Page 29 of Glass Jawed

Aarohi

“You’ve lost so much weight, beta !”

My mom’s voice is soaked in pity as she tugs the blouse tight at the seams. The fitting is happening in front of five women—collectively known as the Indian Aunty Circle of Body-Shaming.

It’s like a panel of unsolicited commentary, except no one asked for their opinions and there’s no commercial break.

It’s been three weeks since I landed in Delhi. And we’re here doing final fittings for the family.

Things have been... okay. Peace is taking its sweet time, but it’s getting here. Glacially .

And weirdly, I am happy. Being back feels right.

Also—because even though this is technically an extended vacation—I’m not going back to Toronto .

I accepted the consulting offer in Vancouver. Kashvi was delirious with joy when I told her. She immediately started looking for two-bedroom apartments in the West End so we could move in together.

Since she’s still in Vancouver, she’s handling all the apartment showings herself. Well... not entirely alone. Her “friend” Christian’s tagging along.

I’m not sure how she feels about Liam anymore. She hasn’t mentioned his name once since he left after his Vancouver visit. Which is a stark difference from before—when his name was dropped in almost every conversation like it was punctuation. Now? Radio silence.

Karina and Isaac surprised me the day I was packing up my Toronto apartment. They showed up with coffee, snacks, and bubble wrap. Helped me pack everything up.

I was grateful—until they started talking about the Lamebrains . It took me a second to realize they meant Liam and Lucian.

From what I know, Liam knows he fucked up. And apparently, nothing’s been going on between him and Layla. Not since he met Kash.

I tried telling her that. She shut that conversation down real fast. And I didn’t push. I get it.

Because the moment Karina brought up Lucian ... I did the same.

Kash has been my strength, and it kills me that I can’t be hers in the same way. She’s hurting—I can feel it—but she hides it under sarcasm and vague threats of homicide.

God , I wish she were here right now. She’d verbally suplex this entire aunty conference without spilling her chai.

My eyes drift to Ishika, my cousin—and the bride-to-be. She’s perched in the corner, scrolling on her phone, oblivious to my blouse-induced humiliation.

But then her mom speaks.

“Arrey, Kiki bhabhi , kids these days just want to starve themselves,” Mina Chachi chimes in. My dad’s brother’s wife. Walks like she invented Ayurveda. Talks like she knows the secrets of the universe.

Ishika’s fingers pause on the screen.

Mina Chachi turns her judgmental gaze to me. “Look at Ishi, Rohi. You should get her diet plan. Getting too thin is not good in the long run.”

That’s it.

I see Ishika’s spine straighten like a storm just clicked into place.

“This is a fitting, not a body-shaming seminar,” she snaps. “And she’s fucking gorgeous, Maa.”

Cue the gasp. The drama.

And I know it’s not because she’s been put in place, but because of the dreaded F word.

Mina Chachi clutches her pearls—figuratively. “Ishika! Language! What is wrong with you?”

I want to laugh but I lock my widened stare to the ground.

“You don’t use that word in front of elders,” my mom hisses, aghast.

Aaaand there it is. The new topic of the hour. Now we’re off the body-shaming express and onboard the Moral Decay Express , next stop: Sanskaaron ki Shortage (Shortage of Values).

I sigh deeply. I miss Kash. She and Ishika get along like a house on fire—flames, destruction, and absolutely zero tolerance for bullshit.

She’s arriving in three days.

I’m counting the hours. Literally. Because if I have to survive this vacation-slash-intervention, I need her here. Preferably with snacks and a taser.

Once the fitting is done—for me and the rest of the bridal ensemble—Ishika pulls me aside with a look I know too well.

“Vicky wants us to hang out with his crew tonight,” she says, voice low and conspiratorial.

Vicky, aka Vikram, her fiancé. He’s great. We’ve all known each other for years. Honestly, I’m still surprised it took them this long to finally get engaged. They’ve been dating each other since forever.

“And I need you to wear that grey dress,” she adds with a gleam in her eye. “Oh! And pair it with—”

“The black belt,” I finish with a dramatic eye roll. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

But I narrow my eyes when I catch the way hers sparkle. “What are you up to?”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “All you’ve told me is that you broke up with that Lucy guy—”

I snort.

“—so you’re finally available for Advik.”

“Oh god .” I groan. “Are you serious? Vikram’s brother? Advik? His name’s not even moanable .”

She cackles and starts dragging me by the wrist back to my room—which currently looks like a saari apocalypse exploded inside it.

Apparently, the moment I left for Canada, my childhood bedroom got converted into a storage-slash-drapery-prep zone. Not that I’m complaining. My parents didn’t get rid of the twin bed, so I count that as a win.

“ Behen , you need cheering up,” Ishika says, letting go of me to start sifting through my suitcase. “I can’t have you moping around.”

“I’m not moping,” I mutter, weakly. Convincing exactly no one.

“Please. If you weren’t moping, you’d have jumped in and roasted my mom yourself . Instead of waiting for me to rescue you.”

She’s not wrong. Pre-Tim-and-Lucian Aarohi would’ve verbally tackled Mina Chachi into next week. But lately... the steel in my spine has been less steel, more... melted wax. I’ll bounce back—I know I will—but still. It sucks that Ishika’s the one noticing the cracks.

She’s always been there for me—even though she’s two years older and infinitely more savage when it comes to aunties and men alike.

Now, I really do need to find that stupid grey dress. And if Ishika’s plan is what I think it is... I may need to bring my A-game and impress the hell out of Advik.

He’s thirty-one. Two years younger than Vikram. We were friends during my undergrad years—both living in the same city at the time. We lost touch when work and distance got in the way. Then I moved to Canada and that snapped whatever fraying thread was left.

We’ve never dated. Hell, I’ve never even been single when he was around. And the one time I was, he was seeing someone. Timing was never our strong suit.

I remember the attraction, though. Faint but familiar.

Maybe... just maybe , I need to see him in person to know if anything’s still there. Maybe things will snap back. Or maybe not.

But I could use a night out either way.

??????

“Are you serious?” Advik chuckles into his whiskey before taking a smooth sip.

“I’m not !” I giggle, nearly choking on my drink. “Kashvi was mortified . And it’s been years, and she still can’t stand the damn song—because of you .”

He’s full-on laughing now, deep and rich, the kind that makes heads turn. We’re cuddled into the corner of the booth, legs casually tangled, drinks half-finished. If Ishika weren’t too busy swooning all over Vikram, she’d be insufferably smug right now.

And honestly? She’d deserve it.

Because I was right—the physical attraction? Still very much alive.

Advik’s always been handsome. But now? With the beard, the confidence that comes with thirty-one and knowing exactly how you look in low bar lighting?

Yeah. Woah .

He’s also tall as hell. Taller than Lucian.

But every time I feel myself sinking into the ease of it, something inside me clenches. A low, simmering guilt I keep trying to shove away.

Fuck you, Lucian, I groan internally.

“We have to play that song at the wedding,” Advik says through his laughter, wiping at the corner of his eye.

We’re reminiscing about that infamous Mussoorie trip, years ago. Back when we were a rowdy pack of overgrown recent adults with no clue what we were doing.

Advik had convinced the DJ to play Beedi —Kashvi’s unofficial anthem during her cigarette era. She’d leapt onto a rickety bar table, bud dangling from her lips, and given us the most chaotic, unforgettable dance routine of all time.

I still have the video. She didn’t remember a thing the next day—until I showed her. And naturally, she blamed Advik like it was a criminal offense.

We’re both laughing again when I feel it.

His hand.

Resting on my bare thigh.

My spine prickles. The lightest touch, and yet my brain short-circuits.

Shit.

I glance down. His thumb is drawing soft, barely-there circles just above my knee. The tingles shoot straight up my spine, leaving behind warmth and chaos.

Do I stop it?

Let it happen?

My brain’s melting. And I’m buzzed . So...

I let it.

“I noticed something,” he murmurs, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “This is the first time in eight years we’re both single.”

My eyes widen instinctively, darting toward Ishika. She’s now watching me like a hawk, a triumphant smirk on her lips. Vikram’s oblivious beside her.

I turn back to Advik. Our mouths are maybe an inch apart. Maybe less.

“That’s true,” I whisper. “But... I’m also just coming out of a relationship.”

He nods, slow and deliberate, his nose brushing against mine. “And you’re also not here to stay.” A pause. “So does that mean this —” his hand travels higher, brushing the inside of my thigh “—is off the table?”

Fucking hell.

My breathing hitches.

“Maybe when I’m sober,” I murmur, my voice thinner than I’d like. “Ish.”

He chuckles at that. “Ish.”

Then, so softly it’s almost not there, he kisses the corner of my mouth.

A whisper of touch.

I wait.

Wait for the heat to bloom. For the ache. The pull . The rush of lust and adrenaline that’s supposed to come with moments like this.

It doesn’t.

All that comes is guilt .

A quiet, aching weight in my chest.

And even though I tell myself I shouldn’t feel this way—that I don’t owe Lucian anything—I can’t help it.

I do.

And I hate that I do.

An hour later we’re all outside. The warm night wraps around us, sticky with the hum of traffic and the chatter of late-night crowds.

Connaught Place never really sleeps. Not until at least 3 am. Street vendors still peddle chaat and knockoff sunglasses, rickshaw bells ring somewhere in the background, and the neon shop signs blink with all the confidence of a city that doesn’t give a damn if you’re heartbroken.

We’re all laughing, even Vikram’s other friends—who are halfway into some off-key rendition of a random Hindi song, as we cross the street toward the parking lot.

Ishika sways dramatically beside Vikram, clearly enjoying her role as the “designated driver.”

“Ishi,” I mutter, laughing. “You had water .”

She flails her arms like a dancer mid-tragedy. “Emotions can be intoxicating.”

I’m about to fire back when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist and gently pull me away from the group.

Advik .

He turns me into him, arms slipping around my waist like they’ve always belonged there. “Before you head back,” he murmurs, “let me say this while I still have nerve and alcohol in my system.”

I arch a brow. “Oh, this should be good.”

He grins—lazy, smug. “You look beautiful tonight. You always do. And I don’t just mean aesthetically. You’re... you.”

My chest tightens. He says it like it’s an entire sentence.

“Flattery’s a dangerous game,” I murmur.

“Apparently, I like danger.”

His thumb brushes my cheek. Then the back of my neck. His touch is gentle, but it zings.

And then—he leans in.

This time, it’s not a whisper of a kiss. This one lands fully . Warm, slow. Like he’s hoping it’ll turn into something. His lips taste like cinnamon whiskey and the kind of nostalgia you never quite grew out of. His hands slip reverently along my back, then tangle in my hair.

It’s good.

Enough for my tipsy self.

But—

Then my phone rings.

Or no... it’s Ishika’s phone. Her ringtone slices through the moment.

We part. Breathless. Dizzy.

Ishika’s already holding her phone, frowning as she answers. “Kash, slow down.” Her brows draw together. “What? I don’t understand... um, I don’t know. She’s with me right now.”

My stomach plummets. “What happened?”

I start fishing my phone out of my purse, heart thudding.

Ishika raises a hand, still listening. “ Chillana band kar , Kash. What happened?” Pause. “Okay, okay. Bye.” (Stop screaming, Kash.)

She turns to me with the strangest look.

“What?” I ask, my phone finally in hand.

“Umm...” she hesitates. “She said Lucifer is in Delhi?”

My mouth drops open.

My brain does the translation before I can catch up.

Lucifer is in Delhi?

Lucifer is in Delhi.

Lucian. Fucking. Vale is in my Delhi!

“What the fuck?” I breathe.

I don’t even get time to absorb the atomic bomb she just dropped on me when I feel it.

The burn.

That unmistakable sense of being watched by someone who knows every inch of your body and every crack in your armor.

I turn my head.

And there he is.

Lucian Vale.

Standing at the edge of the parking lot like some rejected historical tragedy, his shoulders tense, his chest heaving, his eyes— oh god, those eyes —devouring me like he hasn’t seen air in weeks and I’m the only thing keeping him upright.

His devastation hits me first. Then his presence. As real and solid as it used to be.

He looks like he hasn’t slept. Or eaten. Or... blinked. Like showing up here has gutted him, and he’s still trying to stand inside the ruins.

I freeze.

“What the fuck is happening,” I whisper.

How did he know where I was?

Advik glances toward him. “Who’s that?”

But I can’t answer.

Because my past has just crash-landed in my present. When I’ve only just gained the ability to walk away.

And now, the fucker has the audacity to look at me like I’m the thing worth crossing oceans for.

Before I know it, I’ve dislodged myself from Advik’s grip. And I’m sprinting toward the asshole.