The Wish- a Maaneet fanfic; Ch 5/pg 4; Ch 6-15/pg 5; Ch 16-20/pg 6 - Page 5

Chapter 6: The Unwanted Comparison

Maan Singh Khurana entered Khurana Constructions that morning looking every bit the formidable CEO his employees whispered about — crisp white shirt, charcoal suit, jaw tight, and patience nonexistent.

The only problem? His mood had been ruined before he even reached the office.

He’d stayed up late last night waiting for Daadima to return from Mr. Shah’s party — only for her to waltz in past midnight, positively glowing, and insist he should’ve come. Apparently, he’d “missed out on meeting some very respectable families.”

And this morning? He had barely opened his eyes before she barged into his room, pressing a plate of Prasad into his hand and chattering away about “the lovely daughter of an old friend” she’d met — the perfect girl for him.

Maan groaned inwardly just thinking about it. “Perfect girl” was Daadima’s code for “another spoilt heiress who’d faint if asked to do an honest day’s work.”

He had barely escaped before she could turn matchmaking into a full-blown campaign. But the conversation had left him on edge.

Old money daughter, Daadima had said.
And somehow, his mind had immediately gone to curly hair, ink-smudged hands, and a fiery glare that could reduce Sasha to silence.

He froze mid-step in the hallway, scowling. Why on earth was he comparing every woman he heard about to his intern?

He shook his head and checked his watch. 9:05. Her cabin was still empty. Late, he noted with irritation. Though, if he was being honest, it wasn’t just irritation. It was… disappointment?

Before he could dwell on that unsettling thought, a flash of movement caught his attention.

Geet came rushing through the main door, hair tumbling in curls around her face, juggling what looked like ten rolls of fabric, design sheets, and a coffee that was perilously close to spilling. Her usual graceful composure had been replaced by barely controlled chaos.

For one unguarded second, Maan almost smiled. Almost.

He was just about to step forward — to take the rolls from her before she managed to concuss herself — when someone beat him to it.

“Here, let me help,” came Dev’s easy voice.

Maan’s brows shot up. Dev?

It was rare to see his younger brother outside his own department. Dev worked from his own floor — overseeing the boutique collaborations — and rarely ventured into the main bullpen. Yet here he was, helping Geet steady her pile of fabrics with an easy grin.

Maan’s jaw tightened. There was absolutely nothing wrong with one colleague helping another. Dev was a married man — and a good one at that. But the sight still sparked an irrational flicker of annoyance in Maan’s chest.

Of course, he’s just being polite, he told himself. Any decent person would help someone about to be buried under fabric rolls.

Still, his hand twitched slightly, betraying his impulse to intervene.

He followed them — purely professionally, of course — as Dev carried some of the rolls into Geet’s cabin. After all, Maan didn’t need anyone’s permission to check on his employees. He was the boss.

As he entered the room, he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“Thank you so much, Dev Sir,” Geet said, slightly breathless. “The vendor sent the wrong textures, so I had to rush and get replacements before Mr. Khurana’s review meeting.”

Dev smiled warmly. “You’re welcome, Geet. And please, call me Dev. You’re doing great work — everyone’s been talking about your designs.”

Geet flushed at the praise. “That means a lot, Sir—I mean, Dev.”

Maan cleared his throat, making both of them jump.

Dev turned, unbothered. “Oh, hey, Bro! Didn’t see you there.”

Maan nodded curtly, his gaze flicking to Geet. “Miss Handa. You’re late.”

Geet immediately straightened, her eyes widening. “I—yes, Sir. I mean, no, Sir! The supplier—there was a mix-up and I—”

He raised a hand, cutting her off. “Explain it in the review meeting.”

“Yes, Sir,” she said meekly, though her lips pressed into a thin, indignant line as soon as he turned away.

Dev chuckled under his breath. “You really need to work on your people skills, Bhai.”

“I have excellent people skills,” Maan replied coolly, ignoring the smirk on his brother’s face. “I just don’t waste time on excuses.”

Dev grinned wider. “Of course not. You save all that time to glower at hardworking interns. Very efficient.”

Maan shot him a warning glare. Dev raised his hands in mock surrender and exited with a laugh, leaving Maan alone in the room with a very quiet Geet.

She was gathering the last of her fabric rolls, her curls falling over her face. When she finally looked up, her eyes met his — a little defiant, a little wary, but bright with determination.

“Sir,” she said softly, “I’ll have the presentation ready in an hour.”

Something in her tone — calm, professional, yet proud — made Maan pause.

He nodded slowly. “Good. Don’t make a habit of being late.”

As he turned to leave, he heard her mutter under her breath, “You try running across the city at 8 a.m. with ten bolts of fabric.”

He almost — almost — smiled again.

But instead, Maan Singh Khurana walked out, back straight, expression unreadable.

Because whatever this strange pull was toward Geet Handa — he refused to name it.

Hi- Can anyone help me on how to edit the topic of this thread? I want to update that the new parts are posted.

Edit- Nvm I figured it out- Also, I am planning on posting a few more updates soon. (Like TODAY- because I cannot be trusted with longer timelines)

Chapter 7: Lines and Boundaries

The design review room was unusually quiet that morning. Usually, it buzzed with Sasha’s sharp comments, Adi’s nervous laughter, and the low hum of presentations being tweaked at the last minute.
But today, everyone seemed on edge.

Because Maan Singh Khurana had been in a mood since morning — the kind that made even the bravest employee triple-check their drafts.

Geet entered with her portfolio clutched tightly to her chest, taking a deep breath. She’d spent the last hour straightening every sheet, aligning every sample, rehearsing every point in her head. It wasn’t fear — no, she refused to call it that — but there was something about him that made her want to be flawless.

When Maan walked in, the room seemed to align itself with his stride — efficient, composed, intense. His eyes scanned the table once, then landed on her.

“Let’s begin.”

Geet nodded and stepped forward. “Sir, this is the proposal for the interior layout of the Sharma Group’s guesthouse project. The concept revolves around—”

Her words came out steady, confident. The visuals lit up on the screen behind her — clean lines, warm tones, an understated elegance that reflected both sophistication and comfort.

Maan didn’t interrupt, but his gaze didn’t leave her. It was unnerving, that sharp, evaluating look — like he could see right through hesitation, through pretense, through everything.

When she finished, the room was silent for a moment. Then Sasha, never one to miss an opportunity, spoke up.

“It’s… ambitious,” Sasha said, her tone honeyed but laced with edge. “But perhaps a little too domestic? The Sharmas are known for luxury. This feels... middle class.”

Geet stiffened. “The brief mentioned warmth and family appeal. The Sharmas wanted something more personal this time.”

Sasha smirked. “That may be true, but in Khurana Constructions, we don’t compromise on grandeur.”

Before Geet could respond, Maan’s voice cut through the air. “Enough.”

Sasha immediately fell silent.

He turned toward Geet, his tone unreadable. “Miss Handa, what inspired the choice of material for the foyer design?”

Geet blinked, thrown for a moment. “Sir?”

He repeated, slower this time, “The material.”

She found her footing again. “Locally sourced teak, Sir. It’s sustainable, ages beautifully, and complements the sandstone exterior. The client’s property is surrounded by greenery — the idea was to bring that natural continuity indoors.”

Maan studied her for a moment, then gave a short nod. “And the lighting?”

“Soft diffused lighting with gold accents. I wanted to highlight the texture, not overpower it.”

He turned his gaze to the screen again, expression hard to read. Then — a pause. “Good.”

That single word sent a ripple of surprise around the room. Sasha’s expression froze. Adi’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

“Good,” Maan repeated, voice clipped but firm. “It’s not perfect — nothing ever is — but it has intent. Purpose. And that’s more than I can say for most concepts I’ve seen this week.”

He gathered the printouts, flipping through them once more before placing them down neatly. “You’ll work with Adi to refine the lighting plan. Meeting adjourned.”

As everyone started to move, Geet let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Relief, pride — and something warmer, something that fluttered uneasily in her chest.

When she looked up, Maan was watching her again.

Their eyes met for a brief, suspended moment. There was no smile, no softness — but his gaze lingered a second longer than it should have.

Then he turned away. “Miss Handa.”

“Yes, Sir?”

He adjusted his cufflinks, tone neutral. “Next time, don’t be late.”

Geet blinked, caught off guard. “Of course, Sir.”

As he walked out, Dev appeared in the doorway, having caught the tail end of the meeting. “So,” he said lightly, “how’d it go?”

Geet smiled faintly. “He said it was… good.”

Dev raised a brow, mock-dramatic. “From Maan Singh Khurana? That’s basically a standing ovation.”

She laughed softly, the sound easing the leftover tension in her shoulders.

Meanwhile, outside, Maan was walking down the corridor, expression perfectly composed — except for the faintest curve tugging at the corner of his lips.

He didn’t even notice it himself.

Chapter 8: The Site Visit

The next morning began like any other at Khurana Constructions — coffee-fueled chaos, phones ringing off the hook, and Adi already tripping over blueprints before 9 a.m.

Except, this time, there was a new undercurrent running through the office.

Because word had spread: Mr. Khurana was visiting the Sharma site — and he was taking the new intern along.

Geet had almost dropped her pen when Adi told her.
“Me?” she had asked, pointing at herself as though there might be another curly-haired intern in the room.

Adi had adjusted his glasses nervously. “Y-Yes, Miss Geet. Sir said he wanted you to walk him through your design decisions on-site.”

Her pulse had skipped. Him?
She’d thought yesterday’s “good” was the end of it — not an invitation for direct supervision.

By the time the sleek black SUV pulled up in front of the building, Geet had convinced herself it was no big deal. She was a professional. She’d worked for this. She wasn’t going to let his impossible perfection — or his equally impossible temper — rattle her.

But that conviction wavered the moment Maan stepped out of the car.
Dark sunglasses, crisp shirt rolled at the sleeves, the faintest shadow of a beard — he looked every inch the man who made people forget how to breathe.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing at her as if she were part of his schedule, not his distraction.

She nodded quickly. “Yes, Sir.”

The drive was quiet — too quiet. Maan preferred silence when he worked, and Geet, nervous about saying the wrong thing, didn’t dare break it. But her mind wasn’t still.

Every glance at the passing streets, every reflection in the window — it all replayed the same question in her head: Why me?

When they reached the site, Maan’s demeanor shifted instantly. The moment his shoes hit the unfinished floor, he was all business.

“Show me the proposed foyer layout,” he said.

Geet led him through the entrance, trying to sound composed as she explained her vision. “The plan is to expand the natural light by adding glass panels here. It’ll open up the space and complement the teak columns—”

“Won’t that increase heat retention?” he interrupted, sharp as ever.

“Yes, but we can offset it by using treated glass with UV filters,” she countered without hesitation. “It’ll control glare and maintain insulation.”

He looked at her — really looked — as though assessing her beyond the design now.
“Good,” he finally said, moving on.

As they walked, the sun cast long shadows through the half-finished structure. Dust floated lazily in the air, catching in the light.

Maan paused to check a beam alignment, then turned suddenly.
“Hold that side,” he said, gesturing to a measuring tape.

Geet obeyed, gripping the cold metal edge. He stepped closer to adjust the marker — close enough that she could feel his cologne, sharp and clean. For a fraction of a second, her breath caught.

He noticed.
Of course he did.

His eyes flicked up, catching hers — steady, unreadable.
“Focus, Miss Handa,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. “I am, Sir.”

They finished the round in silence, both pretending not to notice the charged air between them.

When the site supervisor arrived with water bottles, Geet stepped aside, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Maan stood a few feet away, hands in pockets, looking out at the nearly complete structure.

“It’s good work,” he said suddenly, not turning around.

She blinked, unsure if she’d heard him right. “Sir?”

“Your design. It fits the client. Functional, but not cold.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Thank you.”

He finally turned, his gaze unreadable. “Don’t thank me yet. You’ll be handling the next client meeting.”

Her eyes widened. “Me?”

“Yes. Consider it a test.”

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He answered, voice shifting instantly to the clipped tone of command. “Yes, Adi. I’ll be back in an hour.”

When he hung up, Geet was still staring at him — a mix of panic and disbelief written across her face.

He smirked faintly. “Relax. You’ve done the work. Just make sure the client sees it.”

She exhaled. “Right. No pressure at all.”

He almost smiled — almost. “Pressure makes diamonds, Miss Handa.”

And with that, he walked ahead, leaving her heart thudding in confusion and… something else she didn’t dare name.

Chapter 9: The Presentation

Back at Khurana Constructions, the conference room was already filling up by the time Geet arrived.
Her heart was pounding, but her face was calm.
On the table lay the presentation boards she had spent the last week perfecting — her design, her concept, her words.

Adi whispered nervously beside her, “You’ll be fine, Geet. The Sharmas are good clients. They just—uh—ask a lot of questions.”

Geet gave a tight smile. “Good. So do I.”

Before he could respond, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees.
Maan Singh Khurana had entered.

He gave the room a curt nod. “Let’s begin.”
And just like that, the meeting started.

Mr. and Mrs. Sharma were both seated across the table, gracious but clearly used to being in control. Maan stood slightly behind Geet’s chair — not saying anything, but the weight of his presence pressed against her like an invisible force.

Geet started speaking, her voice steady. “As per your brief, I’ve prepared two alternate layouts for the guesthouse interiors. The first focuses on luxury hospitality—while the second builds around warmth and natural textures.”

She moved through slides and samples with precision. Confidence grew with every sentence. The Sharmas leaned forward, listening, intrigued.

Halfway through, Mr. Sharma interrupted.
“This natural texture theme — it’s elegant, yes, but will it hold that same impression our guests expect? We don’t want it to look… simple.”

There was a flicker of challenge in his tone.

Before Maan could step in, Geet met the client’s eyes directly.
“Sir, simplicity doesn’t mean lack of impression. True luxury isn’t about gold accents or imported marble — it’s about how a space feels. When someone walks in and senses balance, comfort, and sophistication — that’s luxury that lasts.”

The room went quiet. Even Maan’s brows lifted a fraction.

Mrs. Sharma smiled faintly. “I like her confidence,” she said, turning to her husband. “It’s refreshing.”

Mr. Sharma chuckled. “Alright, Miss Handa. You’ve convinced my wife — which means you’ve convinced me.”

Laughter rippled lightly across the table. The meeting continued, smoother now — the tone shifting from scrutiny to interest. By the time Geet finished, even Maan hadn’t found a reason to interrupt.

When the clients finally stood to leave, Mrs. Sharma turned back to Geet.
“You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Geet replied politely. “An intern.”

Mrs. Sharma’s smile widened. “Well, I’d say Khurana Constructions is in good hands. You’re going to go far, young lady.”

Maan, who had been silent till now, spoke up quietly. “She will.”

Geet turned sharply, startled — but he was already gathering his papers, expression unreadable.

After the clients left, Adi grinned, eyes shining. “You did it! They loved it!”

Sasha, who had been watching from across the room, muttered something under her breath and walked off. Geet ignored her — she was too busy trying to process what just happened.

She turned to Maan, cautiously. “Sir, I—thank you for giving me the chance.”

He looked at her then — not the boss, not the mentor, just a man studying someone who had surprised him.

“You earned it,” he said simply.

For a moment, their gazes held. There was something unspoken in the air — pride, respect… and something else neither wanted to name.

Then, as always, he broke it first.
“Good work, Miss Handa. Send me the revised material specs by tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, though her heart was still thudding.

As he walked away, Adi leaned in. “He never says good work twice in the same week.”

Geet smiled faintly. “Maybe he’s… changing?”

Adi shook his head, laughing. “No one changes Maan Singh Khurana. He just notices when someone’s worth noticing.”

Her smile faltered slightly.
Because deep down, she wasn’t sure what scared her more — that he’d noticed her…
or that she wanted him to.

Chapter 10 – The Dinner Revelation

The day had been relentless. Back-to-back meetings, endless calls, and a stubbornly persistent headache that refused to fade. But none of that compared to the battle raging inside Maan Singh Khurana’s mind — the battle to not think about a certain curly-haired intern who seemed to have taken up permanent residence in his thoughts.

Every time he caught sight of Geet — rushing through the hallways, half-smiling at Adi’s nervous chatter, biting her lip when deep in thought — something inside him stirred. It wasn’t unfamiliar, yet it was unnerving. And Maan hated being unsettled.

He had spent the entire afternoon convincing himself that it was nothing — fascination, intrigue at best. But when fascination lingered long enough to follow him home, he knew he was in trouble.

By the time he reached Khurana Mansion, the evening had settled into a comfortable silence. Daadima was in the living room, looking far too pleased with herself.

Maan paused at the threshold. That look never ends well.

“Ah, there you are!” Savitri Devi exclaimed, setting aside her cup of tea. “You’re just in time. We have a dinner invitation tonight — at the Shahs’. A small gathering.”

Maan groaned inwardly. “Daadima, not again. I’m exhausted, and—”

“No excuses!” she cut in with that regal authority only she could wield. “It’s an intimate affair — just a few old families. The Kapoors will be there too. It’s been ages since we’ve met them.”

Maan froze mid-step. “Kapoors?”
He couldn’t place why the name tugged at something in the back of his mind.

“Yes, beta. Maanav Kapoor and his children. You remember Rano, his late wife?” Savitri’s tone softened briefly. “She was a dear friend. Their daughter’s grown up now. Such a lovely girl, graceful, polite… and those hazel eyes! Reminded me so much of Rano.”

Maan frowned slightly. Lovely girl. Hazel eyes. A strange familiarity pricked at him, but he shook it off. “Daadima, I really don’t see why—”

“Oh hush!” she interrupted again, smiling slyly. “You could do with some good company that isn’t made of concrete and blueprints.”

Before he could protest further, she was already instructing Nakul to lay out his black sherwani. There was no winning this battle. Maan sighed, resigned to his fate.

The Shahs’ residence was bathed in warm golden light. A handful of familiar faces mingled over soft music and laughter. Maan followed Daadima in, maintaining his usual calm, businesslike composure.

He spotted Dev and Naintara chatting comfortably across the room, both of them waving when they noticed him. Daadima was immediately swept into a conversation with the elderly hosts — her presence as commanding as ever. Maan was about to find himself a quiet corner when he heard her exclaim.

“Maanav! It’s been so long!”

That name again. Maan turned, curious.

Standing before Daadima was a tall, distinguished man with kind eyes and a dignified smile — Maanav Kapoor. Beside him stood three men, presumably his sons, and—

Maan’s breath caught.

A familiar face peeked from behind Yash Kapoor — soft curls falling over hazel eyes that widened the instant they met his.

Geet.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The sounds around them seemed to fade, replaced by the faint echo of surprise and disbelief.

Mr Shah’s voice broke through the silence. “And who might this be, Maanav?”

Maanav smiled, pride glowing in his tone. “This is Geet Handa, my daughter.”

The words hit Maan like a thunderclap.
Daughter.
Handa.
Kapoors.

He stared at her, his sharp mind struggling to reconcile two realities — the simple, earnest intern who carried blueprints and fabric rolls every morning, and the poised young woman standing before him now, daughter of one of Delhi’s most respected business families.

Savitri Devi clasped her hands together. “She looks more beautiful everyday. The spitting image of Rano.”

Geet smiled shyly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Maanav chuckled. “Savitri ji, you and Rano were such close friends. You’ll be happy to know Geet’s following in her mother’s footsteps — interior design, just like her.”

Maan felt his throat tighten.
Interior design. KC’s newest intern. His intern.

Daadima was glowing with delight. “How wonderful! Such passion at a young age. I must say, your daughter has quite the spark.”

Geet smiled faintly, her gaze flickering toward Maan for just a second. His eyes betrayed nothing — only that unreadable calm that masked the storm brewing inside.

Savitri Devi continued chatting animatedly, introducing Geet to Naintara, who greeted her warmly. Maan remained silent, observing from the side.

Piece by piece, the puzzle was falling into place — her refinement, her confidence, the ease with which she carried herself despite being so young. It all made sense now.

She wasn’t just talented. She was a Kapoor.

And suddenly, all those feelings — admiration, curiosity, the quiet pull he’d been denying — began to feel… dangerous.

He turned away before anyone noticed the flicker of conflict in his eyes.

Across the room, Geet exhaled softly, clutching her dupatta nervously. She hadn’t expected to see him here either. The look in his eyes before he turned away — that brief flash of shock, disbelief, maybe even disappointment — unsettled her.

She didn’t know why, but it hurt.

As Daadima continued talking to Maanav, her mind was already working in quiet precision. Maan and Geet…
She smiled inwardly. Now that would be interesting.

Chapter 11 – Aftermath

The morning light filtered through the glass walls of Khurana Constructions, sharp and unkind. Geet Handa walked in early, her steps brisk, her expression composed — but inside, she felt the uneasy weight of last night pressing against her chest.

The Shahs’ party had changed everything.

She had seen the shock in his eyes — the way Maan Singh Khurana, usually unreadable, had frozen when he realized who she really was.

For everyone else, she was Geet Handa — simple, independent, grounded. Few knew that “Handa” was her mother’s name — the name she chose after Rano Handa passed away when Geet was sixteen. She had wanted to feel closer to her, to her mother’s quiet grace, her warmth, her love for design.

Her father had understood. Her brothers had respected it. And the world never questioned it.

But now, Maan knew.
And that knowledge had changed something between them — something delicate that she wasn’t ready to lose.

Inside his cabin, Maan sat motionless, eyes fixed on the blueprints before him but mind elsewhere.

He hadn’t slept.

The Shahs’ dinner had unraveled the calm he prided himself on. The realization that his most promising intern — the one who’d challenged him, intrigued him, and quietly carved space into his thoughts — was Geet Kapoor, daughter of Maanav Kapoor, had hit him harder than expected.

He’d built an image of her — earnest, self-made, unassuming — and now that image blurred with privilege and legacy.

But what unsettled him most wasn’t her name. It was the echo of recognition in her eyes — the same loneliness he sometimes saw in his own.

Both had lost parents too early.
Both had learned to carry themselves with strength that often came at the cost of softness.

And now, every time he looked at her, he saw a reflection of something he had long buried — grief, dignity, and the quiet ache of surviving.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

“Sir?”

He looked up. She stood at the door, poised but hesitant.

“The revised layout drafts,” she said, holding a folder. “I’ve incorporated the design suggestions you mentioned.”

Her tone was steady, but her eyes betrayed a trace of unease.

“Leave them on the table,” he replied, his voice even, distant.

She placed the file down carefully. “I’ve also added the interior renderings for the façade redesign. Page six has the structural options.”

Maan nodded curtly without meeting her gaze.

For a moment, silence stretched between them — heavy, unfamiliar. Then he said quietly,

“You handled yourself well last night.”

She blinked, surprised. “At the Shahs’ party?”

He inclined his head slightly. “Yes. You didn’t tell me you were… Maanav Kapoor’s daughter.”

Geet hesitated, her voice gentle but firm.

“Because it never felt relevant, sir.”

That made him look up at last — really look.

There was no arrogance in her face. No expectation. Only sincerity.

“I took my mother’s name after she passed away,” she continued softly. “She was Rano Handa. Everyone knew her as an interior designer before she married Papa. I… wanted to keep her part of me alive.”

For the first time, Maan’s composure slipped. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

“You were close to her,” he said quietly.

“Very.” A small pause. “I heard from Daadima that you lost your parents too.”

Maan froze, not expecting that gentle empathy.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice low. “A long time ago. It doesn’t go away — you just… stop expecting it to.”

Something in Geet’s chest tightened — that quiet understanding of loss, of growing up faster than one should.

She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe. But sometimes remembering keeps them close.”

He stared at her, speechless for a moment. Then, breaking eye contact, he murmured,

“You should get back to work, Miss Handa.”

She turned to leave, but before she could step out, he added softly,

“You chose well. Your mother would be proud.”

Geet froze — not because of the words, but because of the warmth behind them. When she looked back, he was already pretending to study his files again.

Later that evening – Khurana Mansion

Daadima didn’t need to ask to know something had shifted. Maan’s silence had layers — not frustration, but thought.

“So,” she began over tea, “how’s our Miss Handa?”

He didn’t look up. “Efficient. Focused.”

“And?” she prodded.

“She’s Maanav Kapoor’s daughter.”

“Yes,” Daadima replied, completely unbothered. “And she’s also Rano’s daughter. You remember Rano, don’t you?”

He did. His mother had admired her. Warm, elegant, kind — the kind of woman who could turn a house into a home.

Daadima smiled faintly at his silence.

“You’re not angry because she hid it. You’re unsettled because she didn’t use it.”

Maan’s jaw tightened — she was right.

“She could’ve taken shortcuts. Instead, she chose to earn her place. That’s what bothers you — that someone like her still exists.”

He said nothing.

Daadima’s voice softened.

“She reminds me of your mother, Maan. The same quiet strength. Don’t let your fear of feeling undo something honest.”

That night, as Maan stood by the balcony, city lights flickering below, he realized something that made his chest ache quietly —

It wasn’t her lineage that disturbed him.
It was her courage to carry both her parents — her loss and her legacy — with grace he couldn’t match.

Chapter 12 – Ripples

The days that followed the Shahs’ dinner carried a strange stillness — as if something fragile had cracked but hadn’t yet broken.

Work continued at Khurana Constructions with its usual rhythm: deadlines, client meetings, the low hum of productivity. But for Geet, every room she entered seemed to echo with the absence of something — the easy flow of unspoken understanding she used to share with Maan.

He hadn’t been unkind. Just… careful.
Too careful.

His words were measured, tone precise, his eyes unreadable again — as though the warmth of that conversation about her mother had never happened.

At first, Geet tried to ignore it. He was her boss, after all; professionalism came first. But as the distance grew, she began to realize that his detachment wasn’t about her work — it was about her.

Morning – KC Design Wing

Geet stood in front of the conference board, explaining a layout revision to Adi and the design interns. Her voice was calm, her points confident.

“The client wants a more natural finish for the atrium flooring. If we extend the marble cut diagonally, it’ll reflect more light toward the center.”

Adi nodded eagerly. “Perfect, Geet ma’am! I’ll have procurement adjust the samples.”

The door opened quietly.

Maan stepped in.

The room fell silent — as it always did when he entered — but this silence felt heavier.

He listened without interruption, eyes fixed on the sketches spread across the board. When she finished, he crossed the room, gaze sharp but calm.

“Good work,” he said, scanning the notes. “But the structural alignment needs recalibration before final submission. Have Adi run it through the software again.”

“I already did, sir,” Geet replied evenly. “The diagonal cut maintains the load balance. I cross-checked with the technical team.”

Their eyes met for a fleeting second — quiet defiance against quiet authority.

He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded curtly.

“Proceed.”

And just like that, he left.

The moment was small. But the ripples it sent through the team — and through Geet’s heart — were not.

Afternoon – Maan’s Cabin

Dev leaned against the glass wall, smirking slightly.

“You’ve been unusually silent lately, bro. Everything alright?”

Maan didn’t look up. “Work’s fine.”

“It’s Geet, isn’t it?” Dev teased lightly. “Daadima keeps talking about her. I hear she’s quite the charmer — humble, smart, grounded—”

“She’s an intern, Dev.”

“Uh-huh.” Dev’s grin widened. “And you’re brooding over her like she’s an architectural flaw you can’t fix.”

Maan shot him a look that would’ve silenced anyone else, but Dev only chuckled.

“You know, maybe for once, try not to overthink what’s already obvious to everyone else.”

When he left, the silence returned — thicker this time.
Maan set his pen down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Obvious? He wished it wasn’t.
Every time Geet spoke, he found himself listening.
Every time she smiled, something inside him softened — something that had no place in his world.

He told himself it was admiration. Respect. But respect didn’t make your pulse quicken when someone said your name.

Evening – Khurana Mansion

Daadima watched Maan during dinner with the patient amusement of someone who had already seen the entire story unfold in her head.

“You know,” she began conversationally, “I met Geet today.”

Maan froze mid-bite. “You did?”

“Yes, she came by to drop off a project file for me. Such a thoughtful girl. She stayed for tea.”

He set his spoon down carefully. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh, but it was delightful,” Daadima continued, unbothered. “We spoke about Rano — her mother. She told me she used to sit in her workshop after school, watching her draw.”

Maan’s jaw tensed.

“You miss your mother that way too, don’t you?” Daadima said gently.

He didn’t answer.

“You and Geet share that,” she went on softly. “Loss doesn’t vanish, Maan. It finds mirrors in people who carry the same ache. That’s why she unsettles you — she makes you feel again.”

Her words hung in the quiet room like soft truth.

He stood abruptly, murmured a good night, and left.

Later – KC Terrace (Night)

Geet lingered on the terrace after finishing her designs, the city lights flickering beneath her like scattered stars.

She thought about Maan — the man who led with discipline, who expected perfection, yet whose silence could say more than any words.

She didn’t know why his approval mattered so much.
She didn’t know why his distance hurt.

All she knew was that she missed the quiet warmth behind his cold eyes — the one that had surfaced for a fleeting moment when he’d said, “Your mother would be proud.”

Somewhere across the city, Maan stood by his own balcony, looking at the same skyline — unaware that the ache in his chest was mirrored in hers.

Chapter 13 – Crosscurrents

Sunday evenings at Khurana Mansion were usually quiet — a reprieve from the chaos of deadlines and design blueprints. But that evening, the calm had a purpose.

Daadima’s eyes sparkled with the mischief of a master planner. She had been waiting for the right moment — and tonight felt perfect.

When Maan walked into the living room, still in his charcoal shirt and rolled sleeves, he sensed it instantly.
The calm before one of Daadima’s storms.

“Daadima,” he greeted cautiously. “You look… pleased.”

“I am,” she replied smoothly. “We’re having company for dinner.”

He frowned. “Company?”

“Maanav Kapoor and his children.”

Maan stilled.

“Again?” he managed evenly. “We just saw them at the Shahs’.”

“Exactly,” Daadima said cheerfully. “And I didn’t get enough time with them. Besides, Maanav’s bringing a few concept portfolios for his foundation’s art wing. Thought you might offer insight.”

She was lying — elegantly, effortlessly — and Maan knew it. But there was no point arguing. When Savitri Devi decided something, the universe simply adjusted itself to accommodate her will.

The Arrival

The Kapoors arrived just after seven. The moment Geet stepped into the Khurana Mansion, she felt her pulse quicken — warmth, grandeur, and a faint sense of déjà vu.
It wasn’t her first time there; she’d been once before as a child with her mother.
But tonight was different.

Daadima greeted them like family.
Maan hovered a few steps behind, mask firmly in place.

Geet met his gaze for the briefest second — polite smile, soft nod — and something in the air shifted.
Awkward. Careful. Charged.

Dinner began in the grand dining hall, laughter mingling with the aroma of rich, home-cooked food. Yash and Vicky Kapoor entertained Dev and Naintara with stories about their recent projects, while Maanav and Daadima reminisced fondly about old days.

Only Maan and Geet remained quiet — polite, composed, and acutely aware of each other’s presence.

The Conversation

Halfway through dinner, Daadima turned to Geet with a conspiratorial smile.

“So, Geet beta, how are you finding work at Khurana Constructions?”

Geet set her fork down gently. “It’s been an incredible learning experience, Ma’am. Everyone’s been kind… and very patient with me.”

“Especially Maan, I hope?”

The table went still.

Maan’s hand paused mid-motion; Geet’s cheeks warmed.

“Sir has high standards,” Geet replied diplomatically. “But that’s what makes the work worthwhile.”

Daadima chuckled, satisfied. “Spoken like a true designer. Rano would have said the same.”

Maanav smiled fondly. “She used to call Savitri ji her design soulmate. Said both of them believed in ‘feeling’ a space before building it.”

Geet’s eyes softened. “She said that?”

“Many times,” Maanav replied. “She believed beauty was never just visual — it had to be emotional.”

Maan’s gaze lifted, quietly locking onto hers.

Emotional.
The word lingered between them like an echo.

After Dinner – The Garden

Later, when everyone moved to the veranda for coffee, Daadima found an excuse to keep the elders occupied — and left the younger ones to “fetch the dessert trays.”

Geet stepped out into the garden, grateful for the night air. The soft glow of lanterns lit the pathway; jasmine scented the breeze.

“You’ve grown up beautifully,” came Daadima’s voice from the patio, low but clear.

Maan turned from where he stood by the railing. Geet hadn’t realized he was there.

They were alone now, beneath the quiet hum of crickets.

She hesitated. “I hope Daadima didn’t force you into this dinner.”

“She doesn’t force,” Maan said quietly. “She… designs situations.”

Geet laughed softly. “Then she’s the best architect of all.”

That drew the faintest smile from him.

A moment passed — simple, unhurried, the kind that carried too much meaning in too little silence.

“I didn’t know you’d lost your mother so young,” he said finally, voice softer than she’d ever heard it.

Geet’s eyes glistened. “She passed when I was twelve. I took her surname after that. It made me feel… closer.”

He nodded slowly. “I lost both of mine around that age.”

Her breath hitched. She turned toward him, eyes full of quiet empathy. “I didn’t know.”

“Most people don’t,” he said, gaze distant. “Daadima tried to fill both roles. She still does.”

Geet smiled faintly. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“I am,” he said, looking at her. “And she’s lucky you remind her of someone she once loved deeply.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone.
The air between them shifted again — warmer now, deeper.

“Thank you… for saying that,” she murmured.

He didn’t reply. But the silence said enough.

The Quiet Goodbye

When the Kapoors finally prepared to leave, Daadima’s eyes sparkled with quiet satisfaction.
She’d seen it — the subtle shift, the gentling of his expression when Geet spoke, the way she smiled without realizing it.

“Maan, drop them to their car,” she said casually.

He did. Without protest.

As Geet slipped into the passenger seat, she looked up.
Their eyes met one last time under the porch light — an unspoken acknowledgment that something had changed tonight.

It wasn’t love. Not yet.
But the crosscurrents had begun to flow — gently, persistently, reshaping the space between them.

Chapter 14 – Lines and Shadows

The week after the Kapoors’ dinner at Khurana Mansion was quiet. Too quiet.
For Geet, it was a stillness that felt unnatural — like holding your breath without realizing it.

Maan had been distant at work. Not cold, exactly, but precise.
Emails came with curt acknowledgments, meetings were brisk, and the easy professionalism they’d once shared had tightened into formality.

And yet, every time she passed his office, she could feel his gaze — steady, unreadable, always just a second too long.
He had been polite. Too polite.
It hurt more than silence.

Morning – Khurana Constructions

The morning sunlight spilled across the glass walls of KC’s main office, glinting off polished steel and scattered sketches.
The company had just won a new heritage restoration project — the renovation of an old estate near Gurgaon. It was prestigious, delicate work, and the design team buzzed with excitement.

Sasha was already claiming credit, as usual, while Adi quietly pointed out that the real creative input had come from Geet.

Maan had noticed. Of course, he had.

But before he could speak to her about it, Daadima had walked into his cabin that morning — elegant, unbothered, and far too cheerful for his liking.

“Maan, I heard you’re assigning a new project lead for the restoration design. Have you considered Jai Singhania?”

“Singhania?” Maan frowned slightly. “The one from the Delhi Preservation Council?”

“Yes,” Daadima said smoothly. “A talented architect. And Geet has been asked to assist him. I think they’ll make an excellent team.”

Something in Maan’s chest tightened before he could reason with it.

“Assist him?”

“Hmm,” Daadima smiled innocently. “It’s good exposure. You can’t personally mentor every project, Maan.”

He said nothing, jaw tightening just slightly — enough for Daadima to hide her satisfied smile behind her teacup.

Later That Day – Design Department

Geet stood beside Jai Singhania, reviewing floor plans spread across the large oak table.

Jai was everything Maan was not — easygoing, charming, irreverently confident. He gestured animatedly while talking, teasing her now and then in a way that made her laugh despite herself.

“You have this uncanny sense of balance,” Jai said, tapping one of her sketches. “You make old stone look like it breathes. How do you do that?”

“Maybe I just listen,” Geet replied with a quiet smile. “Sometimes the walls tell you what they need.”

“Then you’re a better listener than most people I know.”

From the mezzanine above, Maan’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.
He had come to check on another project, but his eyes had found her almost instinctively — the warmth in her laugh, the spark in her expression, the way she leaned slightly toward Jai as they discussed the design.

And beside her — Jai, too close, too casual, too comfortable.

Something unfamiliar and unpleasant coiled low in his stomach.
Jealousy wasn’t an emotion Maan Singh Khurana entertained.
Until now.

Afternoon – The Presentation

When Jai presented their concept later that afternoon, Geet handled half the slides — poised, articulate, effortlessly confident.

Maan, seated at the head of the table, kept his expression neutral, though his mind wasn’t.
Every time Jai leaned forward to emphasize a detail, Maan’s focus drifted instead to Geet’s calm assurance, the gentle conviction in her voice, the way clients responded to her sincerity.

When the meeting ended, Maan’s tone was crisp, almost clipped.

“We’ll discuss revisions tomorrow. Good work.”

It was meant to sound neutral, but the undercurrent was unmistakable.

As the others left, Geet lingered, sensing the tension.

“Sir? Was something wrong with the presentation?”

“No,” Maan said without looking up. “You handled it well. Just… don’t let enthusiasm override precision next time. You skipped the structural integration slide.”

“That wasn’t an oversight, sir,” she replied carefully. “Jai and I merged it with the visual layout. It made more sense that way.”

“I see,” he said flatly. “Next time, consult your superior before making structural decisions.”

The words were measured, but they cut deep.
Geet’s throat tightened. “Understood.”

As she walked away, he shut his notebook sharply, his expression unreadable — except for the flicker of something almost like regret.
He knew he was being unfair. But knowing didn’t stop him.

Evening – KC Rooftop

Geet stayed back late, reworking slides for the next day. The city stretched below in a haze of light and noise.

When she finally stepped out onto the rooftop, she froze.
Maan was already there — sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, the usual command in his presence softened by exhaustion.

“You’re still here?” he asked quietly.

“I had edits to finish,” she said. “Didn’t want to leave it halfway.”

A long pause.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said, still facing the skyline.

“I’m not trying to,” she replied softly. “But it feels like I have to prove something to you lately.”

That caught him off guard. He turned, eyes meeting hers — intense, conflicted, bare.

“That’s not what I—”

“Then what is it?” she cut in, voice trembling. “Did I do something wrong, or does working with someone else suddenly make me less capable?”

Maan exhaled, words failing him. The silence stretched between them — too heavy, too full of what neither dared admit.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he said finally, turning away.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t. Because you won’t let me.”

Her voice lingered in the air as she walked past him, the soft click of her heels echoing like the sound of something breaking — quietly, irrevocably.

Maan closed his eyes for a moment, jaw tight.
He’d built walls for years — to protect, to control, to survive.
But somehow, she had started finding the cracks.

Across the City

At the Kapoor residence, Yash mentioned to Raj over dinner how withdrawn Geet had seemed lately, how she’d brushed off his concern with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Raj’s expression shifted — thoughtful, protective.

“If Maan Singh Khurana is the reason my sister is doubting herself,” he said quietly, “he and I need to talk.”

He didn’t sound angry.
He didn’t need to.

Chapter 15 – Echoes and Edges

Silence had never bothered Maan Singh Khurana.
He’d built a life around it — the silence of empty corridors, of late nights in glass offices, of order and control.

But the silence that filled his cabin now felt different.
It wasn’t peace.
It was punishment.

Every time Geet’s soft laughter drifted down the hall — usually in conversation with Jai or Adi — something inside him clenched.
He told himself it was distraction. That she was an intern, and he was her superior, and that was all there was to it.

But his heart refused to listen to logic.
It beat differently now.
Uneven. Restless. Aware.

Morning – Khurana Constructions

The day began with a blur of meetings. Numbers, presentations, and site updates — mechanical distractions that failed to dull the ache beneath.

Until Adi entered, nervously adjusting his glasses.

“Sir, Mr. Raj Kapoor is here to see you.”

Maan looked up sharply. “Raj Kapoor?”

“Yes, sir. He didn’t have an appointment, but… he said it’s personal.”

Maan’s jaw tightened slightly, but his tone stayed even.

“Send him in.”

The Conversation

Raj Kapoor entered with his trademark quiet authority — calm, centered, and deliberate. There was no hostility in his step, only purpose.

They’d known each other for years — not friends exactly, but men of the same world. The kind who respected effort more than words.
Raj was the kind of businessman who earned his position not through power plays, but through consistency. And Maan respected that.

“Maan,” Raj greeted, taking the seat opposite him. “Hope I’m not disturbing.”

“Not at all,” Maan replied, composed. “Always good to see you. What brings you here?”

Raj studied him, his tone casual but his gaze sharp.

“I heard things have been a little... tense in your design division.”

Maan’s expression remained unreadable. “If you’re referring to Geet, she’s doing well. Very well, in fact.”

“She’s doing her best,” Raj corrected, calm but firm. “But that’s not the same thing.”

Maan’s pen stilled.

Raj continued, his voice even — the tone of a man who’d raised siblings, not just employees.

“You know I’ve been in this field a long time, Maan. We’ve both seen interns come and go — some brilliant, some entitled, most somewhere in between. But Geet’s different.”

He paused, leaning back slightly.

“I’ve practically raised that girl. And believe me, if there was even a shadow of favoritism, I’d be the first to call it out.”

Maan looked up, eyes narrowing slightly — not in defensiveness, but in thought.

Raj met his gaze steadily.

“She could’ve taken the easier route. We had a position open for her in our design subsidiary. A comfortable one. But she wanted this — wanted to earn her place under you, knowing your standards. Knowing you don’t go easy on anyone.”

His next words were measured, deliberate.

“But Maan, choosing a hard path doesn’t mean she deserves a hard life.”

That landed deep.

Raj’s tone softened just a fraction.

“And just because she’s my sister doesn’t mean I’m blind. I know she’s talented. She’s earned her stripes, line by line, sketch by sketch.”

Maan said nothing, but his fingers had curled slightly against the desk.

“Now,” Raj went on quietly, “I can tell there’s distance between you two. I can guess why.”

He hesitated — not accusing, just perceptive.

“You found out she’s a Kapoor, didn’t you?”

Maan’s eyes flickered — the faintest crack in composure.

Raj nodded slowly, reading that silence.

“I thought so. What I don’t understand is why that changed anything. If it did.”

That question — simple, unguarded — hit Maan harder than anything else so far.

“You’re one of the few people I genuinely respect in this industry, Maan,” Raj said finally, rising from his chair. “I know you hold yourself to impossible standards. But be careful not to hold others to your fears.”

He adjusted his cufflinks absently, tone quiet but resolute.

“Geet’s strong. She’ll keep working, keep smiling — that’s who she is. But don’t make her strength an excuse to test how much she can take.”

He paused at the door, turning back once more.

“And if the only thing that’s changed between you is a last name… maybe you should ask yourself what you’re really punishing her for.”

Then he left — not dramatically, but with the kind of quiet dignity that made the words linger long after he was gone.

Afternoon – Maan’s Cabin

The silence that followed was brutal.

Raj’s words looped through Maan’s head, steady and unrelenting.

She chose this, knowing your standards.
Choosing a hard path doesn’t mean she deserves a hard life.
If the only thing that’s changed is a last name…

Maan stared out the glass window, the city stretching endlessly below.

He’d respected Raj for years — his fairness, his restraint. He’d always thought of himself the same way.
Until now.

Because Raj was right. He had changed — the moment he learned Geet was a Kapoor.

He told himself it was about boundaries, about professionalism.
But deep down, it wasn’t.
It was about fear.

Fear of feeling something that could undo him.
Fear of wanting someone he thought was beyond his reach.

Evening – Design Department

The office was nearly empty when Maan walked in. Geet was by her desk, carefully sorting design sheets into folders.

She looked up, startled.

“Sir?”

“A quick word,” he said, his tone gentler than it had been in days.

They stepped aside, near the glass railing that overlooked the city lights.

Maan hesitated — for once, searching for the right words.

“About the restoration project,” he began, voice low. “You were right about the layout merge. It streamlined the presentation.”

Geet blinked, surprised. “Thank you, sir.”

He nodded, gaze steady but thoughtful. “You’ve been handling the team well. Keep it up.”

She smiled faintly, still unsure how to read this shift.

He turned to leave, then paused — something unfinished holding him there.

“And Geet…” His tone softened, almost hesitant. “You don’t have to prove yourself harder just because you chose this path.”

Her breath caught slightly — the sincerity in his words cutting through the usual restraint.

“I know,” she said softly, after a pause. “But sometimes, sir, proving it to ourselves feels harder than proving it to others.”

Their eyes met — quiet understanding, mirrored pain.

He nodded once, unable to say more.
And as she walked away, Maan realized — Raj hadn’t just left him with questions.
He’d left him with truth.

And Maan wasn’t sure he was ready to face it.