Part 62
The morning light didn’t break into the room; it seeped in—slow, silver, almost shy. A tide of pale brightness softened the edges of everything it touched. Outside, the skyline looked like a watercolor left in the rain—blurred, gentle, unfinished.
Geet surfaced first.
Not abruptly. Not like she’d been pulled back by a sound or a thought. Just… gradually, as if her body had learned how to return without panic.
For a few seconds, she didn’t move.
She let the quiet of the penthouse settle around her like a second blanket. The familiar ache in her ribs was still there—a dull hum instead of a sharp insistence now. Manageable. Present. A reminder of where she’d been.
But it wasn’t the pain that anchored her.
It was the warmth beside her.
Not heat. Not pressure.
Presence.
She turned her head carefully.
Maan was still under.
This was the man the world saw as a monolith—clinical, sharp-edged, someone who could dismantle a competitor before coffee and still arrive at a meeting looking like the idea of control. But here, in the grey-gold wash of early morning, he looked… untethered.
He lay on his stomach, face half-pressed into the pillow, one arm hooked instinctively toward her side of the bed—as if sleep had made a decision his waking mind would never openly admit. His hair was a quiet riot, dark strands falling over his closed eyes, the kind of mess no stylist would be allowed near.
Geet felt a small, traitorous flutter in her chest.
He looked younger like this.
Not boyish. Not fragile.
Just… human. Like the version of himself that didn’t have to fix anything. The one who didn’t carry an empire in his jaw.
And then she saw it.
A tiny, almost imperceptible glisten at the corner of his mouth.
Geet bit her lip, a silent giggle warming her chest.
Maan Singh Khurana was drooling.
“My God,” she whispered to the empty room, eyes dancing. “Wait until the board of directors hears about this.”
She couldn’t help herself.
Her hand crossed the space between them with practiced ease now—like her body already knew the distance. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, her touch light as breath. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, steady heat. Her thumb traced his temple once, gentle and deliberate.
Maan stirred.
Not a startle. Not a snap to alertness.
Just a low hum in his throat—half-asleep, almost pleased—and then he leaned further into her palm with pure instinct, cat-like in its quiet trust.
His lashes flickered.
Then slowly lifted.
His eyes were dark, heavy with sleep, and completely focused on her.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The sarcasm wasn’t there yet. The brilliance hadn’t fully switched on. There was just that raw, quiet recognition—like he’d woken and found something he didn’t want to lose.
“You’re staring,” he rasped, his voice rough enough to vibrate through the mattress.
“I’m observing,” she corrected softly, fingers still tangled in his hair. “It’s part of my research into apex predators.”
The corner of his mouth quirked into a sleepy, lopsided smile—the kind that never made it to newspapers. The kind that belonged only to rooms like this.
He reached out, his hand closing gently around her wrist—not stopping her, just claiming the contact. He tugged her hand down and pressed a lingering, drowsy kiss into the center of her palm.
“Find anything useful?” he murmured against her skin.
“You drool,” she whispered, delighted.
He froze for exactly half a second.
Then buried his face back into the pillow with a groan that was pure offended dignity. “Forget you saw that. Corporate secret.”
“Too late,” she murmured. “Already factored into my ROI.”
A sound escaped him—low and real. A laugh he didn’t polish.
He shifted carefully, rolling just enough to tug her closer without jostling her ribs, his arm settling around her with a restraint that was almost reverent. Her head found the crook of his shoulder like it had always belonged there.
“Go back to sleep, Geet,” he said, voice softer now. “We have a long day.”
She should’ve said something.
A joke. A tease. A deflection.
Instead, she just breathed him in.
And let the quiet hold them.
+++
By the time she woke again, the light had thickened into morning.
No alarms. No urgency. Just the soft thud of footsteps and the muted click of a door.
Geet lay cocooned beneath the throw blanket, eyes fixed on the city veiled in mist. The kind of grey morning where the skyline blurred like a half-finished sketch. A car honked far below. Somewhere, a dog barked. The world was awake—just not urgently.
Maan walked in with a folded linen co-ord set in one hand, left out by the nurse the night before. His shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from his shower.
Precise. Sharp.
Like he’d already been awake for hours.
Like the morning belonged to him.
He didn’t speak at first. Just set the clothes down at the foot of the bed and checked her meds on the tray.
Then he turned—and paused.
“You’re up,” he said.
His voice was low. Rougher than usual. Like he hadn’t spoken since dawn.
“Just now,” she replied.
He walked over and crouched to her level.
“Today’s check-up,” he said evenly. “Spinal and rib specialist. We leave in an hour.”
She swallowed. Not fear—just the weight of it. The first hospital visit since… everything.
“Okay.”
He didn’t crowd her. Just held her gaze a beat longer, then stood with that quiet self-restraint she was beginning to recognize as care.
As he walked out, she half-expected him to say something—take your time, be careful, let the nurse help.
Of course he didn’t.
That wasn’t how he operated.
The nurse arrived ten minutes later, warm and efficient. She helped Geet dress slowly, wrapping the shawl gently around her brace—not too tight, not too loose. Geet followed each cue quietly, her fingers still clumsy with sleep.
Maan returned with the wheelchair.
He didn’t announce himself. Didn’t ask.
He simply bent and lifted her from the bed—muscle memory now—lowering her into the chair with the same focus he brought to boardrooms and lawsuits.
Once she was settled, he adjusted the footrest, flicked the shawl to cover her collarbone, tucked a small cushion behind her back.
Only then did he look at her properly.
“Ready?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
As he turned the wheelchair toward the door, she said lightly,
“You didn’t even ask if I’m prepared.”
He glanced down once. “You’re upright. That’s prepared.”
She scoffed softly. “Emotionally.”
“That’s negotiable,” he said. “Structurally is non-negotiable.”
She laughed under her breath. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he replied, already moving again, “remarkably effective.”
Her smile lingered as they moved down the hall.
+++
During the drive
She angled slightly toward him. “You booked the same hospital?”
“No,” he replied. “Too many bad memories. I picked a better one.”
“Better?”
“Quieter. More privacy. And the lobby doesn’t smell like antiseptic and trauma.”
“Oh,” she murmured. “So you went hospital-shopping.”
“I have taste.”
“You also have control issues.”
He didn’t deny it. “Do you want to steer the car with your fractured wrist?”
“…Carry on.”
+++
The specialist didn’t look like he flew in from Singapore. He looked like someone’s reassuring professor—calm, kind-eyed, polite.
But Geet knew better.
Maan didn’t do sentiment. He brought in results.
The spinal brace came off first.
Soft presses. Small rotations. The nurse guided her hand. The doctor asked her to breathe.
When the velcro finally parted—when that wide, suffocating collar peeled away—Geet stilled.
She hadn’t realized how much she’d forgotten the feeling of air on her neck.
Of holding her own head without help.
“Excellent healing,” the doctor said, pleased. “But go slow. The spine remembers everything.”
Maan stood against the far wall, arms folded. His gaze never left her.
When the brace landed on the table, she looked at him.
He didn’t smile.
Not exactly.
But the tightness in his jaw eased.
And that was enough.
The Rib brace was worse.
Not the pain—the sensation.
The nurse helped her sit on an inclined bench, easing the straps at her side.
Geet winced.
Maan took one step forward. Then stopped himself. Folded his arms tighter.
When the brace came off, her breath hitched. Her back curved without permission. The sudden lightness felt wrong. Exposed.
“Sit back,” Maan said quietly, close now.
He stepped behind her. His palm hovered—then gently guided her shoulder blades.
“Not like you’re being interrogated,” he murmured. “You have a spine. Use it.”
A small, shaky laugh escaped her. “I feel… wobbly.”
“You’ll adjust.”
“I feel like jelly.”
“Jelly regenerates. So that’s an upgrade.”
The nurse blinked.
Geet just smiled.
+++
Later, in the Car
She shifted carefully. “This feels strange. No brace.”
“Better?”
She nodded. “Lighter. More like… me.”
His eyes flicked to her once. “You’ll be more you every day.”
She turned toward him. “That sounded suspiciously like encouragement.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“I already have.”
He said nothing.
But the corner of his mouth curved—just slightly.
+++
The drive back was quiet. Not heavy—just the kind of quiet that let things settle.
Maan wheeled her into the penthouse with the same calm efficiency as before. But this time, something felt different. The silence wasn’t sterile. It was… expectant.
And then the door opened fully.
“Ohhh! Look at you!” the nurse practically squealed from the hallway, already abandoning the folded laundry she’d been carrying. She beamed like a proud aunt, her voice entirely too loud for the hour.
Geet blinked—then laughed.
Before she could process it, the nurse was halfway across the room, arms out—but careful not to touch.
“Brace-free neck! Back upright! My god, madam, you’re glowing!”
From the kitchen, the cook leaned around the doorframe, grinning. “Didn’t I say? This one’s got fighter bones.”
Geet shook her head, amused. “Fighter bones? That sounds like a dinosaur.”
“Exactly,” the cook said, hands on her hips. “You survived extinction, girl. Tea?”
“Only if you’re having some too,” Geet replied easily.
Maan watched—still holding the wheelchair handles. Still silent.
But he was reading everything.
The nurse bustled forward with her checklist, already scanning vitals. “I’ll update your dressing chart and change the bed angle by evening. But no heavy lifting, okay? Just because you’re out of the cage doesn’t mean you start picking up pumpkins.”
Geet gasped in mock offense. “Are you comparing me to a fruit vendor?”
“No,” the nurse said cheerfully. “I’m comparing you to my cousin who busted his shoulder because he tried lifting a watermelon while on painkillers. Men are hopeless.”
“I heard that,” Maan said flatly.
The nurse didn’t even blink. “Good. Some things are meant to be heard.”
Geet was laughing now—an open, full laugh that still made her wince a little at the edges. “Ow—don’t make me laugh. It pulls.”
The cook emerged with tea on a tray—two cups, already sweetened. “I made those ginger biscuits you said reminded you of school.”
Geet’s face lit up. “You remembered?”
“Of course,” the cook said. “You’re the first person who eats without asking for oat milk and air-fried broccoli.”
“Or calorie counts,” the nurse added. “Or telling us how many macros are in halwa.”
The three of them laughed again. Geet reached for the tea slowly, careful of her sling, murmuring a thank you so soft it wouldn’t have registered if Maan weren’t still listening to every word.
It was a small scene.
Laughter. Tea. Ginger biscuits.
But to Maan—it might as well have been an earthquake.
This wasn’t the world he came from.
Not just the ease. Not the warmth. The equality.
Geet wasn’t gracious with them the way people were when they wanted to appear kind. She wasn’t charming. She wasn’t condescending.
She was familiar.
No hierarchy. No pretense. No invisible rules of “us” and “them.”
The nurse teased her like an older sister. The cook rolled her eyes and scolded her for being underweight. And Geet took it all—laughing, elbowing, offering biscuits from the tray like she was just another girl in another kitchen.
Not a guest. Not a patient. Not the wife of the man who owned the building.
Just… her.
Maan stood behind the chair. Quiet. Watching.
He didn’t smile.
But his grip on the handle softened.
Because this—this was what no one around him had ever done. Not his relatives. Not the women he’d dated. Not even the friends who stayed too long after fundraisers and forgot the staff existed the moment the wine ran out.
Geet remembered birthdays. She asked about the cook’s son's exam results. She reminded the nurse to take her lunch break before five. She told the guard downstairs to drink water in the heat.
Not to earn approval.
Not to score points.
Just because that’s who she was.
And for the first time that morning, Maan felt something deeper than calm.
Something closer to... certainty.
She didn’t just belong in this space.
She changed it.
++++
Next Day
The morning light spilled slow across the penthouse, turning the floors into brushed gold. It was the kind of light that made silence feel full — not empty.
Geet woke without effort. Not from pain. Not anymore. Her body had begun to recover its rhythm. The heaviness in her chest was gone. The stiffness in her neck, a fading memory. What remained now was her arm in a sling, her leg still braced — the reminders that healing takes time.
She moved slowly, adjusting her weight as she sat up, and reached for the wheelchair with practiced ease. Her movements were still uneven, but no longer clumsy. There was steadiness in her fingers now, even if it came one inch at a time.
She wheeled out into the hallway, turning instinctively toward the walk-in closet.
He was already there.
White shirt, sleeves rolled, still untucked. The trousers ironed to precision. He stood with his back to her, fingers moving along his cuff — the second roll, not the first. That was how she knew he was tense.
She didn’t announce herself.
She just rolled in, quiet as breath.
And let herself look.
He always looked good, but this — this was different.
Maan Singh Khurana, preparing for battle. Hair still damp from the shower. Jaw set in focus. Movements efficient, contained. He looked like someone the world would obey. But she could still see the weight in the set of his shoulders. The war beneath the armor.
“Should I be worried,” she asked, voice soft but clear, “or just impressed?”
He turned.
And the mask slipped — just a little.
Not enough for the board to notice. But enough for her.
“Impressed is safer,” he murmured.
She smiled, wheeling in closer, her good hand resting lightly on the wheel rim. “You’re going in today?”
He nodded once. Reached for the navy blazer on the hanger but didn’t put it on yet.
“Board meeting,” he said simply. “They want answers.”
She watched him carefully.
His face gave little away. But she knew the tension. She’d seen it before — in his hand when he adjusted nonexistent creases. In the way he tightened his watch strap when he was overthinking. Today, the watch was absent. But the hands were restless.
“Will you be back by lunch?”
He glanced at her. Briefly. But it was enough.
“I’ll try,” he said. “No promises. I’ll text.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He stepped closer, crouching slightly — mindful of her leg, of the wheelchair. One of his hands came up to brush her hair back, the other paused just above her arm in the sling. His thumb grazed the edge of her shoulder lightly, the only place that didn’t hurt.
“Take care,” he said. “Rest. Let the nurse help with your physio, but don’t let her lie and double the reps.”
Geet raised an eyebrow. “That happened one time.”
“She’s ambitious.”
“She’s keeping me functional.”
“She’s stealing my job.”
She laughed — not loud, but real.
And then — quieter — she said, “You take care too, okay?”
He nodded. But didn’t move.
There was something in his eyes.
Not panic. Not fear.
Just… pressure. Carried too long. Contained too well.
“I’ll wait for you,” she said.
He looked up.
“For the gossip,” she added, eyes twinkling. “You better bring the full report. Don’t skip the dramatic bits.”
His mouth curved — just slightly. “You want shareholder drama as bedtime stories?”
“I want you to come home like you’re not carrying the world.”
He didn’t answer that.
Just leaned forward slightly, letting his forehead rest against hers for a moment. Careful of her sling. Careful of her breath.
“I’ll come back to you,” he said quietly. “Always.”
Her lips tilted. “I know.”
Sports
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