say anything after that.

But he ate.

And she dozed off to the sound of cutlery and the faintest rhythm of chewing—knowing that for once, she didn’t have to keep tabs on him.

He was taking care of her.

And finally—she was taking care of him back.

Amazing update dear Neelu ☺️

Just loved it 🤗

Well I really appreciate that Maan was extremely concious for Geet & was checking on her time to time ... Cascading orders to his staff as well

I really enjoyed the outlook of both on their meeting here in pent house and year ago it was obvious but now there was a huge change in their relationship

Geet too is equally careful about Maan the person who brought her back to life ... She nearly threatened him to eat was lovely to see & this was important

Waiting for more

Thanks for the PM ☺️

Keep writing ✍️

Part 53

Comfortable and Cozy Update

Maan is still very much worried about Geet

and whether out of habit or concern he ensures that everything

is comfortable for her.

oh wow even the nurses enjoy Maan's concern and care for Geet

wow Geet did give a scare to Maan as she decides to let Mrs Das

wheel her to the living room

great that both Maan and Geet thinking about the first time Geet

came