Page 30 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

When you’ve flown fifteen straight hours, haven’t slept in nearly sixty because your e-visa took its sweet time after your flight was already booked, and then traced her parents’ address through your Amazon account—because she once used it—

And then somehow managed to not get arrested after showing up at her family’s front door, where her mother looked absolutely terrified (because there aren’t many white men running about in the streets of Delhi) until, thankfully, recognition flickered.

She remembered me. From the video calls. From when she’d made Aarohi put me on speaker while she scolded us both about not making our own chapatis and eating store bought naans.

I didn’t expect her to tell me where Aarohi was. But she did—after some convincing.

“But I thought she said you aren’t friends anymore,” she’d looked me up and down with a frown on her face. Apparently “friends” was euphemism for being in a romantic relationship.

I’d cleared my throat. “Yes, ma’am. We’re not. But I... wanted to talk to her.”

I didn’t expect her to look sad but she finally said, “She’s out with her cousin. In Connaught Place.”

She’d willingly given me the name of the bar she was at. I didn’t expect any of this.

But most of all—I didn’t expect to find the love of my life in the arms of another man.

His hand on her waist. Another in her luscious hair.

His tongue halfway down her throat.

And I’m just... standing there. Paralyzed. Not blinking. Because every cell in my body has been hijacked by one thought:

Don’t go over there. Don’t scream. Don’t react. This is what you deserve. Stay hidden as you planned and meet her properly tomorrow.

But I don’t get a chance to run. Because now she sees me.

And whatever was burning through my veins—jealousy, heartbreak, whatever the fuck —I feel it all shrivel under the weight of her furious gaze.

It’s cold enough to split me in half.

I’ve barely blinked, and she’s already in front of me.

Jesus . She’s a goddamn ninja when she’s tipsy-running.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she sneers at me. Her voice is low but sharp, nearly trembling with fury. Behind her, I can see the others starting to approach—her friends, concerned.

I step back a few steps raising my hands in surrender.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I... I didn’t expect you to spot me,” I stammer.

And then he walks over. The guy from earlier. The one who had his mouth on my Rohi—Aarohi. Fuck .

He positions himself right beside her, close enough to scream mine without saying a word.

My stomach twists.

“This is my country. My fucking city. My Dilli !” she growls, pushing me hard enough that I actually stumble back another step. (Dilli is Hindi for Delhi.)

“Rohi, behen ... you’re drunk. Relax ,” her friend—maybe cousin—says gently.

“ Main nahi ho rahi relax . This is Lucifer , Ishi. Lucian,” she cries out. (I’m not relaxing.)

I feel it right in the ribs. Her anger. I shouldn’t have come here like this. I should’ve hidden . Anything but this. Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Yes. You shouldn’t have. Saale, teri himmat kaise hui yahan aane ki?!”

She’s yelling in Hindi now. Fully unfiltered. I can’t understand her. And feeling small that everyone else can .

Ishi crosses her arms, unimpressed, and mutters to me, “She’s basically asking where you got the balls to show up here.”

Fair enough.

Aarohi lunges again, trying to shove me, but her guy— her other guy —wraps an arm around her waist, grounding her. He leans in to whisper something, his voice calm, low... soothing .

I can’t understand a damn thing. Just the soft cadence of a language I don’t know.

And somehow, that stings.

I drop my head, swallowing every word I could say. “I’m sorry, Aarohi. I didn’t come to hurt you. I just—” My throat catches. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” she repeats, laughing now—but there’s nothing funny in it. It’s wild. Frayed. “You hear that?”

She whirls around to her friends, laughing—sharp and breathless—like the punchline to a joke only she understands.

“This man is sorry !” she spits, her voice cracking mid-laugh. Then her smile drops. Her jaw sets like iron.

Christ . It’s like all the pathetic sorrys I’ve kept inside since she prohibited me from saying the word, are pouring out.

“I honestly didn’t expect you to spot me, Aarohi,” I say quietly. “Your... mom said you were here—”

“My mom said?” she snaps, spinning back to face me, voice rising. “Oh my god. Oh my god! Is this your new hobby now? Collecting criminal charges? Gonna add stalking to your rap sheet now?”

I flinch. “No, that’s not—”

“What do you mean criminal charges ?” the guy beside her growls. His voice is edged with protectiveness—maybe even possessiveness .

“It’s fine, Advik,” she says, softer now, but only to him. She barely looks at me.

Then she lifts her chin and levels me with a glare. A single finger rises like a blade, aimed straight at my chest.

“You. Need. To leave. Go back to Canada.”

My throat tightens.

“Listen, man!” another guy pipes up—the one still clinging to Ishi. “You heard her. She said leave . I don’t know who you are, but Rohi’s like a sister to me. Soon-to-be sister-in-law, actually. So maybe walk away before this gets worse.”

I nod, slowly. I can feel it—every stare, every tense posture. The air’s thick with testosterone and barely-contained rage. Every guy here’s ready to throw fists for her.

Including the one who kissed her. Who’s still glaring at me like he wants to kill me.

And Aarohi...

She doesn’t look angry anymore.

She just looks tired.

“Go,” she says finally, her voice quiet, almost weary. “I don’t know why you’re here. And I don’t care.”

That last part guts me.

I swallow the ache, nodding once. “Of course. I’m... sorry I ruined your night.”

Then I turn and walk away.

Because staying would be worse.

And because if I don’t leave now, I might drop to my knees—audience be damned—and start begging for her to listen.

An hour later, I’m back in my hotel room. It’s nice but severely stark. The emptiness—the unfamiliarity—is suffocating.

I’m about to head to bed, maybe start looking for flights when the text comes. It’s her notification tone.

Fuck.

Aarohi: Whyyy did yyoi show up here???

I blink at the screen. Everything is off. She’s probably still drunk. But the anger? Crystal clear.

Me: Because I wanted to see you. I thought maybe if we talked, you’d understand everything better.

A few seconds pass.

Aarohi: I asked alll the questins I had that day.. Remember

Me: I know. But you didn’t ask the why.

Aarohi: what why fuck ypu

I exhale slowly, sinking back into the cheap hotel bed. My head throbs from earlier, from the jet lag, the verbal punches, the regret.

Me: You’re drunk. You need rest. We can talk tomorrow. I’ll be here whenever you want answers.

The typing bubble disappears. Then, my screen lights up—FaceTime Audio. Her name flashes like a warning. Or a lifeline.

I answer. “Aarohi?”

Silence. Just faint rustling. Then... a soft, broken sniffle.

Oh, God.

“Sweetheart,” I whisper, guilt crashing into me like a fucking freight train. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to show up like that. I swear .”

Her voice cuts through the line, jagged and furious. “Then why the fuck were you there?!”

I shut my eyes. Her anger’s a relief. It’s the tears that are shattering me. Bringing my own in their wake.

“I just... I needed to see you. That’s all. Just to look at you. I wasn’t planning on... I didn’t mean to crash your night. I’m sorry. I was going to talk to you properly tomorrow. Your mom said you were out. I swear, Aarohi, I didn’t—”

She groans—a sound between frustration and grief. It rips through me.

“Why, Lucian?” she demands. “Why are you doing this? You vanished for weeks. And now, suddenly—”

“It’s not sudden,” I say quickly. “I wanted to see you every single day. I wanted to beg you to hear me out. But I needed to understand myself first. What I did. Why I did it.”

She goes quiet. Long enough that I think the call’s dropped. But then...

“You’re not going to tell me anything I don’t already know.”

“Aarohi... I was going to explain why I did what I did that night.”

A harsh, bitter laugh. “ Which night? Between the two of us, there are too many fucked up nights. You’ll have to be more specific .”

I clear my throat, trying to sound less like I’m falling apart. “The night you walked in on me and... the woman.”

Her next word is a growl.

“Arghhh! Why, Lucian?! If it wasn’t revenge, then why?! Tell me right now and then book a flight and fucking leave .”

I pause, heart racing with panic. Not at her yelling. At the thought of this being it. The last chance.

“I’ll tell you when you’re not drunk. I promise,” I murmur.

She snorts. “Are you seriously telling me you flew allll the way to India to tell me the reason ?”

There’s a hiccup in her voice.

“No,” I say softly but my voice breaks anyway. “I came because the thought of not being able to touch you, hear you, see you... it gives me a panic attack.”

She goes silent.

“Well... get used to it,” she whispers. “Because I’m not coming back.”

I nod, even though she can’t see it. My voice breaks anyway. “I’ll learn. I will. But right now I just... I needed to breathe long enough to tell you that what happened that night... it wasn’t out of malice.”

I hesitate.

Then—

“Did you get a job here? In India?”

Instant regret. “Sorry. That’s none of my—”

“You think I’ve moved here?” she asks, surprised.

“Yeah...” I admit, quietly.

She lets out a wet laugh. “I’m not moving back here. I can’t afford the student loan on an Indian salary.”

A small spark of something painful and relieved lights in my chest.

“So... you’re coming back?”

“I’m moving to Vancouver.”

My heart sinks. She’s still gone, just not as far as I feared.

“Is it that consulting firm you were interviewing for?” I ask—my voice desolate.

I remember helping her prep. Making spreadsheets of their case study frameworks. Mock interviews.

She hums in confirmation.

“I missed your voice,” I blurt, and wince.

Why can’t I just shut up?

“I miss my voice too,” she mutters. “It’s always angry or sad or something these days.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m—”

“ Sorry , I know,” she interrupts. “You’ve said that word a million times tonight. Are you overcompensating for the day I banned it?”

A sad chuckle escapes me. “Maybe. I so badly wanted to say it then.”

She clears her throat and croaks. “My head hurts. I need to sleep.”

Panic creeps in. It’s such a normal thing to want to hang up after a call. But my heart is interpreting this as loss—like her voice is the only thing keeping me tethered.

“Okay. I’ll... I’ll let you go. But if you’re ever ready to talk about... that, I’ll be here. Always.”

“Hm.”

“I...” I stop. Fuck, almost said it. I love you. It burns the back of my throat. But I can’t. “You should sleep.”

There’s a pause.

“What were you going to say?” she asks, voice soft.

“I don’t think you want to hear it,” I say honestly. Miserably.

“Okay,” she whispers after a beat. “Bye, Lucian.”

“Bye, Aarohi.” I love you.

And then she’s gone.

But for the first time in weeks... she called. She yelled. She talked .

Maybe someday, she’ll listen to my reasons.

And maybe—just maybe —those reasons will give her the peace I never could.