Something About Us- MG || (Part 64|Page 63) - Page 63

The parents have heard about Geet and don't like it one bit. Maan told them exactly where to put it.

Geet can provide all the therapy he needs. In just a few words, she made it all easy to swallow.

Part 63

the atmosphere in the boardroom was stifling

so there is a 3 percent dip

oh Maan parents were there

of cos Maan's parents confront him

Maan's response was reasonable

as expected they are aware of Geet and accuse Maan of being distracted

his mom's comments regarding Geet was anticipated

Maan was clearly angry

cannot blame him

his response was justified

not surprised that they blamed Geet

pleased that Maan showed his parents the mirror

liked that he warned his parents

Maan's thoughts were understandable

he does have clarity

well Geet was still awake

now Maan was still tensed

she did notice this

loved that she got Maan to open up

Geet was correct about parents

despite everything she still loves her parents

she raised valid points

glad that Maan found comfort and warmth with Geet

update soon

Part 63

Captivating Update

I truly liked how Geet speaks to Maan, there is no judgement

just advice filled with hope and love together with understanding

as for company shares dipping, Maan will surely bring back everything

to the top

63

maan's parents object on maan nursing geet who is not from their world

maan shows them mirror n their place in his life

geet shows differnt side of coin n ask to accept it for own self's peaceful life

Part 64

The morning had been a quiet triumph of small movements. The physiotherapist was pleased with Geet’s progress, and after an hour of grueling stretches and careful weight-bearing, the penthouse had returned to its peaceful, high-altitude hum.

Maan had spent the entire day working from his home office, a glass-walled sanctuary at the far end of the hallway. He had been locked in back-to-back virtual meetings, his voice a low, authoritative rumble that Geet could occasionally hear when the apartment was still. Even while navigating a corporate storm, he was there—a constant, heavy presence that made the vast space feel occupied and safe.

By early evening, the light had turned a deep, bruised purple over the Arabian Sea. Maan was still tethered to his monitors, and Geet had decided to indulge in a bit of forbidden laziness.

She was sprawled across the deep velvet sofa, her left leg—encased in a heavy, pristine white plaster—propped up on a silk ottoman. Despite Maan’s numerous clinical lectures on “cervical alignment” and his insistence that she use the sleek, adjustable aluminum phone stand he’d placed within her reach, Geet had found a much more entertaining setup.

She had her phone perched perfectly in the slight groove of the plaster on her shin. It was the ideal height for mindless scrolling. With a bowl of grapes resting on her stomach, she was deep into an Instagram rabbit hole of "quick dessert" reels and "acting challenges," her thumb rhythmically swiping while she ignored the expensive stand gathering dust on the side table.

"It’s like it was made for this," she murmured, popping a grape into her mouth as she watched a video of a girl struggling to cry on cue. "Maan just doesn't appreciate DIY efficiency."

She was so engrossed in a particularly funny skit that she didn't hear the soft chime of the private elevator. She didn't notice the atmosphere shift until the faint, heady scent of jasmine and expensive leather drifted into her personal space.

"Oh, Geet! Sweetie, be careful—your phone is going to slide right off!"

The voice was melodic, warm, and sang-froid, dripping with the kind of concerned sweetness that made the hair on the back of Geet's neck stand up.

Geet jumped, and as if on cue, the phone lost its precarious balance on the plaster and tumbled into the crevice of the sofa. She struggled to sit up, her movement clumsy and restricted by the heavy cast and her sling.

Standing a few feet away was Priyanka.

She looked effortlessly, dangerously polished. She was wearing a silk, charcoal-colored wrap dress that hit just above the knee—conservative enough for a business meeting, but the way it draped over her curves was a calculated exercise in seduction. Her hair was a perfect, glossy brown curl, and her red-soled heels clicked softly as she took a few steps closer.

"Priyanka," Geet managed, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment as she smoothed her messy hair. "I... I didn't know you were coming."

"Maan mentioned he was working from the penthouse today because he was worried about leaving you 'unsupervised,'" Priyanka said, her smile bright and sympathetic as she reached down into the sofa cushions, retrieved Geet's phone, and handed it back with a gentle, sisterly pat. "I had some urgent contracts for him to sign, and I thought, why not bring them myself and check on our brave little patient?"

She didn't wait for an invitation. She sat on the very edge of the coffee table, leaning in so that her perfume—expensive, sharp, and overwhelming—filled the air between them.

"I was saying to Maan the other day on our call," Priyanka continued, her eyes fixed on Geet with a look of deep, maternal pity, "that it’s so sweet how he’s turned this place into a makeshift clinic. I told him, 'Maan, you shouldn't get so frustrated when she doesn't follow the rules. She's an artist, she doesn't think in terms of logic and recovery protocols like we do.'"

Geet felt a sharp, cold prickle in her chest. The words were phrased as a defense, but they felt like being patted on the head and told she was a child.

"I follow them," Geet said, her voice a bit tighter than she intended. "Most of them."

"Of course you do, honey," Priyanka cooed, her hand resting briefly on Geet's plastered leg. "And don't you worry about all that 'distraction' talk at the office. I’ve been doing my best to tell the board that having you here is just a temporary... well, a charitable project for Maan. He’s always had a soft spot for the underdog."

She laughed—a light, tinkling sound that didn't reach her eyes.

"It’s just that he’s so tensed lately. The profit dip, the investors... I’d hate for him to come out of his office and see you using your medical gear as a phone stand. It just makes him feel like his efforts are being... undervalued. We wouldn't want him to think of his home life as just another 'problem' to solve, right?"

She looked at Geet with an expression of such earnest, well-meaning concern that for a second, Geet wondered if she was the one being overly sensitive. But then Priyanka’s gaze drifted to the door of Maan’s office, her eyes darkening with a look of possessive familiarity.

"Is he in a meeting?" Priyanka whispered, leaning closer, her dress shifting just enough to be distracting. "I should probably go in and save him from his own emails. He gets so moody when he hasn't had his coffee. I’m probably the only one who knows how to handle him when he’s like this."

The atmosphere in the room, once so warm and lazy, had become suffocating. Priyanka hadn't said a single 'mean' word, yet Geet felt smaller, messier, and more like an intruder in her own home than she had since the day she arrived.

+++

Geet gazed at the evening light as it was dying, casting long, skeletal shadows across the penthouse. Inside, the air had turned thick and sickly sweet with the scent of Priyanka’s jasmine perfume—a fragrance that felt like a chokehold compared to the clean, sharp musk that usually defined Maan’s space.

Priyanka didn’t move from the edge of the coffee table. She sat with her legs crossed, the silk of her charcoal dress sliding back to reveal a perfectly toned calf, her posture a silent, mocking contrast to Geet’s sprawled, broken form. She reached out, her manicured finger tracing the edge of Geet’s heavy white plaster with a look of profound, theatrical pity.

“It’s just so… tragic,” Priyanka murmured, her voice a low, melodic hum. “To see you like this. I was talking to Maan that day —well, trying to. He’s so buried in those logistics reports. The three-percent dip has the investors calling for blood, and he’s sitting here, playing nursemaid because he feels… responsible.”

Geet’s grip tightened on her phone. “He isn’t playing nursemaid. He’s working.”

“He’s hiding, Geet,” Priyanka corrected softly, her eyes widening with fake earnestness. “A man like Maan belongs in the boardroom, commanding the room. Instead, he’s tethered to a penthouse because you can’t get to the bathroom without a walker. He’s giving up his reputation, his momentum, his life—bit by bit. And for what? A temporary impulse of guilt?”

She leaned in closer, the gold chain at her neck catching the light. “I read the medical brief Maan left on the counter. Multiple rib fractures, spinal trauma, a shattered wrist. Do you really think bone just… goes back to normal? I have friends in London, specialists. They say trauma like this leaves a ghost in the body. The aches in the winter. The sudden stabs of pain when you move too fast. You’re young now, but in five years? Ten?”

Priyanka’s gaze dropped, traveling slowly from Geet’s messy bun down to the heavy, ugly cast on her leg.

“Maan is an innovator. He likes things that are sleek, functional, and perfect. He doesn’t do well with ‘broken.’ Right now, you’re a novelty—a project for his genius to solve. But what happens when the project is over and the result is… a woman who limps? A woman who winces every time he tries to hold her? A wife who can’t stand through a three-hour charity gala because her spine is screaming?”

Geet felt a cold, hollow ache open up in her chest, far deeper than the pain in her ribs.

“I’ll recover,” Geet whispered, though the words felt like paper.

“Will you?” Priyanka’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial, lethal whisper. “Think about the things Maan won't tell you. A marriage isn't just holding hands, Geet. It’s a partnership. It’s a physical… demand. Maan is a man of intense needs, intense energy. Do you think he wants a life of ‘being careful’? Do you think he wants a bedroom that feels like a recovery ward? Every time he touches you, he’ll be thinking about your pins, your scars, your fragility. The passion will be buried under a layer of clinical caution until there’s nothing left but pity.”

Priyanka stood up then, the silk of her dress whispering against her skin as she began to pace. She looked like the very definition of health and vitality—a woman who could run an empire and a household without breaking a sweat.

“And then there’s the legacy,” Priyanka said, stopping by the window and looking out at the glittering city Maan owned. “The Khurana name isn’t just about money; it’s about a bloodline. It’s about heirs. With your history—the spinal stress, the pelvic trauma from the impact—have you even asked the doctors if you can carry a child? Or are you going to ask Maan to sacrifice his future, his children, just so he can keep ‘fixing’ you?”

She turned back, her expression one of devastating, well-meaning "concern."

“You should really think about whether you’ll ever be able to give him a real family, Geet. Or if you’re just going to be the permanent patient in his house. Because a man like Maan deserves an equal. He deserves a woman who brings a future to the table, not just a list of medical appointments and chronic aches. Don’t you think he’s given up enough for you already?”

The silence that followed was deafening. The words weren’t just a sting; they were a slow-acting poison, designed to make Geet look at her own body and see nothing but a liability.

Geet looked down at her plastered leg. She saw the white, dead weight of it. She felt the dull throb in her side. For the first time, she didn't see her recovery as a journey of strength; she saw it as a countdown to the moment Maan would finally realize he had settled for a broken version of a woman.

“I should go in,” Priyanka said, her tone returning to that bright, helpful honey. “He’s so tensed, I’m probably the only one who can get him to take a break. I’ll make him that Blue Mountain coffee—he always says I’m the only one who knows exactly how he likes it.”

Priyanka stood up with a fluid, feline grace, the silk of her dress catching the dim light of the hallway. She looked back at Geet one last time—a look of profound, staged sympathy—before turning toward the glass-paned doors of the home office.

"Don't let the dark get to you, sweetie," Priyanka whispered, her voice a soft sting. "I’ll see if I can lighten his mood. Men like Maan… they just need someone who speaks their language."

She didn't wait for Geet to respond. She didn't have to. She left Geet suspended in a suffocating silence, the "real family" comment echoing in the vast, empty living room like a death knell. Geet watched the office door open. She saw the warm, golden light of Maan’s workspace spill out into the hallway for a brief second before Priyanka slipped inside and the door clicked shut.

+++

Inside the office, the atmosphere was frozen. Maan sat behind a massive desk of reclaimed oak, surrounded by three glowing monitors displaying a chaotic dance of red and green market data. His tie was loosened, his sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was a mess from where he’d been raking his fingers through it all afternoon.

He didn't look up when the door opened.

"I said no interruptions, Geet. I'm in the middle of a liquidity—"

He stopped, his voice cutting off like a jagged edge as he realized it wasn't the soft, familiar presence of Geet. His brow furrowed into a deep, thunderous frown.

"Priyanka. What are you doing here?"

"Saving you from yourself," she said, her voice dropping into a saccharine, intimate tone. She walked toward the desk, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the coaster beside his mouse. "I brought the Blue Mountain blend. Two grains of sugar, no cream. Just the way you like it when the world is falling apart."

Maan pushed back from the desk, his chair let out a sharp creak. He didn't touch the coffee. "I have an override code for emergencies, Priyanka. A three-percent dip in logistics isn't an emergency. It's an inconvenience. Why are you in my house?"

Priyanka leaned against the edge of his desk—not too close to be inappropriate, but just enough for the scent of her jasmine perfume to invade the sterile, tech-heavy air. She looked at him with a gaze that suggested she was the only person in the world who truly saw him.

"I’m here because your parents are half-distraught, and the board is looking for blood," she said softly, her eyes traveling over his exhausted face. "Maan, we’ve known each other since we were children. We went to the same schools; we breathe the same air. I understand the pressure you’re under. I understand that when the numbers drop, it’s not just business—it’s your legacy."

She let out a small, weary sigh, looking toward the door she’d just walked through.

"It’s hard, isn't it? Trying to maintain this level of excellence while… the hospital visits, the recovery, the constant monitoring. I told the board that you’ve been distracted because of your 'charitable' commitments, but they don't see it that way. They see a leader who has lost his edge because he’s playing protector to someone who… well, someone who simply doesn't belong in this world."

Maan’s eyes narrowed, his gaze turning into flint. "Be very careful, Priyanka."

"I’m being realistic, Maan!" she said, her voice rising in a carefully controlled pitch of 'earnest' concern. "We are of the same class. We understand that some people are meant to be helped, but they aren't meant to be carried. Your parents… they’re terrified. They see you squandering your brilliance on a girl who can’t even hold her own phone. They chose me for you for a reason. Not just because of our families, but because I can stand beside you. I can help you fix that three-percent dip while she’s busy watching Instagram shorts."

She reached out, her hand hovering just inches from his on the desk.

"Your Mom Dad love you. They want you to have a life that isn't a constant series of medical emergencies and social embarrassment. They see what I see: a man who is being dragged down by a weight he was never meant to lift. Maan, you’re an innovator. You’re meant to move forward. How can you do that when you’re tethered to a recovery ward?"

Maan stared at her, his expression unreadable, though the vein in his temple was pulsing with a rhythmic, dangerous tension. He didn't pull his hand away, but he didn't move toward her either.

"You think you understand my dilemma?" he asked, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

"I know I do," Priyanka whispered, leaning in, her eyes shining with the conviction of a woman who believed she was delivering a hard truth for his own good. "Because I’m the only one here who is actually on your side. I’m the only one who brings a future to this table, Maan. Not just a past filled with accidents and drama."

Outside, in the dark living room, Geet sat perfectly still. She couldn't hear the words, but she could see their silhouettes through the frosted glass of the office doors—the way Priyanka was leaning in, the way the two figures seemed to merge in the golden glow.

She looked down at her heavy, white plaster. It looked like a tombstone for her confidence. Priyanka’s words about a "real family" and "legacy" weren't just thoughts anymore; they were a physical weight, pressing down on her chest until she could barely breathe.

She felt like a glitch in Maan’s perfect, high-speed life. And Priyanka was the software update designed to delete her.

+++

Inside the Office

Maan hadn’t said a word in two full minutes.

Not because he didn’t have anything to say—but because Priyanka was talking enough for both of them. Words coated in velvet, syllables dipped in warmth, every sentence expertly designed to sound supportive while reeking of entitlement.

She was still leaning against his desk, her voice soft like poured syrup. “…and I just think, at a time like this, you need someone who gets it. The boardroom pressure, the legacy, the expectations. Someone who can take your 3 a.m. calls, not ask you to explain EBITDA—someone who speaks your language.”

Maan stared at his screen, fingers tented at his mouth. The monitors flickered with charts, but his eyes didn’t move.

He finally spoke—precisely, flatly. “You’re still talking.”

Priyanka blinked. The smile didn’t leave her face, but it cooled by a fraction.

“I’m making a point.”

“No,” Maan said, turning to face her fully now. “You’re making a performance.”

Her lips parted slightly. “Excuse me?”

He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, his elbows resting on the armrests like a man hearing a sales pitch he was about to destroy.

“You walked into my house uninvited. You patronized Geet in her own living room. You brought coffee I didn’t ask for. And now you’re pitching yourself like a quarterly acquisition strategy. Are you done?”

She drew herself taller, eyes flashing. “I’m trying to be supportive.”

“Support,” he said, voice now arctic, “is not hovering over someone’s trauma and calling it a branding problem. It’s not gaslighting a woman who can’t run from the room you’re poisoning.”

Priyanka stepped back slightly, the weight of his words landing like bricks.

“She’s not from our world, Maan,” she tried, quieter now. “You know that.”

“And thank God for that.” He stood up—tall, sharp, untouchable. “Because if she were like you, I wouldn’t be able to breathe in my own home.”

Part 64

A Tough and Selfish Filled Update

Priyanka is back and this time with much more venom

but I'm glad that Maan stood up for Geet

but now Geet herself will feel insecure because of Priyanka's words

just hope Maan can make Geet understand he wants her and only her

Part 64

glad that is recovering well

great that Maan worked at home

well Geet was having a lazy day and enjoying

oh no Priyanka came there

Geet's reaction was justified

of cos Priyanka taunted Maan

hate Priyanka

as expected Geet felt like an intruder in her own home

upset with Priyanka's comments

pleased that Geet was firm

but Priyanka said that Geet was a project for Maan

sad that Geet let Priyanka get to her

now Priyanka tried to instigate Geet

Maan was clearly angry seeing Priyanka

not surprised that his parents sent her there

Maan was furious with her remarks

Geet's thoughts were understandable

admire how Maan dealt with Priyanka

loved his response

hope Geet will not doubt Maan

and he will make her understand

update soon