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Chapter 7
so the staff is on edge
after all Maan Singh Khurana was in a mood
Geet's nervousness was reasonable
liked that Geet confidently presented
of cos Maan's gaze never let Geet
Sasha's comments were anticipated
admire how Geet handled the situation
but Sasha pressed on
glad that Maan intervened
his questions were understandable
Geet's responses were justified
Maan was clearly impressed
everyone were indeed amazed
glad that Geet will work with Adi
as expected Geet was relieved
well Maan told Geet not to be late again
not surprised with Dev's question
Dev had a valid point
Maan is changing...........
Chapter 8
great that Maan is taking Geet with him on the site visit
Geet's reaction was justified
Geet's thoughts were understandable
of cos Geet drooled on Maan
Geet's nervousness was anticipated
as expected Maan wants Geet to show him the proposed layout
glad that Geet was composed
Maan's questions were justified
liked Geet's responses
she is good at what she does
pleased that Maan was happy
Geet was clearly affected with his closeness
not surprised that Maan noticed
the dynamics are changing between them
nice that Maan was impressed with Geet's work
loved that he wants her to handle the next client meeting
Geet was naturally stunned
good that Maan assured her
he was correct that she did the work
he did have a valid point
The next morning at Khurana Mansion began like any other — sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains, birds perched on the balcony railing, and the faint clink of teacups from the dining room.
Savitri Devi Khurana, however, had an uncanny ability to sense when something wasn’t ordinary.
And this morning, the way her grandson walked into the room confirmed it.
Maan Singh Khurana was a creature of habit — precise, predictable, and perfectly put together.
But today, Daadima noticed the smallest details — the pause before his good morning, the way he stirred his coffee twice instead of once, and that faint, almost imperceptible softening around his eyes.
Savitri Devi hid her smile behind the rim of her teacup.
“You seem… rested today, Maan,” she said casually.
He didn’t look up. “I am, Daadima.”
“No meetings last night?”
“A few,” he said shortly. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
She chuckled. “Ah, the Khurana way — build empires, hide emotions.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Emotions have nothing to do with it.”
“Don’t they?” she asked lightly.
Her tone was mild, but her eyes were sharp. Maan’s silence was telling — the kind of silence that said too much.
At the office, Geet buried herself in work — more determined than ever to focus.
She’d arrived early, reorganized the presentation room, and even helped Pinky troubleshoot an issue with the projector. Anything to stay busy.
Because the moment she stopped, her mind drifted back to last night — his voice, his honesty, his eyes.
She couldn’t afford that distraction.
Not here. Not now.
“You’re early,” came a calm, familiar voice from behind her.
She froze. Of course.
“Just… catching up on pending work,” she said without turning around.
Maan nodded, watching her profile in the morning light.
Something about her focus — the quiet discipline in her — made him both proud and guilty.
“You don’t have to overcompensate,” he said quietly.
“I’m not,” she replied, still not looking at him. “I’m just doing my job.”
There it was again — the wall. Built firmly, beautifully, but trembling at the edges.
He wanted to tell her that he missed their quiet laughter, that her absence from his cabin yesterday had felt too loud — but he didn’t.
Instead, he simply said,
“Good work on the Sharma layout. You’ve improved the design balance.”
She finally turned, surprised.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Keep it up,” he said, before walking away.
Her heartbeat didn’t settle for several minutes.
By late afternoon, the last person Maan expected to see at the office was his grandmother — sweeping in with her trademark poise, sari perfectly draped, charm radiating like sunlight.
The entire staff straightened instinctively.
“Daadima,” Maan began warily, “to what do we owe this visit?”
“I wanted to see my grandson in his natural habitat,” she said, eyes twinkling. “And to drop off some lunch. Nakul insists you haven’t been eating properly.”
Maan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Daadima, I—”
“Ah, is that Miss Handa?” she interrupted smoothly, her gaze landing on Geet.
Geet nearly dropped the file she was holding. “Good afternoon, Ma’am.”
“Such lovely manners,” Daadima said warmly. “You remind me so much of Rano — even in the way you hold yourself.”
Maan looked sharply at Daadima — a flicker of warning in his eyes. But Savitri Devi only smiled innocently.
“You’ve been doing remarkable work here, beta. Maan doesn’t say it, but I can always tell when he’s impressed.”
Geet blinked. “Oh, I— Thank you, Ma’am.”
“You don’t have to thank me, dear. Just keep making him smile once in a while.”
Maan coughed. “Daadima—”
“What? It’s true. He’s been smiling more lately. I’m just saying thank you on behalf of the family.”
The room went still. Geet’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink; Maan’s jaw tightened in quiet exasperation.
Daadima, of course, was thoroughly enjoying herself.
Later, as they walked her to the car, Daadima paused near the entrance, lowering her voice so only Maan could hear.
“You can fool your board, your staff, even yourself, Maan Singh Khurana. But not me.”
He frowned. “There’s nothing to fool anyone about.”
“Hmm,” she said, amused. “Tell that to the way you look at her when she isn’t watching.”
He looked away. “It’s nothing, Daadima.”
“Nothing?” she repeated softly. “Nothing doesn’t make a man’s eyes soften when a girl walks into the room.”
Maan stayed silent.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm.
“Maan… I’m not warning you. I’m reminding you. When something feels that real, don’t run from it because it doesn’t fit your plan.”
And before he could respond, she smiled knowingly, stepped into the car, and drove away — leaving him standing there, caught between denial and the truth he could no longer hide from himself.
That evening, as Geet finished her work and caught sight of Maan through the glass wall of his cabin, their eyes met — just for a second.
He didn’t look away this time.
Neither did she.
And somewhere, far from the polished corridors of Khurana Constructions, Savitri Devi Khurana sipped her tea with a satisfied smile.
“Finally,” she murmured. “The boy’s learning.”
The day started normally—too normally for a Monday morning at Khurana Constructions. The hum of printers, the shuffle of blueprints, the muted clicks of heels on marble floors. But beneath the rhythm, something was off.
The whispering had begun early.
“Of course she got the Kapoor account. She’s a Kapoor herself.”
“Bet the boss already knew.”
“Come on, look at her—connections like that don’t walk in without strings attached.”
The words weren’t meant to carry, but the walls in KC had a way of echoing more than sound—they carried intent.
Geet heard enough.
She stopped briefly in the corridor, folder in hand, eyes fixed on the floor. Every instinct told her to ignore it, to keep her dignity intact. But it still burned. She had worked every late night, taken every critique, fought every battle to prove herself—and yet, her last name seemed to overshadow everything.
She walked on, spine straight, heels steady, though her throat ached.
When she entered the design wing, she could feel eyes on her—half curious, half smug. But she smiled anyway and got to work, the perfect professional armor intact.
Until Maan heard.
He was in his glass-walled cabin, reviewing reports, when the low laughter reached him. He didn’t catch the words at first—just the tone. It wasn’t respectful.
By the time he stepped out, his expression was carved from stone. The two employees froze.
“What’s so amusing?” he asked, voice calm but lethal.
“Sir, nothing, we were just—”
“I heard enough.” Maan’s tone dropped, each word deliberate. “If anyone here believes Khurana Constructions rewards surnames over skill, you are free to collect your letters and leave. I run this company on merit, not legacy.”
Silence. The air itself seemed to tighten.
Then his gaze shifted, catching movement beyond the glass wall. Geet stood at the far end of the corridor, still as a photograph, expression unreadable.
She didn’t move. Didn’t smile. Just watched him for a moment—then turned away.
That evening, long after most of the staff had gone home, she knocked on his door.
He didn’t look surprised. “Come in.”
Geet walked in, her dupatta trailing faintly behind her, eyes calm but guarded. “You didn’t have to do that, sir,” she said quietly. “They’ll only talk more now.”
Maan leaned back in his chair, studying her. “And I should have stayed silent while they disrespected you?”
Her chin lifted slightly. “I’ve dealt with worse. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” he interrupted. “You’ve earned your place here, Geet. People needed to be reminded of that.”
The words landed with more weight than he intended.
She looked at him for a long moment, something flickering behind her eyes. “It’s strange,” she said softly. “You defend me when the world questions me. But you were the first one who did.”
Maan exhaled sharply. The truth stung because she was right. When he had discovered she was a Kapoor, he had questioned everything about her—the sincerity, the purpose, the reason she was here. And yet she had never wavered.
“Maybe I was wrong then,” he admitted quietly.
Her eyes softened. “Maybe.”
There was silence. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just heavy with things unsaid.
He rose from his chair and came around the desk, stopping a few feet from her. “Geet,” he said, voice low, careful. “I don’t apologize easily. But for doubting you—I am sorry.”
She smiled faintly, eyes glimmering with emotion she didn’t voice. “Accepted, Mr. Khurana.”
He gave a small nod, half-relieved, half unsettled.
As she turned to leave, her hand brushed the edge of his desk, sending a pencil rolling to the floor. Both reached for it at once—their fingers touched. Just for a second.
The air shifted.
Geet looked up, startled, her eyes meeting his. For once, Maan didn’t look away.
It wasn’t attraction in that instant—it was recognition. A silent, mutual acknowledgment of something deeper than either of them could name.
When she finally stepped back, her voice was steady. “Goodnight, sir.”
Maan watched her walk out, the faint scent of her perfume lingering like a memory.
That night, for the first time, he didn’t open his laptop when he got home. He stood by the window instead, watching the city lights blur into the horizon, and thought about Geet—her quiet strength, her fire, her composure in the face of gossip.
He realized then—it wasn’t her name that drew him. It was her integrity.
And for a man who had built his life on discipline, that realization was both comforting—and terrifying.
Savitri Devi Khurana didn’t often insist — she rarely had to. But when she did, even Maan Singh Khurana didn’t argue.
So when she declared, “We’re having dinner with the Kapoors this weekend,” the matter was settled before Maan could form an excuse.
He tried, of course. “Daadima, it’s quarter-end at KC—”
“Beta,” she interrupted sweetly, “you work with Raj Kapoor almost every day now. It’s only polite to accept when the family invites you. And besides…” her eyes twinkled, “I’d like to see Geet outside the office. She’s a delightful girl — and a fine designer. I told you I met her before, remember?”
Maan looked away, jaw tightening slightly. Yes, he remembered — perhaps too well.
That dinner had been impossible to avoid.
The Kapoor Mansion gleamed softly under a wash of golden light, elegant without extravagance. It wasn’t just wealth — it was warmth. It was home.
Raj greeted them at the door, his usual reserve softened into genuine warmth. “Daadima, Maan — it’s an honor to have you here. Dad’s been looking forward to this.”
“Don’t make me sound ancient,” Maanav Kapoor chuckled, walking up to embrace Savitri Devi. “We’ve shared more boardrooms than dinner tables lately. That needed to change.”
“Indeed,” Daadima smiled. “And I hear your daughter is the reason KC’s new interiors are turning heads.”
Raj smiled knowingly. “Geet’s a force of her own. You’ll see.”
When Geet finally appeared, Maan almost forgot to breathe.
She wasn’t dressed for attention — just a soft mint-green anarkali, hair left loose in waves, a faint shimmer of silver at her wrist. But the simplicity only made her glow.
“Daadima! Maan Sir!” she exclaimed, surprise flickering across her face.
Maan inclined his head politely, keeping his tone even. “Miss Handa.”
Daadima chuckled under her breath. “Miss Handa? Really, Maan?”
Geet smiled nervously. “He never switches off the ‘Sir’ mode, Daadima.”
Everyone laughed — everyone except Maan, who looked faintly betrayed.
Dinner was warm, filled with laughter and conversation.
Raj and Maan discussed the KC-Kapoor expansion while Yash and Dev shared lighthearted banter about old college days.
Daadima and Nisha slipped easily into maternal camaraderie, sharing stories of managing headstrong men.
But Maan’s attention, despite himself, kept drifting.
Geet was radiant — poised, confident, and entirely in her element. She laughed easily, but when the talk turned serious — about ethics in business, about women in leadership — she spoke with quiet conviction that made even Maan pause.
“This generation,” Maanav said proudly, “values purpose. Geet’s mother was like that — worked hard, balanced everything. I see her in Geet every day.”
Daadima’s smile softened. “Your Rano was special, Maanav. The world lost a gem too early.”
Geet looked down, emotion flickering across her features. Maan noticed the way her father’s hand briefly covered hers — comfort, pride, and memory intertwined.
It was intimate in a way that pierced him. He had spent his life surrounded by people, yet rarely belonging. The Kapoors didn’t just exist together — they fit.
After dinner, the group moved to the veranda. The evening air was gentle, the laughter unhurried.
Raj called Maan over to discuss a design proposal, while Daadima drew Geet aside with Naintara, who had joined later with Dev.
“Maan told me about your project reports, dear,” Daadima said. “You’ve got an eye for detail — and a heart for beauty. That’s rare.”
“Thank you, Daadima,” Geet said, smiling. “I enjoy it more than I can say. It’s not just design — it’s about creating something that makes people feel at peace.”
“Beautifully said,” Naintara added warmly. “You remind me of my early days — before the boutique. Maan helped me get started, you know.”
Geet’s eyes brightened with surprise. “Really? That’s incredible.”
Daadima chuckled. “Our Maan believes in empowering talent — when he can take a break from brooding over spreadsheets.”
“Daadima,” Maan’s voice cut in smoothly as he approached, “you’re exaggerating again.”
“Am I?” she teased, eyes twinkling. “I was just telling Geet how rare it is to find people who love what they do.”
Geet smiled. “I think that’s something we both have in common, Sir.”
He looked at her — really looked — and for the first time that evening, allowed himself to smile back. “That, Miss Handa, is true.”
Later, as they prepared to leave, Raj walked them to the door. “Maan, thank you for coming. We’ll finalize the next project brief soon — perhaps over lunch?”
“Of course,” Maan said. “And thank you for the evening. Your family… reminds me what balance looks like.”
Raj smiled faintly, a glimmer of understanding passing between them. “It took us years to find it, Maan. Don’t wait that long.”
In the car, Daadima’s voice was soft but sharp.
“She’s perfect, you know.”
Maan turned, startled. “Who?”
She gave him a look. “Don’t act dense. You’ve been looking at her all evening as though you were memorizing her.”
He didn’t reply.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was low, thoughtful.
“She’s… remarkable, Daadima. But she’s also my employee — and Kapoor’s daughter. The world doesn’t forget things like that easily.”
Daadima smiled knowingly. “The world can say what it wants. But tell me honestly, Maan — when you looked at her tonight, did it feel wrong?”
He looked out the window at the passing lights.
“No,” he said quietly. “It felt… right.”
KC’s Monday mornings were rarely quiet. But this one was charged — a current of whispers and sidelong glances rippling through the corridors.
The source?
A rumor.
Someone from the design floor had seen a certain “junior designer” having dinner with the Khurana family and the Kapoors — in the same evening. That was all it took.
By the time Maan entered the building, crisp in a charcoal suit and darker mood, the whispers had evolved into full-blown speculation.
“Apparently she’s that Kapoor’s daughter.”
“Explains why she’s been fast-tracked to the interior projects.”
“Maybe she’ll be Mrs. Khurana soon.”
Maan didn’t usually care for gossip — he’d built his empire ignoring it — but when the subject of the gossip was her, his patience thinned dangerously.
He was midway through a board review when Adi entered hesitantly, clearly uncomfortable.
“Sir… there’s some talk going around about Miss Geet. The team’s getting distracted.”
Maan’s jaw clenched. “Handle it.”
“I tried, sir, but—”
He stood abruptly, the chair scraping back. “I’ll handle it.”
When he walked onto the design floor, conversations died instantly. His presence commanded silence like few things could.
He scanned the room, his voice calm but sharp.
“If any of you have time to gossip about other people’s lives,” he said, “perhaps you’re not being challenged enough. I can fix that.”
A nervous shuffle. Heads down. No one spoke.
His gaze landed briefly on Geet’s empty desk — and his frown deepened.
She was in the materials room, it turned out, sorting through fabric swatches for an upcoming client presentation. She looked flushed, tired, and slightly distracted.
When she saw him, she froze. “Sir—”
“Come to my office.”
The tone left no room for argument.
She followed quietly, nerves twisting in her stomach. She had guessed the gossip had reached him — and hated the idea of being the reason his authority was questioned.
Once inside, he shut the door.
“What’s going on?” he asked evenly.
She hesitated. “It’s just… talk, Sir. About the dinner. It’ll pass.”
He stared at her, expression unreadable. “It shouldn’t have started in the first place. You shouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense.”
She looked up, meeting his eyes squarely. “It’s fine. I can handle it.”
That hit a nerve. “You shouldn’t have to handle it, Geet,” he said quietly, using her name for the first time that day. “You’ve worked too hard to have anyone undermine that.”
Something in her softened. But before she could respond, Dev appeared at the door, knocking lightly.
“Maan, you’re needed in the conference room — the Singhanias are here early.”
Maan exhaled sharply. “Right.” He looked back at her. “We’ll talk later.”
As he left, Geet felt an unfamiliar ache. He had defended her — again. And yet, she knew this was dangerous ground.
That afternoon, Daadima visited KC. She rarely came during work hours, but she’d been “in the neighborhood” — a lie Maan could see through instantly.
She made her way straight to his office, her tone deceptively casual.
“Maan, I was thinking — we should have the Kapoors over again. Perhaps something smaller, more personal this time.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Daadima…”
She smiled sweetly. “They mentioned another alliance being discussed for Geet. Nothing formal yet, of course.”
That stopped him cold. “Alliance?”
“Oh, a harmless proposal,” she said airily. “One of Maanav’s old associates from Singapore — apparently, the son has returned and—”
“Enough,” Maan said curtly, his hand tightening around his pen. “If she wants to entertain proposals, that’s her choice.”
Daadima watched him carefully. “And what if she doesn’t?”
He didn’t answer.
But his silence said everything.
That evening, Maan stayed late — longer than usual. His mind wasn’t on numbers or designs. It was on the vision of Geet laughing with her brothers, her father’s proud smile, the way she’d looked at him in the materials room — steady, unflinching.
He’d tried to fight this — logic, propriety, hierarchy. None of it mattered anymore.
And yet…
Could he really offer her anything?
She was the Kapoors’ daughter — privilege, grace, a life already full.
He was Maan Singh Khurana — powerful, yes, but shaped by loss, by duty, by a loneliness he barely acknowledged anymore.
He leaned back, closing his eyes.
She deserves the world, he thought bitterly. And I’m still learning how to live in it.
Meanwhile, in the same building, Geet sat in her cabin staring at a half-finished concept sketch.
Jai, an old college friend of Yash’s who had recently joined KC as an external consultant, stopped by to review the layout.
“Still working?” he grinned. “You really don’t stop, do you?”
She smiled faintly. “Habit.”
He leaned against the table, scanning her notes. “You’ve got talent, Geet. If KC doesn’t realize that soon, come work with me — we’d be lucky to have you.”
It was harmless — friendly. But of course, Maan chose that exact moment to walk by.
His gaze flicked from Geet to Jai — the easy smile, the closeness — and something unfamiliar twisted inside him.
Jealousy. Raw and sharp.
He said nothing. Just gave a curt nod and walked away.
But that night, as the lights dimmed in the nearly empty office, Geet caught sight of him standing by his window, staring out at the city — hands in pockets, shoulders tense.
And though neither said a word, both knew something had shifted.
Morning – KC Design Wing
The office hummed with energy as Geet entered, carrying her laptop and a thick folder of sketches. Today’s task was critical: the Gurgaon heritage estate renovation had reached the stage where structural integration met interior aesthetics. She needed Jai’s architectural input, Maan’s final approval, and the team’s precision.
Jai greeted her with his usual easy grin.
“Morning, Geet! Ready to make stone breathe today?”
“Morning, Jai,” she replied, a smile tugging at her lips despite the mounting pressure. “Let’s hope the stones cooperate.”
Maan, seated behind his glass partition, observed silently. His eyes followed her movements — how she handled the sketches, corrected a misalignment in a floor plan, explained nuances to Adi. Each motion precise, effortless. Each smile, small but genuine.
He didn’t interrupt, didn’t comment, but his presence lingered, like gravity. Jai noticed Maan watching too and shifted slightly, giving Geet more room. Maan’s jaw tightened ever so subtly.
The team convened for a live mock-up of the atrium flooring. Geet and Jai worked side by side, debating the best marble cuts. Their banter was light, but Maan noticed how close they leaned over the plans, how Geet laughed at Jai’s jokes — a sound that made something coil low in Maan’s chest.
He cleared his throat, stepping closer to the table.
“Geet, Jai — ensure structural load is verified before committing to diagonal cuts,” he said, tone calm but precise.
“Yes, sir,” Geet replied, her hands brushing over the technical diagrams. She caught Maan’s eyes for a fleeting second, and the usual brief warmth sparked between them.
Jai, sensing tension he didn’t fully understand, gave Maan a polite nod and continued.
Maan’s jaw flexed. He didn’t speak again, but his gaze lingered a heartbeat too long. Every time Jai leaned toward Geet, every time her hair fell across her shoulder in concentration, Maan felt that familiar sting of jealousy — quiet, controlled, but impossible to ignore.
Later, Maan requested Geet to review a few façade renderings in his cabin. As she bent over the blueprints, he noticed a misaligned window frame that no one else had caught.
“Good catch,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. “I’d have missed that if you hadn’t flagged it.”
Geet looked up, startled by the unexpected praise.
“Thank you, sir. I try to cross-check every detail.”
Maan’s eyes lingered for a moment too long. “You’ve earned that attention,” he said quietly, almost to himself. He cleared his throat and turned back to his notes, leaving the room.
At Khurana Mansion, Daadima poured tea while observing Maan from across the table.
“You’re thinking about her again,” she said lightly, not unkindly.
Maan looked up, caught. “I’m analyzing a structural layout, Ma’am,” he said, smooth as ever, but a faint redness colored his cheeks.
Daadima’s lips twitched in amusement. “Yes, and I’m sure the structural integrity of your emotions is sound as well.”
He admitted, silently: the walls he’d built for decades were starting to crumble. Slowly. Reluctantly. Irrevocably.
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