Manan : String Attached From Childhood ❤️

26. Dheere Dheere

The jasmine plant was a small victory, a silent acknowledgment that Nanz hadn't completely walled off her heart. It was enough for Manik to keep going, to continue his patient, almost imperceptible efforts. He understood that she needed space, that any forceful attempt would only push her further away.

He continued his subtle presence in her professional orbit. At industry events, he would maintain a respectful distance, but ensure their eyes met across a crowded room for a brief moment. A nod, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, that conveyed he was there, acknowledging her, without demanding anything. He saw her acknowledge him in return, sometimes with a curt nod, sometimes just by holding his gaze for a fraction of a second longer than she would with anyone else.

Manik also made it a point to subtly praise her work whenever he was interviewed, not just about "Aarav," but about her previous films as well. "Nanz is a visionary," he'd say, "Her understanding of human emotion is unparalleled. Every time I watch her films, I learn something new." He knew she would hear these things, and he wanted her to know that his respect for her talent was genuine, and that he saw beyond the director, to the artist she truly was.

His bandmates noticed the shift. Manik was still the driving force of Fab5, but he was calmer, more reflective. His lyrics, once solely focused on grand narratives of love and rock-and-roll, now had a deeper, more introspective quality. He started writing more songs about quiet resilience, about rediscovering self, and about the complexities of human connection.

One afternoon, Fab5 was rehearsing a new song Manik had written, a mellow, heartfelt track. Cabir listened intently, then stopped. "Bhai, yeh gaana... isme kuch alag hai. Badi shanti hai, aur ek ajab si gehrayi."
Manik just smiled, his eyes distant. "Kuch cheezein waqt ke saath samajh aati hain, Cabir." He was thinking of Nanz, of the quiet strength she exuded, the peace he desperately wanted to find in her.

Meanwhile, in her secluded world, Nandini felt the subtle changes. She saw Manik at events, always distant, always respectful, never trying to corner her. She heard his interviews, his genuine praise for her work. The jasmine plant, still thriving in her office, was a constant, fragrant reminder of a kindness she hadn't asked for, but hadn't rejected either.
It unsettled her. She had built her walls so high, her defenses so strong. She had believed she was immune to him, to anything that reminded her of the past. But Manik's quiet persistence, his subtle respect, was a new tactic, one she hadn't anticipated. It chipped away at her resolve, not through brute force, but like a gentle stream eroding rock over time.

She found herself, at odd moments, thinking of him. Not the arrogant boy who had broken her, but the man who was now patiently, quietly, trying to atone. She watched his interviews online, noticed the new depth in his eyes, the subtle changes in his demeanor. He wasn't just the superstar anymore; there was a humility there, a quiet regret that resonated with the scars she carried.
One evening, after a particularly long day of edits, Nandini found herself playing "Adhoori Kahani" in her private studio. She closed her eyes, letting the lyrics wash over her. His voice, raw and filled with aching sincerity, spoke of lost paths and shattered dreams. And then, the line, kya milega woh purana jahaan phir kabhi?

A tear escaped her eye, unbidden, and traced a path down her cheek. It was a tear not of bitterness, but of a profound sadness, a longing for a past that was irrevocably gone. She missed the old Manik, the one who saw her as his world, not just a "low-class friend." She missed the innocent Nandini, who had never known heartbreak.

The Nanz she had created was powerful, successful, and unyielding. But sometimes, in the quiet solitude of her nights, Nandini wondered if the armor was truly protecting her, or if it was merely trapping her in a gilded cage of loneliness. Manik was trying to reach out, not with demands, but with quiet understanding. And for the first time, a small part of her wondered if, just maybe, it was okay to let a little light in.

The slow burn continues, with Manik's patient approach slowly affecting Nanz, leading to a moment of unexpected vulnerability.
What do you think will be the next step in this delicate dance between them? Will Nanz reach out, or will Manik find an even more direct, yet still gentle, way to bridge the gap?