Page 39 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

I wake with a jolt—body tense, heart kicking.

For a split second, I panic... until I remember: Kashvi ordered me to sleep in.

I don’t know if the fever’s fully gone, but I don’t feel like I’m dying anymore. So that’s a win. I take a second to breathe, stretch, and then drag myself out of bed. Time to blend back into the chaos.

Technically, there are no official wedding events today—just a lull between functions—but who am I kidding?

A farmhouse filled with hundreds of people prepping for a Punjabi wedding that’s a week away? Yeah. There’s no such thing as downtime. Even rest comes with a to-do list.

Once I’ve showered and thrown on some clean clothes, I head to the central hall. It’s almost ten.

The place is still yawning awake. Aunties in their printed robes, uncles nursing steel cups of chai, kids half-asleep on sofas. Everyone’s dragging their feet toward breakfast.

And me? I feel... weirdly calm .

Even though I’m still carrying panic and heartbreak in the same damn heart that almost gave up last night—there’s also some hope . A fragile, flickering thread of it. The kind that Kashvi stubbornly left behind last night.

So yeah, I’m still slightly hopeful. But that in itself gives me anxiety.

As I near the dining tables, I spot Aarohi. She’s seated beside her father, her hair tied up, shoulders tense. Her eyes are puffy—subtly, but enough to gut me.

Did she cry because of the slippers?

God . I had hoped it might mean something. Help her sore feet. But I also saw her walk out of Advik’s room. So I thought maybe it wouldn’t mean anything at all.

Speaking of the chutiya —he’s standing way across the room, as far from me as humanly possible. We’ve made brief eye contact. He didn’t flinch, didn’t nod, just turned back to his conversation with his dad like I didn’t exist.

I slow down just as I overhear Aarohi, voice sharp.

“Why can’t he borrow it from Rahul Bhaiya? Or—Dinesh Uncle?” (Bhaiya is brother.)

Raj Uncle sighs. “Rohi, just do as I say. We don’t have extra clothes lying around.”

They switch to Hindi, and I lose the thread of the conversation. By the time I reach them, Aarohi’s groaning under her breath.

“Uncle,” I greet, nodding politely. “Aarohi. Good morning.”

She looks up at me.

Not just looks—scans. Top to bottom. Every strand of hair, every breath I take.

Her gaze doesn’t feel cold... just wired. Alert. Tense.

“ Arrey , Lucian beta , good you’re here!” Raj Uncle beams. “Listen—I was just thinking. When you go pick up the, uh...”

“The canopy,” Aarohi supplies quietly.

“Yes! That. When you go, take Aarohi with you, hmm? And after, maybe stop by and look for some sherwanis for yourself for the rest of the functions.”

“I...”

Aarohi lets out a strangled groan and glares at her father. “Fine. But you have to tell Ishi if I’m late to game night.”

Raj Uncle laughs, says something I don’t catch, and wanders off.

I turn to her. “Hey, we don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” she says, cutting me off gently. “You need clothes anyway. I doubt Vikram has more spares.”

I nod and then frown—realizing something.

“Did... uh... did you ask him to lend me the sherwani ?”

She doesn’t answer but she bites her lower lip like she’s holding something back. I don’t think she’ll answer. But it’s answer enough.

A beat of silence passes. Then, she says softly. “Anyway. Have you... eaten anything?”

It hits me in the chest.

I blink. “No. Just got here.”

“Oh.” Her eyes sweep the room. “There’s... chicken sandwiches. And poha . Which is like flattened rice. Spiced. Kinda sweet. People either love it or hate it.”

She’s rambling.

She rarely rambles.

She’s also fidgeting with the string of her sweatpants, not meeting my eyes, not breathing quite right. Like she’s remembering something she’s not ready to remember.

I want to reach for her hand. But I don’t.

“I’ll go grab something,” I say instead. “Have you eaten?”

She nods once. But it’s the saddest nod I’ve ever seen.

An hour later, belly full and head clear-ish, I wait near my car, casually kicking at the gravel. When I hear her footsteps, I freeze for a second too long.

She’s in jeans and a T-shirt now. Hair tied back, no makeup. Still the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.

After a small, polite smile, she slides into the passenger seat. We punch in the route to the canopy shop—about thirty minutes away—and start the drive.

“There are a few stores near the canopy shop. We can check those out for your sherwani ,” she says softly.

“Okay,” I nod, easing into traffic.

The first five minutes stretch out in silence. It’s not exactly awkward or hostile—but fragile . Like something could crack if we even breathed wrong.

I try. “Will the canopy even fit in the car?”

“Um... It’s disassembled. It’ll fit,” she says without looking at me.

Another stretch of silence. I reach for the knob. “Want music?”

No answer.

I glance sideways. Her puffy eyes are locked on me.

“You okay?” I ask.

“ I should be asking that,” she murmurs.

I focus on the road again. “I’m fine. Did... did Kashvi say something?”

“No. I mean. She said you didn’t... you didn’t drink. Or anything. So that’s good.”

I smile faintly. “Honestly? It was hard. But as I said—high-functioning alcoholic. I wasn’t really drinking to get drunk, you know.”

She hums, but it’s not judgmental.

“So yeah... I’m fine. Your turn. You’re okay?”

“Why are you asking me that?” Her tone sharpens.

“I... I don’t know. Last night—”

“Had nothing to do with you,” she cuts in tightly.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens. I don’t even know what part of last night we’re talking about. But I know which part haunts me. Which part has been running constantly in my head—on a loop.

“I know. And you’re... you can do whatever you want. I know that. You deserve your pound of flesh—”

“Stop,” she snaps. “Me sleeping with Advik had nothing to do with you.”

My heart just... stops.

Until now, I hadn’t let myself fully believe it. And now that it’s confirmed, I feel something split open inside me. She did sleep with him.

And I can’t seem to remember how to breathe.

“I... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I say.

“Lucian,” she whispers but her voice breaks. Fuck .

“Ro—Aarohi listen. You don’t have to explain anything to me, okay?”

“But I do !” She whisper-shouts. “Because I didn’t intentionally go out of my way to fucking hurt you. That would be you .”

I stay silent but that fucking guts me. Because it’s true.

“Listen...” she says. “You need to understand that Advik and I have known each other for years . Circling each other for years. There’s.

.. there’s familiarity there. There’s trust there.

And I needed that. I needed someone to look at me without disgust or anger. I needed to feel desirable because...”

She pauses. And I know she’s trying to calm herself down. I can see her shaking in my periphery, and I want so badly to stop the car and just hold her.

“I needed to feel desirable,” she sniffles.

“Because for the past few months your words have come back. Your disgust is all I see. That moment in your apartment—you not calling me a woman... that plays on repeat . I tried so hard. So fucking hard—when we started dating. I wanted to give you a proper chance, so I tried to forget . Move on. To stop hearing those words. To stop imagining that look you gave me when you walked in on me and Tim. And it worked . I got over it—” she pauses.

“God! I got fucking over it because I believed you actually wanted me. But then...”

I squeeze the wheel harder, jaw locked.

She’s tearing me apart with this. Because I know what came after .

“But then I find out—it was all revenge. A lie. The apologies. The wooing. The sweetness. The fucking attraction . I was questioning everything . And then— then you come here... telling me that it was all real? Well, I don’t fucking know what to believe anymore.”

She pauses to breathe, and it’s the most guttural sound I’ve ever heard from her.

“So yes. I slept with Advik because at least I knew what to believe there. Because I knew it to be real. And it had nothing to do with you—and everything to do with me .”

I’m quiet. Because there’s nothing I can say that won’t make it worse.

She was trying to survive. And I— fuck , I was the storm she barely made it through.

After a long silence, just as we near our destination, I hear her speak.

Soft—so soft I almost miss it.

“I’m sorry that it hurt you.”

I freeze. Not physically—but something in me stutters.

What am I even supposed to say to that?

It’s okay, I deserved it?

No big deal, you can hurt me?

You don’t have to be sorry because this was different from what I did?

They all sit on the edge of my tongue. They’re not untrue. But they’re not right either. They’re self-flagellating lines designed to burden her even more.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned—the brutal, bleeding-hard way—it’s this:

Never leave the truth unsaid. Never hide.

Not anymore. Because when I kept things inside, I hurt her. When I swallowed my feelings, I became the monster . When I lied to protect myself, I ended up shattering her.

So I go with what feels honest. Painfully honest.

I pull the car over outside the shop, kill the engine, and just sit there. Neither of us moves.

“And I’m sorry I broke your reality,” I say quietly. My hands grip the steering wheel even though the car’s off.

I stare ahead, too afraid to see her face. Too afraid not to.

“But you deserve to know... the man who desired you—wanted you? He was real . The man who couldn’t keep his hands off you? Real. The man who fell—hard, hopelessly in love with you ...” I exhale, “he was real too.”

There’s a beat. I should stop. Every instinct tells me to shut up.

But I can’t.

Not this time. Not ever again.