Page 26 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

I’ve been asked to sit with the rest of the professors and academics. A neat, robed row of polished credentials and uncomfortable chairs. There are four graduate programs seated across the stage. One of them is Aarohi’s.

She’s so far away I have to squint—but even from this distance, she’s unmistakably radiant. She’s glowing .

Her mortarboard is tilted slightly to the left, a glimpse of blue peeking from beneath her gown. Her smile is effortless. She looks... content.

And that’s how she should always look.

It just hurts like hell that I don’t— can’t bring her that contentment.

This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her since she uttered those three words to me. After that, I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t . My heart wouldn’t allow it. That kind of beauty doesn’t belong in a gaze as undeserving as mine.

I remember the moment I brought up the accusation to Alan, my therapist. My throat was raw just saying the words out loud. I waited for his face to twist—maybe in disgust, maybe even judgement.

But he didn’t react. Not the way I expected.

He just looked at me. Steady. Neutral. Waiting.

It was worse than disgust.

Because it meant I had to fill the silence myself. Had to sit in the filth of my own making and actually say it. Name it.

And I did.

And every time I look at her, sitting there with her whole future ahead of her... I feel that weight all over again.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, eyes glued to the figure I’ve missed like a phantom limb. Aarohi.

God, she looks so alive. And I feel like I’ve been rotting inside out. Ever since my session with Alan three weeks ago.

??????

“I need you to help me understand this,” I said. My voice was hoarse, my fingers trembling against the curve of the armrest. “How... fuck! Was it really rape?”

Alan didn’t blink. Just nodded slowly, a silent invitation to go on.

“I didn’t force her,” I muttered, like a defense I already knew would collapse under its own weight. “I didn’t trick her into bed with lies. Not—not exactly . Because I was already real with her by then. And I didn’t pretend to be someone else.”

Alan leaned forward. “You admitted your original intent was to pursue her romantically, with the purpose of hurting her. Correct?”

I nodded, heart thudding painfully. “Yeah, at first. But then things changed.”

“But you didn’t tell her any of that. Not when it started. Not when it changed. Not before it escalated.”

“No. I didn’t,” I admitted, and suddenly the walls were closing in. “But I cared about her. I do. I love her.”

Alan nodded again. Calm. Nonjudgmental. Like he was assessing damage after a car crash.

“Lucian, I’m not a lawyer. But if she came to me for counseling—described your actions, the original intent, the concealment of that intent, and how you leveraged her emotional trust—I would urge her to talk to the authorities. ”

I couldn’t breathe.

Bile surged up my throat, and I swallowed it down with a grimace. “But I didn’t mean for it to be like that. I didn’t think—”

“That’s part of the problem,” he said gently. “You didn’t think. You acted . Alcohol wasn’t the cause but it did impact your emotional regulation. And the harm was done long before you ever realized the truth of your feelings. Long before you... quote unquote cheated on her.”

I shook my head. “Quote unquote? You think it wasn’t cheating?”

Alan tilted his head. “Let’s dig into that. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

“Logically, if it wasn’t cheating, then the relationship wasn’t real . Which would mean the consent for the sex you had was obtained under false pretenses. Which would support the claim of rape by deception. Fraudulent methods to gain consent.”

The ground under me cracked.

“But if you do think it was cheating, that means you were in a real relationship with her—and that you knowingly hurt her anyway.”

My breath stuttered.

“So really, it’s one or the other,” Alan said softly.

A cheater or a rapist?

These are my options?

Something inside me fractured. Shattered. Like the bones of who I thought I was had just given out under the weight of what I’d done.

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t move.

My throat burned. My stomach turned.

And then—too fast to stop—I stumbled to my feet and barely made it to Alan’s wastebasket before the contents of my stomach came up in one violent heave.

For the third time in the past week.

Alan didn’t say a word. Didn’t rush to help.

Just sat there. Letting me fall apart. Letting the truth settle into the hollows of who I was.

Letting it ruin me.

??????

Now, sitting here in the convocation hall with applause echoing off marble and steel, I can barely swallow.

The titles being announced blur together. The sound of her name feels like both a knife and a hymn. I look up.

And for just a moment—one fragile, flickering moment—her eyes meet mine as she makes her walk.

Then they glide right past me.

And somehow, that hurts worse than anything else. Because that means I don’t even matter. My presence isn’t even an inconvenience .

I’m just simply not there.

After the ceremony wraps up—after the applause, the keynotes, the polite nods toward the future—the main hall floods with bodies in motion. Students spill out through every door, some bolting into the evening, others lingering to soak in every second.

A few hold their diplomas in the air like trophies. Most are wrapped in the arms of proud parents and siblings, laughter and chatter echoing through the space.

My eyes scan the crowd automatically.

And then it hits me.

Aarohi’s parents aren’t here.

There’s no one older in her orbit. No flower bouquet held out for her. No sign, no family tears, no overbearing dad complaining about the drive. Just... friends.

Is she okay?

Did she expect them and they just didn’t come?

I don’t let myself spiral too far, because in a matter of seconds, I’m cornered.

A professor I only half-remember shakes my hand, complimenting my lectures from last fall.

A student I vaguely recall says they loved the “product ethics” session.

I nod. Smile. Thank them. Pretend I belong in this moment.

I don’t.

Not with what I did. Not with what I am.

When I break away, I search for her again. I spot Katie first, animated in a conversation by the side doors. But Aarohi isn’t with her.

And then I see her.

There she is.

Glowing... again. In a sea of gowns and camera flashes. Her mortarboard’s still crooked and she’s smiling that small, polite smile I know isn’t always joy.

She’s surrounded. A group of four people. And Akshat is right beside her— too fucking close. His hand is nearly grazing the small of her back. The sight punches me clean in the gut.

I try to control it. The jealousy. I try to play it cool like I deserve to stand here and be human. But inside? My entire ribcage is a furnace. My throat is dry. My hands are shaking.

I walk a few steps closer.

Close enough to hear.

Close enough to ruin myself.

“...better to leave. Toronto isn’t helping.”

That’s Aarohi’s voice.

“Honestly? Yeah. The job market sucks here,” Akshat replies.

“Oh that’s so true,” she continues, voice light but final. “But I can’t wait to go back. I miss home. Delhi will help.”

She smiles. They keep talking. But I can’t hear the rest.

Because her words have detonated something inside me.

She’s leaving?

She’s leaving .

Delhi. Home.

She’s going back to India.

I feel the panic clawing up from the pit of my stomach, cold and sharp. Like metal scraping bone. My ears ring. I think I might just pass out.

She’s leaving this city.

Not just this city—this country .

This continent .

And I... I didn’t even know.

There’s no reason she would tell me. Of course not. But still—I feel like the floor just opened beneath me and I’m spiraling through air I can’t breathe. The silence in my head is deafening. No thoughts. No solutions. Just gone. She’ll be gone .

Out of my reach.

Out of my orbit .

Forever .

I try to step back, to disappear into the crowd, to shove the panic down somewhere deep where it won’t hum so loud in my ears.

But I’m too slow.

Because her eyes catch mine.

Shit.

Her gaze flicks over lazily at first—just scanning—and then lands on me. Pauses. Registers.

And that’s when I realize—she sees me.

No flash of recognition. No warmth. No flare of shock or curiosity. Just... awareness.

She straightens a little and tilts her chin up, poised in that way only Aarohi can manage when she’s shoving every ounce of emotion behind a wall of polite detachment. Then she offers a small smile. Professional. Cold. Surgical.

“Mr. Vale,” she says lightly, like she’s addressing a coworker in a meeting.

Not Lucian.

Not even Lucian Vale.

Just... a pathetic Mr. Vale. What she called me when we reconnected that first time.

And fuck , it guts me raw.

Akshat glances at her, then me, then back at his family, still smiling, oblivious. They seem to expect something. Maybe a friendly exchange. A polite conversation. I don’t know.

But I can’t give them anything. I can’t even breathe.

Because suddenly the hall feels like it’s closing in on me. People are looking. My throat’s tightening. The buzz of voices fades to a high-pitched whine.

I’m halfway to hyperventilating and trying to make it look normal. Like I’m just warm. Just stepping outside.

I nod, once, at her greeting.

And then I leave.

Quickly.

Before the panic swallows me whole.