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

Chapter 16 – The Weight of Distance I Recap

Maan Singh Khurana had always believed that life rewarded effort, not entitlement.
He had built himself brick by brick — no shortcuts, no inheritance, no mercy from fate.
And because of that, he had little patience for the rich and restless — those born into comfort, coasting on surnames.

When Geet Handa first walked into his office — earnest, nervous, sleeves rolled up — she had shattered every stereotype he held.
She was the kind of worker who didn’t care who was watching. She took notes, asked questions, learned fast, and stayed late without complaint.
He’d respected that — admired it even.

Until the Shahs’ dinner.
Until the truth.
Until Geet Handa became Geet Kapoor.

And suddenly, Maan didn’t know what to do with everything he felt.

The Aftermath

Since that night, a quiet distance had formed between them — one Geet couldn’t name, and Maan couldn’t justify.
He’d told himself it was professionalism. That keeping things formal would help him regain control.
But beneath that self-discipline lived something uglier — doubt.

He couldn’t stop hearing that voice in his head:
Of course she’s confident. She’s a Kapoor.
Of course she’s polished. She’s been around privilege all her life.
Of course she has grace — she was born with everything I had to fight for.

He hated himself for thinking it.
And yet, he couldn’t stop.

Morning – Khurana Constructions

The hum of the office was comforting in its predictability — typing, phones, footsteps.
Geet moved quietly between workstations, discussing samples with designers, sketching notes. Her energy was calm, grounded — as always.

But Maan noticed something different now.

The way she greeted the peons by name.
The way she carried her own files when she could’ve easily asked someone else.
The way she smiled at the janitor who offered her chai, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

This wasn’t the easy warmth of a privileged girl playing humble.
This was real.

And it made him question everything he’d assumed.

Afternoon – The Meeting

Geet presented a concept that afternoon — subtle color play, traditional textures merged with modern minimalism. Her voice was steady, her reasoning clear.

Sasha, as usual, interrupted mid-sentence with a smirk.

“I must say, Geet, for someone who’s never had to worry about a paycheck, you do know your way around cost efficiency.”

A few chuckles floated around the table. Geet froze, the faintest flicker of embarrassment crossing her face.

Before she could respond, Maan’s voice cut through, calm but razor-sharp.

“Ms. Sasha.”

The room stilled.

“I wasn’t aware that family background determined professional merit here. Did I miss that clause in your contract?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sasha’s smirk faltered.

“N-no, sir. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he said curtly. “And next time, keep personal assumptions out of project discussions.”

He turned back to Geet, his tone softening almost imperceptibly.

“Continue.”

Geet blinked, startled, then nodded — her composure returning as she resumed the presentation.
When she finished, he offered a short, quiet nod.

“Well presented, Ms. Handa.”

And though he used her professional name, there was something different in the way he said it — respect that wasn’t tainted by confusion anymore.

Evening – Khurana Mansion

That night, Daadima was waiting for him in the living room, her knitting needles moving rhythmically as he entered.

“You’re late,” she said mildly, without looking up.

“Work ran over,” Maan replied.

“Ah, work,” she mused. “Your one true companion. Tell me, how is the new intern? The one who’s apparently making the office run smoother and giving you headaches?”

He looked up sharply. “Daadima…”

She chuckled softly. “I’m not blind, Maan. You’ve been quieter than usual — and that’s saying something.”

He sighed, leaning against the mantelpiece. “She’s… different.”

“Different how?”

He hesitated. “I thought I understood people like her — people who have everything handed to them. But she’s not like that. She works like someone who’s had to earn every breath.”

“And that confuses you?” Daadima asked gently.

He looked at her, eyes shadowed. “It makes me question myself.”

She set her knitting aside, her voice turning soft but steady.

“You’ve spent your life fighting to prove that worth comes from struggle, Maan. But not everyone’s battles look like yours. Some fight quietly — against expectations, against comfort, against being underestimated.”

He didn’t respond, but the flicker in his gaze betrayed him.

“Geet isn’t trying to prove she’s rich or poor,” Daadima continued. “She’s trying to prove she belongs. That’s something you, of all people, should understand.”

Her words cut straight through the armor he’d worn for years.

Night – The Study

The city glowed beneath him — the hum of cars, the pulse of life below his window.
Maan stood there long after midnight, Daadima’s words looping through his mind.

He remembered Geet’s steady hands over blueprints, her quiet nod when he praised her work, her humility even after being mocked.
He remembered her father’s proud smile.
Her brothers’ warmth.
Her eyes when she’d said softly, “Sometimes proving it to ourselves feels harder than proving it to others.”

And for the first time, he understood.

She wasn’t just the daughter of privilege.
She was the daughter of purpose.

The name Kapoor didn’t define her.
Her choices did.

He leaned back against the desk, exhaling quietly.
Maybe he didn’t need to offer her anything.
Maybe what mattered was what she brought out in him — something he hadn’t felt in years: humility, wonder… and hope.

Closing Scene

The next morning, Geet found something on her desk — a single rolled blueprint tied neatly with a silk ribbon.
Attached was a small note, written in Maan’s crisp handwriting:

“Approved. Excellent detail work — as always.”

No name.
No signature.
But when she looked up at his glass cabin, their eyes met for the briefest moment.

He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod — acknowledgment, apology, and respect all in one.

And for the first time since the Shahs’ dinner, she smiled.
Because she realized something too:
He wasn’t pushing her away anymore.
He was beginning to see her.

Chapter 17 – Cracks in the Wall

The office was quieter these days — not the calm of efficiency, but the quiet that follows an unspoken storm.
The tension that had once hummed between Maan and Geet had softened, reshaped into something quieter, heavier… something that lingered in glances and half-finished sentences.

Geet had gone back to her usual rhythm — early mornings, precise designs, calm professionalism — but there was a new restraint in her now. Her laughter didn’t reach her eyes as often, and her voice held the faint composure of someone trying not to care too much.

And Maan noticed.
Every. Single. Time.

Office Floor – Late Morning

Geet was standing by the sample board when he walked in. She was explaining a layout to Adi, her tone even, her fingers tracing the lines of a floor plan with gentle precision.

For the first time in days, Maan didn’t interrupt. He simply stood by the glass wall, watching — not as her boss, but as a man beginning to understand what it meant to be wrong.

When she finished, he spoke quietly.

“Good work, Geet.”

She froze for a second, almost disbelieving the calm in his tone.

“Thank you, sir,” she said softly, meeting his eyes briefly before turning away.

That fleeting moment — just a hint of warmth — was enough to shift something inside him.

Conference Room

Later that day, Geet presented the revised model to a new client. Her voice was steady, confident — and when questions came, she handled them with such grace that even the most skeptical executives nodded in approval.

Maan watched from the back of the room, arms crossed — but his usual critique never came. Instead, a faint, involuntary smile touched his lips.

She wasn’t just good. She was exceptional.

And the worst part? He had known it all along. He had just refused to admit it because it was easier to question her than question himself.

When the presentation ended, the clients left impressed.
Maan stayed behind, his gaze lingering on the sketches she had left on the table — fine, clean, intelligent work.

Echoes of a Conversation

That night, long after the office emptied out, Maan sat alone in his cabin. The city lights spilled across the glass walls, a blurred reflection of the turmoil inside him.

Raj Kapoor’s voice echoed in his mind — calm, grounded, impossible to forget.

“She chose your standards, Maan — not because she had to, but because she wanted to.”
“Don’t let her name make you forget her work.”

He had brushed those words aside then, too proud to admit how much they stung. But now, they returned in fragments — sharper, truer than before.

Maybe it wasn’t her privilege that had unsettled him.
Maybe it was his insecurity.
The part of him that had fought for everything — that measured worth in effort and sacrifice — didn’t know how to exist beside someone who had both privilege and passion.

And yet, that was Geet.
A woman who could have taken the easier road, but chose to walk into his world — to face his impossible standards and meet them head-on.

He leaned back, exhaling deeply. For the first time, he didn’t fight the thought that followed.
He admired her.
Truly. Fiercely. Quietly.

Elevator – Late Night

He was leaving when the elevator doors slid open — and there she was.
Geet, clutching her sketch folder, startled but composed.

“Sir,” she greeted, stepping aside slightly.

He hesitated before stepping in beside her. The confined silence between them was heavy but not tense — more like the quiet before something important is said.

“Long day?” he asked finally.
“Always,” she replied, a small, tired smile tugging at her lips.
“You did well today,” he said after a pause. “The clients were impressed.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes lowering. “It means a lot coming from you.”

He looked at her — really looked — and something inside him softened completely.

The elevator dinged.
She stepped out first, turning briefly at the doorway.

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Geet.”

When the doors closed, Maan remained still, staring at his reflection in the polished steel.
For once, it wasn’t the perfectionist CEO looking back at him — it was a man quietly unraveling his own walls.

Chapter 18 – Lines of Redemption (Alternate chapter)

The next few days passed in a quiet rhythm that neither of them dared to disturb.
Deadlines loomed, clients changed their minds twice a day, and yet, amidst the chaos of Khurana Constructions, a subtle change had taken root — unspoken but undeniable.

Maan Singh Khurana was trying.

He hadn’t said the words — he never did — but Geet felt it in the smallest ways.
In how he paused before correcting her.
In how he lingered after meetings, asking if her designs needed additional support.
In how his silences, once sharp, had turned thoughtful.

It was as though the same man who had built walls of precision and pride had quietly begun to open a window.

KC Boardroom – Afternoon

The project in focus was one of KC’s biggest — a multi-department collaboration where every small success demanded recognition.

When the senior architects began discussing the final layout, Sasha, predictably, dismissed one of Geet’s innovative ideas.

“It’s too idealistic,” Sasha said lightly. “Looks good on paper, but not practical. She’s still learning, sir.”

Maan didn’t even glance at Sasha. His voice was calm, but carried the authority that silenced the entire room.

“Actually, her proposal addresses the ventilation problem the rest of you missed. If we’d used the earlier plan, that corridor would have failed safety compliance.”

Silence.
Then, faintly — admiration flickered around the table.

Geet looked up in disbelief, eyes meeting his briefly.
There was no arrogance in his tone, no indulgence.
Just acknowledgment.
Pure and simple.

And in that one moment, the weight she’d been carrying since the Shahs’ dinner — that invisible wall between them — began to shift.

Daadima’s Subtle Hand

When Daadima visited KC the following morning, her eyes didn’t miss a thing — least of all the quiet current between her grandson and his intern.
She saw the way Maan’s gaze softened when Geet spoke, how his usual curt nods had turned into quiet attentiveness.

“You seem… calmer, Maan,” she said later that evening, her tone half-amused.
“Just focused,” he replied, avoiding her knowing look.
“Mhm. And the intern?”
“She’s talented,” he admitted.
“Ah,” Daadima said, smiling into her teacup. “Finally. You’re learning to see people, not pedigrees.”

He said nothing — but the words stayed with him long after.

Late Night – KC Rooftop

The city below glittered like spilled stars.
Geet sat cross-legged on the edge of the rooftop terrace, sketchbook open, lost in thought.
It was late — too late for anyone else to still be around.

So when she heard the sound of measured footsteps, she didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“You shouldn’t be here this late,” Maan said quietly.
“You’re here,” she countered softly.

He exhaled a faint chuckle — the rare kind that made her heart skip.

“Touché.”

Silence fell again — comfortable this time.

He walked closer, standing beside her, the night breeze stirring between them.
On her sketchpad, she was refining one of the structural layouts from the project — sharper lines, cleaner angles.

“You’re still working?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “Designs don’t let me go until they’re finished.”

He nodded, his gaze tracing her focused expression, the way her fingers moved with quiet determination.

“You remind me of… someone,” he said after a pause. “Someone who didn’t know how to stop working until the work felt like home.”
“Your father?” she asked gently.

He looked at her, a flicker of surprise in his eyes — and pain.

“Both of them,” he said quietly. “They built something out of nothing. Sometimes I think I’m just trying not to disappoint their memory.”

Geet’s eyes softened.

“You could never disappoint them,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve made KC into something they would be proud of.”

Their eyes met — a stillness suspended between grief and something warmer.

“And you,” he said after a moment, “you work like someone who’s still trying to prove herself, even when she doesn’t have to.”
“Maybe I am,” she admitted. “My mom used to say — privilege isn’t pride, it’s responsibility. I guess I just want to earn mine.”

Something in her tone — quiet, honest, utterly free of pretense — hit him harder than she could have known.

He didn’t speak after that.
Didn’t need to.

The silence between them said more than words could — about loss, respect, and the strange comfort of finding someone who understood both.

Chapter 19 – The Night of Almost

The next few days at KC flowed differently — the chaos of deadlines remained, but something beneath the surface had shifted.
The air between Maan and Geet was no longer heavy with tension; it hummed instead with unspoken understanding.

They spoke when necessary. Worked seamlessly. Exchanged glances that said more than words could.

And yet, the quiet between them carried a pulse — a soft, steady ache neither wanted to name.

Late Evening – Khurana Constructions

It had been one of those days — endless revisions, client calls that went on too long, and a power glitch that delayed their final submission. Most of the staff had already left, but Maan was still there, sleeves rolled up, focus unyielding.

When he walked past the design floor and noticed a faint light still on, he knew immediately who it was.

“Geet,” he called from the doorway.

She startled slightly, turning from her desk. The lamplight fell over her face, highlighting the fatigue beneath her determination.

“You’re still here?”
“The client requested an alternate palette,” she said, glancing down at her sketches. “I didn’t want to leave it unfinished.”

He stepped in, hands in his pockets.

“You’ve been here since morning.”
“So have you,” she countered softly.

That made him pause — and for the first time that day, he smiled.

The Quiet Between Them

The storm outside began quietly — soft thunder rumbling in the distance, rain tapping against the windows like a heartbeat.
Inside, the hum of the desk lamp and the sound of pencils scratching over paper filled the silence.

Maan sat across from her, reviewing the plans she’d drawn.

“This gradient here,” he murmured, pointing to a section. “It softens the light. Clever.”
“I thought the natural shadows would add more warmth,” she replied, her tone hesitant — as though still unsure if it was safe to accept his praise.

He looked up at her then, his voice low.

“You don’t have to hesitate around me anymore, Geet.”

Her gaze met his — unsure, searching.

“It’s not hesitation, sir,” she said after a pause. “It’s… learning when to trust silence again.”

That single sentence hit him harder than he expected.
He wanted to tell her he was sorry — not just for his tone, or his assumptions, but for every unspoken word that had hurt her.
But words like sorry didn’t come easily to Maan Singh Khurana.

So instead, he reached for the file beside her and quietly placed his initials at the bottom.

“Approved,” he said softly.

Her eyes widened. “Already?”

“It’s good work. Don’t overthink it.”

And in that tiny moment — the quiet validation she hadn’t even realized she was waiting for — something in her finally loosened.

Electricity Flickers

A sudden flash outside — the storm hit harder now. The lights flickered once, twice, and went out.
The room plunged into darkness.

Geet let out a startled gasp.

“It’s just the backup delay,” Maan reassured, his voice steady. “It’ll come on soon.”

Still, she stayed frozen, her hand gripping the edge of the table. A flash of lightning illuminated the space — brief, silver, almost cinematic — and Maan caught the glint of fear in her eyes.

Without a thought, he reached across and found her hand.

It wasn’t deliberate — not even conscious — but when his fingers brushed hers, the room seemed to still.
Her pulse jumped beneath his touch.

Neither spoke.
The lights came back a second later, but he didn’t let go immediately.

When he finally did, their eyes met, and both pretended not to notice the shift that followed.

After the Storm

By the time they stepped outside, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. The world smelled like wet earth and quiet renewal.

Geet pulled her shawl tighter. “It’s late. You should go home.”

“So should you,” he said, walking beside her toward the parking area.
“I will. I just—” She hesitated. “I like the rain.”

He looked at her — hair damp, eyes soft, the faintest smile curving her lips — and for the first time, he let himself admit it silently.
He liked her.

Not as his intern.
Not as a Kapoor.
Just… her.

They stood by her car for a moment, neither ready to end the night. The rain had thinned into mist, tiny droplets catching in her curls.

“Thank you,” she said finally.
“For what?”
“For today. For… not making me feel small.”

The words hit deep — a gentle, piercing honesty that made his chest tighten.

He wanted to tell her she was never small — that she was the only thing that had made him feel in months — but he didn’t.
Instead, he said quietly,

“You don’t need anyone to make you feel that way, Geet. You’ve always stood tall.”

For a heartbeat, everything else disappeared — the rain, the city, the years of restraint between them.

She looked up at him, eyes shimmering under the soft streetlight.

“Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Geet.”

But as she turned to leave, he said her name again — softly, almost as if testing how it felt to say it when no one else could hear.

“Geet.”

She looked back.
He didn’t speak further. He didn’t need to.

Because in that single look — quiet, intense, unguarded — every unsaid word between them finally found its voice.

When Maan drove home that night, his mind should have been on deadlines and blueprints.
Instead, all he could see was her standing in the rain — calm, luminous, heartbreakingly simple — and the quiet warmth of her hand in his.

It wasn’t a confession.
Not yet.
But it was the beginning of one.

Chapter 20 – Shadows and Silence

The morning after the storm carried a strange kind of stillness — as if the world itself was holding its breath.
At Khurana Constructions, the usual rhythm of ringing phones and clicking heels felt muted, subdued — like the air itself was wary of breaking whatever delicate thread held things together.

But for two people sitting on opposite ends of the same floor, that silence meant something entirely different.

The Morning After

Geet was unusually quiet.
Her fingers moved automatically over the sketches on her desk, but her mind was elsewhere — back to the rain, the soft hum of the generator, and the warmth of his hand closing around hers.

It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.
And yet, it did.

When she’d looked up at him last night — soaked, shivering, laughing nervously — she’d seen something she never thought she would: the man behind the title. Not the stern CEO, not the perfectionist everyone feared, but someone quietly, achingly human.
Someone who carried loneliness like a second skin.

“Good morning, Geet!” Adi’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts.
“Oh! Good morning, Adi Sir.”
“You okay? You look… distracted.”
“Just tired,” she lied with a small smile. “Late night working on layouts.”

He nodded sympathetically and walked off, leaving her with her heartbeat thudding in her ears.

She tried to focus — on lines, colors, numbers — but every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the quiet safety of that moment.
And then she’d remember how abruptly he’d stepped away, how easily he’d built the wall again.

It stung more than she wanted to admit.

Maan Singh Khurana – A Restless Calm

In his cabin, Maan stared at his computer screen — unread emails blurring together.
Every rational part of him told him to forget the night. It was nothing. A moment of weakness, a slip. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way — not for someone who worked under him, not for anyone, really.

But then, he remembered the way she’d looked at him — not with admiration, not with fear, but with understanding.
That look had undone something in him.

He had spent years believing that wealth insulated people — that privilege dulled effort. And yet Geet Handa — Geet Kapoor — shattered that belief simply by existing.
She’d worked her way up without flaunting her name, earning every bit of respect he’d begrudgingly given her.
And he’d judged her — for her privilege, for her last name, for his own insecurities.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”
Her voice from that long-ago argument echoed in his head.
Maybe she’d been right all along.

He leaned back in his chair, shutting his eyes briefly.
Maybe it wasn’t her he was questioning.
Maybe it was himself.

Observations

By midday, the office had found its usual rhythm again — except for one thing.
Everyone noticed that Maan Singh Khurana was… different.

He was still firm, still precise — but something in his tone had changed.
Where he once barked orders, now he asked questions.
Where he once interrupted, he listened.
And every time Geet spoke in a meeting, his gaze lingered — not indulgent, not inappropriate, but searching.

Even Dev noticed.

“Bhai seems… calm,” he murmured to Naintara.
“Calm or distracted?” she countered.
Dev smirked. “Same thing, when it comes to Maan Singh Khurana.”

Evening – The Rooftop Again

The day ended late, as most days did at KC.
When the others left, Geet stayed behind to organize fabric samples for the next morning’s presentation.
By the time she finished, the building was quiet — the kind of silence that invited thought.

Drawn by instinct more than intention, she made her way to the rooftop.
The city stretched before her, shimmering under the faint orange glow of streetlights. The wind was cool, carrying the faint scent of rain.

“You come here often,” came a familiar voice behind her.

She turned. He stood there, hands in his pockets, his usual authority softened by something almost uncertain.

“It’s quiet up here,” she said softly.
“That’s why I like it,” he replied, stepping closer.

For a moment, they just stood there — not boss and intern, not Khurana and Kapoor — just two people sharing the same silence.

Then, quietly, Maan said,

“You didn’t come by my cabin today.”

She blinked. “You noticed?”

“I always notice.”

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard.
He wasn’t trying to sound possessive — just truthful.

“I thought you needed space,” she said.
“I do,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”

The admission hung between them — fragile, dangerous.

She looked at him for a long time. “You confuse me, Sir.”

“I confuse myself,” he said with a faint, rueful smile. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Her eyes softened. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”

“Old habits die hard.”

They shared a quiet laugh — small, fleeting, but real.
Then, as the night deepened around them, Maan spoke again, more hesitantly this time.

“I used to think people like you — people born into comfort — never had to fight for things.”

Geet turned to him slowly. “And now?”

“Now I know better,” he said quietly. “You’ve fought harder than most.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Her throat tightened, eyes glistening faintly.

“That means more than you think,” she whispered.

Maan looked at her then — really looked at her — and saw not the intern, not the heiress, but the woman who had slowly, quietly become the most honest thing in his life.

He wanted to say something more, something that might make sense of the chaos inside him. But before he could, Adi’s voice echoed from below.

“Sir! The Sharma file is ready for your signature!”

Maan exhaled, the spell breaking.

“You should go,” she said softly.
“Goodnight, Geet.”
“Goodnight, Sir.”

He left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Geet stood there long after he was gone, watching the city lights flicker below.
The ache in her chest wasn’t confusion anymore — it was realization.
And it scared her.

That night, neither of them slept.
For every moment they stepped apart, something pulled them closer.
And in that quiet tug-of-war between restraint and feeling — something tender had already begun to take root.