Romance FF
Bigg Boss 20: Daily Discussion Thread- 7th Sept 2026
Whom did you support in previous seasons?
JEEVAN SANGINI-Season 2
Eiffel Tower Hungama: Sadhus Visit, Disgrace or Dignity to Religion?
chapter 15
The title made it seem like they would want to throw her out. Naina's father would like that.
But his family is actually disappointed with Maan and what he did. Loved dadi. She threw Maan out for the night and accepted Geet as the daughter of the house.
Naina does not seem like a bad character. She might be shocked but she does not seem to hold any grudge against Geet.
Geet woke slowly.
For several seconds, she did not know where she was.
The ceiling was unfamiliar. So were the curtains, the pale morning light spreading across the carpet, the muffled sounds beyond the bedroom door of a house that had apparently been awake for some time without her.
Then memory returned.
Not gradually.
Naina.
The land.
Maan.
I married her for the land.
Fine.
She can leave tomorrow.
Geet opened her eyes fully.
Morning had not repaired anything.
That seemed almost offensive.
Sunlight should not have been allowed to fall so normally across a room after a night like that. Somewhere outside, birds were making an unreasonable amount of noise. A door closed along the corridor. Someone laughed faintly downstairs.
The house had gone on.
Her phone remained facedown on the bedside table.
She did not touch it.
Mehek knew she had reached Delhi safely. That was all. As far as Shimla was concerned, Geet had married Maan, travelled to his family home and spent her first night there as his wife.
A perfectly ordinary beginning.
Geet sat up.
The chair near the window was empty now. A folded throw rested over one arm.
Rhea had gone sometime after Geet finally fell asleep.
For a moment Geet simply stared at the chair.
The woman had actually stayed.
All night.
They did not know each other. Geet had not asked her to stay. Rhea had not made a declaration about it or explained why she was doing it. She had settled into the chair, pulled the throw around herself and remained there until sometime after Geet's exhausted body had finally given in.
Geet looked away before the thought could become anything larger.
Then she got out of bed.
Her body worked more easily than it had the previous night. There was no strange delay between deciding to move and actually moving. She could stand without having to think through every part of standing.
That felt like progress.
A very small kind.
But hers.
The mirror was set into the wardrobe door.
Geet stopped in front of it.
The woman looking back at her did not resemble someone whose life had broken open twelve hours earlier.
That was almost insulting too.
Her hair was flattened slightly from sleep. There were faint shadows beneath her eyes. Her face looked pale.
Otherwise, she looked ordinary.
Twenty-one.
Too young, suddenly.
The mangalsutra still rested against the soft cotton she had changed into during the night. A faint trace of sindoor remained at the parting of her hair.
Yesterday morning, she had touched that same place in the car.
Is this too much?
Maan had looked at her as though the question itself made no sense.
No.
Geet stared at herself.
She still did not know what came next.
Shimla?
Here?
Somewhere else?
She did not know what she would eventually tell Uncle. Did not know how she would explain any of it to Mehek. Did not know what the people downstairs would think now that daylight had arrived and the anger of the previous night had cooled.
Perhaps Daadi's declaration had belonged to that anger.
Then this is your family.
Perhaps it had been kindness.
Perhaps responsibility.
Perhaps wealthy families were simply very good at handling humiliation elegantly: put the girl somewhere comfortable, feed her, behave decently, and decide what to do with her once everyone had slept.
Geet had no way of knowing.
Worse, she was no longer entirely certain she trusted herself to know.
She had trusted Maan.
Not blindly.
That was the part that hurt.
She had watched him.
Measured him in a hundred tiny ways.
She knew the difference between the voice he used on business calls and the one he used when he wanted to make her laugh. She knew his arrogance, his impatience, the ridiculous confidence with which he approached problems as though most of them would eventually surrender if he simply attacked hard enough.
And beneath all of it, Geet had believed one thing.
Whatever else Maan Khurana was, he was not false with her.
Now even that certainty had been ripped open.
Maybe the trembling fingers at the registrar's office had been real.
Maybe the way he had looked at her in her mother's sari had been real.
Maybe the hotel room had been real.
His hand beneath the blanket.
The ridiculous revision cards.
The quiet moments when he had seemed less like Maan Khurana and simply like Maan.
Maybe all of that had been real.
And still, before he had asked her to marry him, he had known.
Known about the land.
Known what marriage would change.
Known what access it would give him.
And had let her walk into it without knowing.
Geet's gaze dropped.
The gold against her throat suddenly felt enormous.
Yesterday, it had meant she was his wife.
Today, she looked at it and could think only of the sentence that had broken everything.
I married her for the land.
Her hands rose behind her neck.
This time they did not hesitate.
Her fingers found the clasp.
For one terrible second, she remembered Maan fastening it.
His concentration.
That tiny betraying nervousness in a man who otherwise carried himself as though very little in the world had the power to unsettle him.
The memory hurt so sharply that she almost stopped.
She didn't.
The clasp opened.
The mangalsutra slipped into her palm.
Small.
Light.
Almost nothing compared with what it had meant yesterday.
Geet stared at it.
A thought came with such cold clarity that it frightened her.
If the husband was never really mine, how could the things that came with being his wife be mine?
Her fingers closed around the chain.
No.
It wasn't hers.
Not really.
Not anymore.
Perhaps never.
The mangalsutra had come with Kian.
With the marriage.
With the name.
With the illusion that she had been chosen for herself.
If that illusion had been built around land, then what exactly was she supposed to do with the symbols that had come with it?
Carry them back to Shimla?
Keep them carefully wrapped among her own things?
As though they belonged to her?
As though the marriage had?
Geet looked toward the dresser.
Then she opened the top drawer.
The green sari lay folded inside.
Maan had given her that too.
She had once looked at it differently.
As something from him.
Something chosen for her.
Something that belonged to this strange, breathless new life into which he had pulled her.
Now the sight of it made something inside her go still.
She lifted it out.
The fabric slid over her hands, soft and beautiful and suddenly unbearably foreign.
For a moment she remembered him giving it to her.
Remembered the ease with which he had begun placing things into her life as though there would always be more time.
As though there would be years.
As though she had actually become part of something.
Geet folded the sari again.
Carefully.
Then placed the mangalsutra on top of it.
Not thrown.
Not discarded.
Returned.
That was what it felt like.
Not to Maan directly.
Not even consciously to the family downstairs.
Simply back where they belonged.
In the Khurana house.
Among Khurana things.
Symbols of a marriage she no longer knew how to call hers.
Her hand remained on the edge of the drawer for a moment.
If he was never mine, none of this was mine either.
Then she pushed it shut.
The sound was soft.
Final enough.
She went into the bathroom.
Cold water ran over her fingers.
Geet wet the edge of a cloth and wiped the vermilion from the parting of her hair.
Once.
A faint red smear remained.
Again.
The colour thinned.
Again.
Until nothing remained except the clean line of her own hair.
She rinsed the cloth.
Red bled into the water, diluted, disappeared.
Geet watched until the water ran clear.
Then she looked up.
Just Geet.
Not a bride arriving proudly at her husband's home.
Not Maan Khurana's wife.
Not the girl who had believed that a man like him had looked across every possible life available to him and chosen hers.
Just Geet.
She gripped the edge of the basin.
I am not your wife anymore.
Legally, that was probably nonsense.
She didn't care.
You are not my husband.
Her throat tightened.
You are not my love anymore.
No.
The lie appeared immediately.
Mira closed her eyes.
Fine.
Not that.
You will not be my love anymore.
That she could promise.
Eventually.
Perhaps.
She opened her eyes again.
You do not get to be my person anymore.
Clearer.
You are not my home.
That hurt enough to make her fingers tighten around the basin.
She breathed through it.
She had been alone before Maan.
She knew how.
Parents gone too early.
A room in somebody else's house.
Knowing Uncle loved her and knowing, simultaneously, that the house itself had never felt completely hers.
Being useful.
Being grateful.
Being careful.
Not asking twice.
Then Maan had arrived and offered her a word she had never realized contained so much seduction.
Wife.
Chosen.
Someone's own.
And she had believed him.
That was the humiliation beneath everything else.
Not that she had wanted too much.
That she had believed she had finally been given something that could not be taken away by someone else's mood, someone else's permission, someone else's decision.
A husband.
A home.
A place that was hers because someone had chosen her.
And now even that choice had a piece of land buried inside it.
Geet looked at herself.
No.
She would not beg for that again.
Not from Maan.
Not from Uncle.
Not from Sunita aunty.
Not from the people downstairs.
Not from anybody.
If someone wanted her in their life, there would be room.
If there wasn't, she would survive.
She had survived before.
Geet changed into simple clothes.
Nothing ceremonial.
Nothing selected because she thought Kian's family might approve of it.
When she was ready, she looked once toward the dresser.
The drawer was closed.
The mangalsutra was inside.
So was the green sari.
She did not open it again.
Then Geet opened the door.
A girl was sitting on the broad window ledge opposite her room with one leg tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone.
She looked up immediately.
Geet recognized her vaguely from the chaos of the previous evening.
The girl stood.
"Morning."
"Morning."
"I'm Tara."
A pause.
"Maan's cousin. Viren's daughter. I'm telling you now because otherwise you'll spend the next month smiling politely at people and wondering whose children they are."
Something almost shifted inside Geet.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Daadi sent me."
Geet's stomach tightened before she could stop it.
Tara noticed.
"For a house tour," she added.
Geet stared.
"House tour?"
"She says you'll get lost."
"She said that?"
Tara's mouth twitched.
"Her actual sentence was something closer to, 'Someone show the girl where she lives before she starts asking permission to walk through her own house.'"
Geet went still.
Tara's expression changed slightly.
But she did not explain Daadi's words for her.
Didn't say she likes you.
Didn't say see, you're family.
She simply slipped her phone into her pocket.
"Breakfast?"
"I'm not very hungry."
"That's fine. Rhea said you barely ate last night, so apparently I've also been assigned-"
She stopped herself.
"Actually, never mind. That sounded like surveillance."
A tiny breath escaped Geet.
Almost amusement.
Tara brightened but, to her credit, didn't comment on it.
"Come."
The Khurana house looked different in daylight.
Still enormous.
Nothing could save it from that.
But less like a monument.
Geet noticed things she had missed the previous evening.
A schoolbag abandoned beside an antique console table. A cricket bat leaning against an umbrella stand. Two pairs of children's shoes beneath a bench. A half-finished puzzle occupying one end of a sitting-room table that probably cost more than Uncle's car.
A charging cable stretched inelegantly across furniture that looked as though it belonged behind velvet ropes.
Someone had left a glass of water on the floor beside a sofa.
People lived here.
That should not have surprised her.
It did.
A boy of perhaps twelve came running down a corridor, saw Geet and stopped so abruptly that his socks nearly betrayed him on the polished floor.
He recovered with great dignity.
"Hi."
"Hi."
"Tara, Ma said-"
He looked at Geet again.
"You're Maan bhai's wife."
The words struck harder than the boy could possibly have intended.
Tara said his name sharply.
"Arjun."
"What?"
Geet looked at him.
His curiosity was so completely unguarded that she couldn't even resent it.
"I'm Geet."
He nodded seriously.
"I'm Arjun."
Apparently satisfied that introductions had repaired everything, he turned immediately back to Tara.
"Ma said tell you Rohan took my charger again."
"Why is that my problem?"
"Because you're older."
"That's not how authority works."
"Tell him that."
He disappeared around the corner.
Geet stared after him.
Tara sighed.
"Welcome."
Against her will, Geet almost smiled.
The family kitchen appeared around another corner.
Large.
Warm.
Busy.
Someone was arguing about toast.
A younger boy sat at the counter eating cereal while reading something on a tablet. The cook stood near the range, speaking to another member of staff.
And Rhea was sitting at the counter with tea.
Geet recognized her immediately.
Rhea looked younger in daylight than she had during the previous night's chaos. Around Maan's age, perhaps. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she was wearing clothes so casual Geet would not have considered them appropriate outside a bedroom at Uncle's house.
"There she is."
Geet stopped.
Rhea smiled.
Not too widely.
"I'm Rhea properly, since I don't think last night counted as an introduction."
Geet nodded.
"Maan's cousin?"
"By marriage. I married one of the older ones."
"One of the boring ones," Tara supplied.
A man's voice came from behind them.
"I leave for twenty minutes and this is what Tara tells people about me?"
Geet turned.
The man walking into the kitchen looked a few years older than Maan, already dressed for work, his tie still loose around his collar. He went directly to Rhea, stole a piece of toast from her plate and kissed the top of her head before looking at Geet.
Rhea pointed at him.
"This is Samar. Maan's older cousin. My husband."
"Usually in that order in this family," Samar said.
Rhea gave him a flat look.
"Not if you want to remain married."
Something caught inside Geet at the word.
Married.
Samar noticed.
The easy amusement in his face changed-not dramatically, but enough. Whatever joke might have followed disappeared with it.
Instead, he looked at Geet and said simply, "Good to meet you."
"You too."
And that was it.
No questions.
No careful condolences.
No attempt to explain Maan.
Tara, apparently unwilling to let him escape entirely, added, "Still boring."
Samar looked at her.
"You've been waiting all morning to say that, haven't you?"
"Since breakfast."
"Tragic use of potential."
Rhea sighed. "Ignore both of them."
Samar reached for another piece of toast.
Rhea slapped his hand away.
"Get your own breakfast."
"I am."
"That is mine."
He looked at the plate sitting barely a foot away from him.
"Yours was closer."
Rhea pushed the other plate toward him.
"A devastating obstacle overcome."
Samar grinned, took it, and the conversation moved away from Geet.
She was grateful.
The cook noticed her then.
"Good morning, madam."
Tara groaned.
"No."
Everyone looked at her.
"She's twenty-one."
The cook looked amused. "And?"
"You're making her sound forty-seven."
Geet almost smiled.
Rhea asked, "What does everyone call you at home?"
"Geet."
"There. Geet."
The cook nodded.
"Geet."
Something about hearing her own name-not Mrs Khurana, not wife, not daughter in law, not anything borrowed from Maan-settled pleasantly.
Then Devika entered.
Geet straightened automatically.
Maan's mother saw it.
Her gaze went first to Geet's face.
Then, briefly, to the bare parting.
The bare throat.
She saw.
There was no possibility she didn't.
Something passed over Devika's expression and disappeared before Geet could identify it.
She said only, "Good morning."
"Good morning."
"Did you sleep?"
"A little."
Devika nodded.
No question about the mangalsutra.
No pain displayed on behalf of her son.
No request that Geet reconsider anything.
Instead she looked toward Rhea.
"Find out what she likes."
Rhea blinked.
"What?"
"Food."
Devika glanced toward the cook.
"He asked what to make tomorrow. Nobody knows what she eats."
Geet opened her mouth.
"Anything is fine."
Four people looked at her.
Tara pointed.
"That is exactly what everyone said you'd say."
Geet frowned.
"Who is everyone?"
"Approximately half the house."
"Tara," Devika said.
"What? They did."
Rhea laughed.
Devika looked at Geet again.
"Anything isn't an answer."
"I genuinely eat anything."
"Favourite."
Geet stared.
For some reason, the question felt much more difficult than it should have.
Favourite.
As though preference itself deserved accommodation.
Tea instead of coffee.
This instead of that.
Something chosen simply because Geet liked it.
Rhea must have seen something change in her face.
"We can start easier. Tea?"
"Tea."
"Sweet?"
"A little."
"Breakfast?"
Geet hesitated.
"Um... anything."
Tara immediately cut in. "Okay. Different approach. Eggs?"
Geet made a small face before she could stop herself.
"I eat eggs," she admitted, "but I don't really like them."
"Excellent. Progress."
Tara was already typing into her phone.
Geet stared at her.
"What are you doing?"
"Documenting."
"What?"
"Tea. Slightly sweet. Eggs tolerated but not appreciated."
"Stop."
"Too late."
Rhea laughed.
Geet looked between them, half appalled and half amused.
"You're actually writing this down?"
Tara glanced at her screen. "Would you prefer we continue interrogating you every morning?"
"There has to be a third option."
"There probably is. I'm ignoring it."
For the first time since yesterday, a small laugh slipped out of Geet without permission.
It startled her.
Everyone else behaved as though nothing remarkable had happened.
That made it easier.
Devika turned toward the cook.
"Ask her properly later. Make something she actually likes tomorrow."
Geet immediately said, "You don't have to."
Devika looked at her.
The sentence sat between them.
Geet felt herself becoming careful again.
Devika's expression softened.
Only slightly.
"I know."
Nothing else.
Yet something about those two words made Geet look at her again.
Devika had already turned toward the counter.
The tour became less of a tour and more of an accidental procession.
Rhea joined them.
Then Arjun reappeared because apparently his charger dispute remained unresolved.
Then another boy joined long enough to accuse Arjun of being the person who had stolen somebody else's headphones first.
An older male cousin came through in work clothes, stopped when he saw Geet, introduced himself and hurried toward a call.
Someone's little girl ran past carrying one shoe.
Nobody appeared particularly concerned about the missing second one.
An older woman intercepted them near the stairs.
"I'm Kavita."
"Maan's bua," Tara supplied. "His father's sister."
Kavita looked offended.
"I can introduce myself."
"You were taking too long."
Kavita ignored her and looked Geet over once, openly.
Not cruelly.
"Pretty girl."
Geet's face warmed.
"Tara said you're twenty-one?"
"Yes."
Kavita's expression shifted.
"Twenty-one."
Something about the repetition made Geet feel younger.
Before she could interpret it, Kavita touched her forearm lightly.
"Come sit with me sometime when this one isn't dragging you around like a museum exhibit."
"I am literally following Daadi's orders."
"That doesn't make you less annoying."
Tara looked at Geet.
"You see what I live with?"
Geet smiled despite herself.
Further along came Anjali, Viren's wife.
Then another cousin.
Then somebody's husband.
Then two children whose exact parentage Geet lost immediately.
The family tree disintegrated inside her head within twenty minutes.
"I'm sorry," she finally said after calling one aunt by another aunt's name.
Rhea waved it away.
"Nobody expects you to know."
"I should."
"Why?"
Geet didn't have an answer.
Tara supplied one.
"You met forty people during the worst evening of your life."
Silence.
Tara's face changed immediately.
"I shouldn't have said-"
"It's fine."
The word escaped Geet automatically.
Everyone stopped.
Geet heard it too.
Fine.
Her stomach tightened.
Rhea stepped in without looking at her.
"Excellent. You've officially forgotten Kavita bua twice, which means you've achieved what took me six months."
From behind them, Kavita called:
"I heard that."
The moment moved on.
Geet was grateful.
They showed her the terrace.
A smaller courtyard.
A music room apparently nobody used for music.
And eventually a family library considerably less pristine than Geet had expected.
Several books were stacked horizontally because nobody had bothered arranging them properly. A child's drawing had somehow become a bookmark in an enormous history volume. One armchair had a tear in the upholstery that had been repaired badly enough to suggest somebody in the family had insisted on doing it themselves.
Geet moved automatically toward one shelf.
Her fingers brushed a spine.
Then stopped.
"Can I-"
Rhea looked at her.
"Can you what?"
Geet felt foolish.
"Take one?"
Tara blinked.
"Yes?"
"For upstairs."
"That's generally what books are for."
Geet looked toward the doorway.
"Do I need to ask someone?"
"No."
Rhea was watching her now.
Noticing.
Geet disliked being noticed.
She withdrew her hand.
"I'll take it later."
Rhea said nothing.
But something in her expression suggested the moment had not been forgotten.
By lunchtime, Geet had retained perhaps six names correctly.
She had also learned that Tara hated papaya, that one uncle refused to use messaging apps properly, that Arjun believed every scientific discipline eventually led to dinosaurs, and that Rhea had once spent forty minutes wandering through the wrong wing of the house during her first week because she had been too embarrassed to admit she had forgotten where her room was.
"Why didn't you ask?" Geet said.
The words left her before she noticed the irony.
Rhea looked at her.
Then smiled.
"Exactly."
Geet looked away.
Rhea didn't push.
They ate in the smaller dining room.
Someone asked Geet about college.
Someone else asked what she studied and visibly regretted it when Arjun immediately leaned across the table.
"Can you make dinosaurs?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Several reasons."
"Could you if you were really smart?"
"No."
"What about a small one?"
Geet stared at him.
Tara leaned toward her.
"Say yes. We can ruin his parents' week."
A laugh escaped Geet.
Properly this time.
Not loudly.
But enough.
And then guilt arrived almost immediately.
As though laughing meant she had forgotten Maan.
As though grief required uninterrupted loyalty.
Geet's smile disappeared.
Rhea glanced at her.
Nothing in her face said good, you're recovering.
She simply reached for the water and asked Arjun why he wanted a dinosaur when he couldn't remember to charge his own tablet.
The table moved on without waiting for Geet to explain herself.
That helped.
Part 17
Unsettling yet Amazing Update
Geet now has taken off her mangal sutr and perhaps that will give relief
not to feel it and think of Maan betraying her
Devika seeing Geet without marriage symbols understand but also she must
have felt disappointed with Geet removing it on her first hurdle in her marriage
Tara and Rhea I think will be Geet's closest in the family
I think once Geet settles and Maan speaks to her maybe than she would understand
much better and hurt less hopefully
Here is the link to the story, if you have not already read it. https://www.indiaforums.com/forum/post/164148836 I have too much in hand as of...
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