Page 38 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

I’ve calmed down a little.

And by calmed down, I mean I’m no longer dry heaving into the toilet bowl.

My body feels like it’s been through a war—like I’m nursing the worst hangover of my life without a single drop of alcohol. Fuck .

I can’t unsee it.

I want to. God , I want to. But I can’t get the image out of my head. Her. With him.

And then, because I’m a masochist apparently, I remember that I’ve given her far worse images—memories she probably wishes she could rip from her skull.

Fuck.

I brace myself against the bathroom sink, staring at my reflection as I brush my teeth. My eyes are rimmed in red, glassy, like I’ve been crying. I don’t even know if I have.

I don’t remember how long the panic attack lasted.

I don’t remember the walk back across the courtyard—just scattered flashes of too-bright lights stabbing through the pounding behind my eyes. Everything felt warped. Unsteady. Loud .

I think I was squinting the whole way.

Then I was here. Back in the room. Bathroom. Toilet.

The moment the door shut behind me, my knees gave out and I was on the tile floor, convulsing like my lungs were trying to claw their way out of my chest. The dread hit like a fist. The nausea followed.

It’s not just heartbreak .

It’s knowing I deserve every second of this.

And still not knowing how the hell to survive it.

I manage to half-crawl, half-walk to my bed, sitting on the edge and clutching my head when a knock rattles the door.

Which is weird—no one’s ever come to my room before. No one’s had to. I’ve always been out there— on hand, helping the uncles, lifting things, existing in the periphery like an honorary wedding worker.

So yeah, the knock startles me. A small part of me—traitorous and stupid —hopes it’s Aarohi.

It’s not. Of course, it’s not.

She wouldn’t come here. Not after what I saw.

I glance at my phone. Fuck. Almost 4 a.m.

I need to be up by 8 if I want to help Raj Uncle with the morning errands and get that thing that Mina Aunty wanted.

With a sigh, I push myself up and shuffle to the door. The second I crack it open, I freeze.

Kashvi is standing there. Fists on her hips. Eyes narrowed like she’s ready to throw hands.

“Hey, what—”

I don’t even finish the sentence before she shoves past me, marching into my room like she owns the place.

She’s scanning the room like a detective on a deadline.

“Kashvi?” I croak, my throat raw. “What... what do you need?”

She spins toward me so fast I nearly stumble. “Where is it?” she snaps.

“Where’s what?”

“Alcohol!” she says, stabbing a finger toward my face. “You look drunk and high and deceased at the same time.”

I frown, then sigh. “That’s just heartbreak, Kashvi. I haven’t been drinking.”

She rolls her eyes—but I can see her shoulders lose a little tension.

Then it hits me. She knows. She knows about my alcoholism.

Aarohi must’ve told her.

Whether she’s here on her own or because Aarohi sent her—it doesn’t matter. The room feels a little less hollow now. A little less like a tomb.

“So... uh. You know, huh?”

“Yeah,” she mutters. “She told me.” Then, eyeing me again: “You really haven’t been drinking?”

I shake my head—immediately regretting it when a sharp bolt of pain shoots through my skull. I wince and blink slowly.

Kashvi steps closer. I can’t tell if she’s sniffing for booze or just wants a better look at the wreckage. Either way, she leans in.

Then she startles, like something just clicked. Her hand shoots out and lands firmly on my forehead.

She flips it over, the back of her hand brushing across my skin.

Then she checks her own.

She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “chutiya” under her breath. “You have a fever.”

“Oh.” That’s all I manage. Because yeah—I think I do. But I forgot. What with the full-blown nervous breakdown.

“Sit down,” she orders.

I don’t move fast enough, so she gives me a push—shoving me onto the bed so hard I bounce.

“ Sit . The fuck. Down , Lucian.”

I blink at her. Did she just... use my real name?

That’s new.

Sounds weirdly... nice. Like she doesn’t completely loathe me. Which, let’s be honest, is a stretch.

I clear my throat. “I have Tylenol in my bag. I can—”

She cuts me off by pushing me again. “ I’ll fucking get it. You get in the duvet.”

Jesus . She’s aggressively concerned.

But I do as she says. Because if the fever doesn’t kill me, Kashvi might.

And I can’t afford that—I’ve got errands in the morning.

After I swallow the Tylenol, I catch her watching me from the edge of the bed—arms crossed, expression unreadable.

It’s unnerving. Like I’m being studied under a microscope.

“You don’t have to help with anything tomorrow,” she says finally, her voice flat. “I’ll tell Rohi’s family not to bother you. You need rest.”

My eyes widen. “No, it’s okay. Really . This is... pretty normal.”

She raises a brow like she doesn’t believe a word.

Then with an exaggerated sigh, she throws herself back onto my bed, bouncing a little. “Listen... I know she asked you to stay, but—”

“You want me to leave?” I cut in, more surprised than offended.

She turns her head to look at me, one brow arched. “Don’t you ? After tonight?”

I pause. Because yeah—leaving would make sense. It would save face. Save me from whatever the hell this permanent ache in my chest is. But...

“I don’t think I want to,” I admit, voice low. “I mean, I should . But I want to stay. The family’s been... oddly kind. I want to see this through. Even if it’s from the sidelines.”

Kashvi scoffs. “You mean do the grunt work.”

I grin faintly. “It helps. Being useful. It distracts me. Keeps me moving. Helps with the withdrawal symptoms too.”

Her face softens for half a second—until she catches herself.

“Why do you really want to stay?” She asks, eyeing me with suspicion.

“I just told you,” I say softly but she doesn’t react.

“Listen, Kashvi. I understand you don’t believe me.

I get it. But I have nothing waiting for me in Canada.

Not right now. Kepler Health is doing fine in my absence.

My parents... well, we rarely meet anyway.

I’m better here. She reminds me of... she reminds me to be better .

I just— please —I need to be around her for a little bit. See this through.”

She immediately starts staring at the ceiling—as if asking for some patience.

“Also...” I try my luck. “What would we even tell her parents? Kiki Aunty is literally calling me for help every now and then. I’m Raj Uncle’s designated driver. Mina Aunty told me yesterday that I need to pick up some chaadar thing from the shop tomorrow—whatever that is.”

“ Phoolon ki chaadar ,” she informs me without looking at me. “It’s like a... flower canopy. For the bridal walk.”

I nod with a frown like I understand—but I don’t. “Are they real flowers?”

Her head finally turns in my direction. “They usually are. But... I think Ishi wanted something different. Like more modern—”

She cuts herself off, her eyes widening. “Stop distracting me!”

I smile weakly and mumble. “I don’t want to go back, Kashvi. Not yet.”

She grimaces and practically whines. “ Oh god , you’re so pathetic .”

I snort. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, really,” she groans, covering her face with her hands. “Shit. You look pathetic too.”

I chuckle, which instantly turns into a wince.

She peeks at me between her fingers, then mutters like it’s a curse: “She’s going to cave.”

My head jerks up. “Really?”

“Don’t look hopeful!” she snaps immediately, pointing a finger at me like I’m a misbehaving dog.

But it’s too late.

The flicker of something stupid and desperate has already crept across my face—and she saw it.

I clear my throat and school my expression. “I’m not hopeful.”

“You’re the human embodiment of hopeful,” she says with disgust. “It’s actually gross.”

I laugh softly. But inside? It’s worse than hopeful.

It’s reckless .

She sighs heavily, rubbing two fingers against her forehead, eyes shut like she’s trying to will away the situation—or maybe the pity.

“You love her?” she asks suddenly, voice quieter. “Like... actually love her? Are you sure? Absolutely fucking sure? ”

The question startles me, but the answer is easy.

“Yeah. I’m in love with Aarohi. Deeply. Selfishly. Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

I say it with more intensity than my weak body should allow. But I mean every word.

Her face contorts like I just fed her expired milk. “Ugh. Fine. Okay. You could’ve just said yes .”

I smile faintly, staring down at my hands—shaking a little less now. “If I’d just said yes, you would’ve said, ’That’s it?’”

She rolls her eyes, mock-sneering as she stands up. “You’re both so fucking dramatic.”

Then, grumbling as she walks to the door, she mutters, “Fine. Stay. It’s your funeral.”

At the doorway, she pauses and glances back. “Don’t wake up till eleven. I’ll handle the family.”

The door shuts.

And then opens again—just a few inches.

Her manicured middle finger pops through the gap for a good second.

And then it slams shut again.

I laugh—quiet, breathy, through the pounding headache.

Still aching. But somehow... a little less alone.