Manan romantic stories

  Chp 3 "Location: “La Belle” Manik’s POV From the outside, La Belle looked like something out of a Parisian dream — pastel pinks, frilly signage, delicate window displays. It screamed high-end French bakery. Naturally, I assumed croissants and éclairs awaited me inside. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. "Why don’t I see any pastries?" Ayan whispered, glancing around the suspiciously lace-covered interior. I frowned, adjusting my ridiculously long scarf (excellent disguise, if I do say so myself). "Maybe it’s one of those themed bakeries. You know... Paris meets eccentric decor?"" "Ayan gave me a look. "There’s a mannequin wearing a bra made of pearls, Jai." I squinted at it. "Limited edition macarons?" He turned to me slowly, deadpan. "Do you even know what macarons are?" I was just about to defend my perfectly valid assumption when— "OHHHH Nandini! This red one is definitely the ‘set-the-mood’ vibe!"" "...

Chp 2 Manik’s POV Peace. A myth in my life Especially not in my office, where I was finally enjoying five glorious minutes of silence, a triple espresso, and an overwhelming Excel sheet—until the door slammed open like an income tax raid. “No,” I said instantly, not even glancing up. Zoya crossed her arms like a melodramatic villain. “I haven’t even said anything yet.” “And yet, I already know it’s going to cost me money, peace, or sanity. Possibly all three.” She flopped onto the couch like she owned the building. “Rude. Also—accurate.” I sighed, finally looking up. “Zoya, I’m in the middle of something important.” “So am I,” she replied sweetly. “It’s for a good cause.” “Whatever it is—no. I won’t say yes, I won’t fund it, and I don’t give you any kind of permission. Also, go annoy Ayan.” Zoya pouted. “He banned me from his cabin ever since I installed a disco light above his desk.” “You also tried to build a nap corner in his conference room!” I pointed out. “Excuse me, tired employ...

Chp 1 Manik’s POV The only sound louder than the clicking of my fingers on the tablet was my father’s impatient spoon tapping against his green tea.   He cleared his throat then, and after waiting a second, threw an apple — which, thanks to his legendary bad aim — hit my tablet.   I’m sure Ruhaan gets those aiming skills from him. “I can hear you, Dad,” I muttered without looking up. “Good. I was making sure your ears still work,” Paramveer Malhotra said smugly, dunking another spoonful of cornflakes into his mouth. “You're always glued to that tab. What’s so urgent anyway?”   Dad said, his tone affectionate with a hint of sarcasm. Before I could retort, Nandini walked in holding my 1.9-year-old tornado of energy.   She greeted Dad, who gleamed like a Diwali diya. “Good morning, princess — and my little lion.” Right then, Mom — Monica Malhotra — entered, elegant as ever in a pastel silk saree, a soft expression on her face. Not the distant social ...