Page 4 of Glass Jawed

Aarohi

Nope.

He is absolutely not walking toward me. Keep walking.

I reach the main campus cafeteria with Katie and Akshat in tow, pretending—trying—to focus on what they’re saying. But I can feel his presence behind me. His gaze. Wrapping around me like a fog of shame I can’t shake off.

“...group project. We could look into the healthcare industry here,” Akshat says, snapping me back into the conversation.

“Does it have to be Canadian healthcare?” Katie chimes in. “Finding a pain point in the U.S. system would be easier.”

I track Lucian’s steady approach from the corner of my eye. But I can’t check out of this conversation—this project is almost 20% of our final grade.

“I, uh...” I clear my throat. “I worked on contract with a U.S. telehealth company. We could use that as a base example.”

“Oh, you mean that mental health startup, right?” Katie says. I nod as she continues, “That could work. Let’s grab drinks on King Street and brainstorm?”

He’s here.

Shit. He’s almost here.

Katie’s eyes widen slightly at his approach. She catches herself quickly, straightening up just as I turn to face the nightmare.

“Mr. Vale. That was a great introduction,” she says politely, offering her hand.

“Lucian, please,” he replies, shaking it. “And thank you. I’ve rarely stood in front of a hundred students since my university days. I thought I left that life behind.”

His smile is polite, warm. Even charming.

Too charming.

“MBA from Ivey, right?” Akshat asks.

Lucian chuckles. “Yeah... don’t remind me.”

Then his eyes flick to me. Brief, but charged. He turns back to Katie. “I really liked your question...”

“Katie Voss,” she offers.

“Ah. Sorry I missed the roll call.”

I snort. Out loud.

Instant regret.

Way to grab attention from the one person you never wanted it from again, dumbass.

I can feel his gaze shift to me now, focused and unrelenting. I force a smile, trying to recover.

“It’s a Master’s program, Mr. Vale. We don’t really do roll calls.”

He quirks a brow—amused? Apprehensive?

“And what would your name be?” His voice is smooth, but there’s something underneath. Something pointed. “I noticed you didn’t ask a single question.”

There’s almost an edge to it. A subtle accusation. A dare.

I extend my hand, cool as I can manage. “Aarohi Talwar.”

He takes it. Firm, polite. But his grip lingers a beat too long. Tightens, ever so slightly.

“Nice to meet you.”

Fuck.

He remembers.

He definitely remembers.

Akshat introduces himself next, and somehow that cues a full-on chat between him, Katie, and Lucian about Ivey versus Rotman.

Lighthearted teasing, rival school banter, the usual.

Ivy League banter, but Canadian. Lucian’s voice is smooth, polished—too polished.

Every word lands like it’s been rehearsed, but not in a robotic way. More like... weaponized charm.

He throws in a humble chuckle here, a small eye-crinkle there. Katie is clearly charmed, and even Akshat looks like he wouldn’t mind a mentorship invitation right about now.

Meanwhile, I can’t hear a damn thing over the pounding in my chest.

I nod along when someone laughs. No clue what I’m nodding at. Lucian hasn’t looked at me again—not directly—but I feel it. The awareness between us. Like I’ve got a live wire tucked into my back pocket.

Then Katie suddenly goes, “Shit. I totally forgot I have an appointment at seven.”

She grabs her phone to check, confirming it with a frown. “I’ll have to skip drinks. But tomorrow’s still good?”

“Yeah, I’m good with tomorrow,” Akshat replies.

Lucian raises an eyebrow. “What’s this about? A project?”

“Yeah,” Katie says, tucking her phone away. “We have to develop a business model around a known pain point. Aarohi worked with a U.S. telehealth company, so we figured we’d build from that.”

At the mention of my name, Lucian finally looks at me. Really looks. Like he’s been waiting for the excuse. “You worked in U.S. healthcare?” he asks, casual. Too casual.

I nod. “Contract role. Mostly product development and customer workflows. It gave me a decent lay of the land.”

“That’s interesting,” he says, thoughtfully. “I don’t meet many students with that kind of background.”

His eyes flick to Katie and Akshat. “You guys don’t mind if I steal her for a bit? I’d love to hear more about her work. Might be useful to swap some notes.”

A pause. Beat-perfect.

It sounds like a professional courtesy. It’s not. I know it.

But he’s so good with words, so calm, that neither Katie nor Akshat seem to catch the sharp shift in air pressure.

“Yeah, of course,” Akshat says. “She’s full of good ideas. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”

Katie throws me a look I can’t quite decode before saying her quick goodbyes. A few seconds later, they’re gone.

And I’m alone with Lucian Vale.

??????

The patio is surprisingly quiet for a weekday. Industrial lights strung above the space throw a warm yellow glow over wooden tables. My iced whiskey and tonic is sweating in front of me. Untouched.

Lucian’s beer is nearly gone. He hasn’t stopped watching me since we sat down.

Not ogling.

Not admiring.

Studying .

Like he’s trying to reverse engineer my insides from the outside.

I tap my fingers against the glass. My brain’s already spiraling, trying to guess what this is. Some kind of public humiliation re-enactment? A guilt trip? A slow burn revenge?

Screw it.

I set the glass down, lean back in the chair, and say, flatly, “You remember me.”

It’s not a question.

He doesn’t flinch. Just lifts his brow like he was waiting for me to start it.

“Yeah,” he says.

I nod. “Right.”

A pause. Then I add, just as flat, “I didn’t know he was yours. I asked. He lied.”

Lucian lets out a breath through his nose. Almost a laugh, but not quite. “And if he had told you?”

“I would’ve left.”

He nods, like he accepts that. Or like it doesn’t matter anymore. Then tilts his head slightly.

“You always that calm about being humiliated?”

I blink once. “Are you always that proud of doing it?”

That gets him.

It’s subtle, but I see it. The small flinch in his expression. Like I took a swing and it landed harder than he expected. His jaw tightens. “I wasn’t proud.”

“No?” I say, quiet. “Because you called me a slut. You looked at me like I was garbage. And then said I didn’t even look like a woman.”

His grip tightens on the glass. He says nothing at first.

I go on, because why stop now. “I wasn’t angry at you that night. I was embarrassed. And confused. But I didn’t blame you. Not until you made it clear that I should blame myself.”

Lucian looks away then—just briefly—but when he turns back, his eyes are darker.

“I know what I said.”

“Good,” I say. “Just making sure.”

Another pause.

When he finally speaks, it’s clipped. Cold, but clean. Like it costs him. “I’m... sorry.”

I nod, once. “Okay.”

He watches me for a long beat. “That’s it?”

“What were you expecting?”

He shakes his head slightly. “Not sure.”

I finally take a sip of my drink. It’s mostly water now. Still bitter.

He sits back in his chair, eyes on me again. Not harsh now. Just... tired.

“Tim’s gone,” he says.

“Gone where?”

“Left Toronto after his Master’s. I don’t know. Montréal, maybe.”

“Right.”

Lucian watches me a second longer. “I didn’t bring you here to rehash that night.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

A flicker of a smile, then gone.

“I wanted to talk,” he says.

“About healthcare?”

His smirk returns, faint. “Among other things.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I reach for my drink again and let the silence do the heavy lifting.