Page 34 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

He’s honestly a chill guy. The second Ishika introduced me to her fiancé, he pulled me into a full-blown strategy conversation like we’d been work bros for years. He’s a management consultant, so between that and my start-up experience, we’ve been exchanging war stories for the past thirty minutes.

It’s late morning now and the post-breakfast chaos is finally calming down. Mina Aunty—aka Ishika’s mother and general-in-command —had sent me on an errand run earlier. I agreed enthusiastically. Not that there was anything to agree to. I was told, not asked .

Because apparently, I’m now the resident white boy with a strong back.

The boxes were heavy. The boxes inside the boxes were heavier. All of them filled with sweets so rich I think I absorbed calories just breathing near them.

But the laddoo reward? Worth it. She literally fed it to me like a golden retriever that fetched a stick.

I’ve also made some key discoveries today.

Advik—yes, that Advik—is Vikram’s younger brother. And Navya, the girl who tried to imprint on me last night, is their cousin. She’s still prancing around with far too much energy and far too little subtlety, occasionally casting long glances my way. It’s... unsettling .

“Almost 50% in Ontario, yeah,” I tell Vikram, shifting my weight as I lean against the stone ledge near the garden. “But BC’s a tougher nut to crack. Different veterinary systems. Also, the pet population skews differently. We’re adapting.”

He nods, genuinely impressed. “That’s awesome, man.”

It still surprises me—how early people start drinking here. It’s not even noon and I’ve seen whiskey, beer, vodka, and something suspiciously pink just floating about. Honestly? I’m tempted. Really tempted.

But I don’t. I won’t . One sip will be a full drink. One drink will be three. And I didn’t claw my way out of that pit just to fall back in.

So, I sip my iced tea. It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it’s cold and perfect, and no one questions me.

“Hey, have you been to Greece?” Vikram asks.

Before I can answer—the glass is snatched from my hand.

I flinch—because apparently that’s my new default reaction. Fight, flight, or flinch .

I turn.

Aarohi .

She’s glaring suspiciously at the glass like it offends her. She brings it to her nose and takes a deep inhale like a wine snob at a sommelier’s competition.

And then— then —she takes a sip. A full one. Squints. Smacks her lips. Once. Twice. She looks fucking adorable.

“Did I pass your inspection?” I whisper only for her ears as I smile at her.

She doesn’t look at me. Simply nods to herself like a queen has approved the poison-free wine... and hands it back to me.

Then, without a word, she turns and skips away.

Vikram’s eyebrows climb so high they nearly reach his hairline. “What the hell was that ?”

I can’t stop grinning—my gaze locked on her. “I guess she likes iced tea.”

I watch her rejoin Ishika and both sets of parents, her green dupatta swaying behind her. There’s something light about her today. Her face looks a little less tired. Her eyes a little less guarded. And somehow, I feel a little less like the villain in this story.

Kashvi’s nowhere to be seen, which is a shame. I wanted to talk to her— thank her, maybe, or ask her what Aarohi’s not telling me. But also... because Liam’s not doing great.

And neither am I.

But right now? I have iced tea, laddoo breath, and the ghost of her lips on the rim of my glass. And I can rejoice in the fact that she cares . Just a bit, at least.

I’ll take the win.

I’m still riding the high from her little iced-tea taste test—when I miss the incoming threat.

Advik strolls over, casual as hell, and drops an arm around Vikram’s shoulder like we’re all old pals at a reunion.

“You’re Lucifer,” he says, eyeing me with a half-smile.

My grip tightens around the glass. I force a polite smile. “Apparently.”

I don’t mind Aarohi calling me that. Or even Ishika or Kashvi—when they say it, it’s teasing. Personal. But this guy? He doesn’t get to use it. Not when the way he says it makes me feel like I should grow horns and burn the farmhouse down.

Advik’s not even doing anything overtly threatening. Just existing . Well... existing too close to Aarohi. Existing like he belongs in a way I no longer do.

The jealousy creeps in every time this chutiya is near my Ro—Aarohi. But I can’t do jack shit about it. It’s unreasonable. And useless.

Also yes! I’ve learnt a nice little Hindi cuss word— chutiya . I overheard Kashvi calling me that. And Vikram confirmed that it is indeed an insulting word—loosely translating to cunt. I’ll take it. But I’ll also pass it the fuck on.

Vikram mentioned earlier that they’ve all known each other for almost a decade. Jesus. I can’t compete with that kind of history. I’ve only known her for a fraction of that time—and for some of it, I was lying .

“Thought you’d have taken off already,” Advik says. “Figured after that night in Delhi, you’d leave with your tail between your legs.”

I don’t flinch. I don’t even blink.

“Advik,” Vikram warns gently.

I stay calm. Controlled. I’ve rehearsed this kind of thing in my head a thousand times. It’s easier when I remember that I did fuck up. Deserve some of the heat.

“When a man makes a mistake,” I say quietly, “he owes it to the person he hurt to apologize. Properly .”

I sip my iced tea. “And my tail’s staying right where it is, thanks.”

Advik raises a brow. “You think she’ll forgive you for what you did?”

The breath catches in my throat. My jaw locks.

She told him? Of course she did. It’s her story. But still—knowing it came from her lips to his ears cuts deeper than I expected.

I answer anyway. “I’m not here for forgiveness. I’m here to—”

“You hear this guy?” Advik scoffs, turning to Vikram. “He cheated on her and now—”

“Stop,” Vikram’s voice is firm.

But my stomach drops.

Cheated.

Technically... sure. But the truth is uglier . And heavier. And something I doubt either of them knows in full. Not unless Aarohi told them everything—which, judging by Vikram’s expression, she hasn’t.

Vikram holds a hand up. “Advik. Back off. We don’t know the whole story, okay?”

“No, but I know enough to know he should stay away,” Advik mutters.

I clench my jaw. I want to fight it. Defend myself. Say, You don’t know anything. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw or feel what I felt. You don’t know how badly I’m trying to fix myself.

There’s always this gnawing feeling where I want to shout at anyone who’d listen— I know what I did. I know what I lost. And I’m sorry. But also, I can’t fucking unlove her.

But what would be the point?

Instead, I look away, scanning the crowd until I spot Raj uncle waving at me from across the courtyard.

Saved by the dad.

“I should...” I lift my glass slightly in a gesture and step back from the brothers.

But just as I turn away, I hear Advik mutter under his breath—almost sadly, “He really needs to leave her alone, bro.”

I keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t rise to it. But each step feels heavier.

Because he’s not wrong .

I should leave her alone. I’ve done enough damage to last a lifetime.

But she asked me to stay.

And for once in my life, I’m going to listen to the woman I love.

So I’ll stay.

Even if it hurts like hell. Even if every look from her burns. Even if every look she gives him— guts me.

By the time evening rolls around, the courtyard and center hall are nearly empty. I assume most people have disappeared to get ready for the first of many wedding functions— Sangeet .

Apparently, the word means song . Traditionally, it’s hosted separately for the bride’s and groom’s sides, but this family’s decided to go full Bollywood and combine it into one massive musical.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if fog machines and backup dancers appeared.

I’ve spent the past few hours helping a rotating cast of uncles from both sides haul chairs, lift crates, rearrange decor, and argue over lighting placement.

At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m considered one of the workers.

But I don’t mind. It gives me something to do, and the physical exertion actually helps keep the withdrawal jitters at bay.

That said... I do feel a little feverish now. Just warm enough to notice.

I finally make my way to the room I’ve been graciously assigned and pop in a Tylenol.

I wasn’t expecting any accommodations—certainly not a private space—but last night, Aarohi’s dad casually pointed me toward a quiet guest room with a nod.

No words. Just a simple gesture. As if it was obvious I belonged.

That kind of quiet generosity? I’m in awe a little.

Now I’m standing in the middle of the tiny, neatly made room, staring into my open suitcase and realizing I don’t have a single thing appropriate to wear. Unless the theme for the evening is washed-out startup founder in a sad T-shirt.

My phone pings. It’s Vikram. We exchanged numbers earlier today.

Vikram (WhatsApp): Come to my side of the farmhouse. Main hall.

Uh... okay?

I cross the wide courtyard. It’s still buzzing lightly with life—some kids running around unsupervised, a few uncles arguing over parking, but most of the women seem to have vanished into hair, makeup, and madness.

I spot Vikram and Advik lounging on a couch in the main hall on the groom’s side. Vikram’s holding a large paper bag.

As soon as I reach them, Advik gets up, grabs the bag, and practically shoves it into my chest.

“Wear this,” he mutters.

I blink, glancing down at the bag. “What is it?”

Vikram chuckles. “A spare sherwani . You can’t show up looking like a tourist in your oversized shit.”

Well. Fair enough.

As I mumble a quiet thanks , both of them get up and head off—still in their jeans and T-shirts. I assume they’re going to change too. No further words. No weird jabs. Just... two brothers making sure I don’t embarrass myself.

I head back to my room in the bride’s mansion and hop into a quick shower.

When I step out and start getting dressed, I finally peek into the bag properly.

Holy hell.

The sherwani is a deep shade of teal—blue-green with intricate embroidery of gold flowers on the shoulders. It feels regal but modern. Paired with teal pyjamas and dark sandals, it fits like it was tailored for me.

For the first time since I got here, I don’t feel like an outsider.

I look... ethnic . Put together.

I don’t know what Aarohi’s going to think when she sees me.

But I hope she looks twice.