Page 40 of Glass Jawed

“And so was the man who lied to you,” I continue, jaw tight.

“Misguided. Vindictive. Selfish. But real . The guilt that ate me alive afterward? That was real too. The spiral. The self-sabotage. The nights I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t bear the memory of your face when the truth hit? That was also me.”

I finally glance at her. She’s not looking at me. But I see her fingers curled in her lap—tensed like she’s holding herself together with everything she has.

“Aarohi,” I say her name like a confession, like a prayer. “That man was lost . I thought I could carry everything quietly, tuck it away where it wouldn’t touch us. But I was wrong . I didn’t heal in time to offer you something untainted. So my healing... it came at the cost of your heart.”

My throat is dry. My chest feels like it’s cracking open.

“And I’m so goddamn sorry for that.”

She doesn’t respond. Not to my apology. Not to anything.

I don’t know if she even wants to. Or if she believes me. So we get out of the car in silence and head into the shop. She takes the lead with the shopkeeper, doing most of the talking and arranging because the guy is speaking in rapid Hindi.

Once we’ve got everything squared away and the canopy is loaded into the trunk—well, dicky, as they call it here—we head to the nearest sherwani store. It’s just a five-minute drive through the crowded, chaotic streets of Muzaffarnagar.

The store is massive but thankfully empty at this hour, so we’re assisted almost immediately. Aarohi speaks with the woman, explaining the urgency of our situation.

“We need something that fits off the rack,” she says. “There’s no time for alterations.”

The first sherwani they bring out is a cream-colored ensemble with a kurta underneath and a matching coat layered over it. Elegant. Simple. Surprisingly heavy.

The woman gestures for me to use the fitting room. I change quickly and step out.

Aarohi’s eyes widen the moment she sees me. She looks adorably flustered—and I almost smile. But I don’t. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, not now.

Holding my arms out slightly, I do a half spin. “Does it fit?”

“You look...” she clears her throat. “You look good. I mean... this looks good.”

Then, just as fast, she turns away, already walking toward the assistant, muttering, “We need one more.”

The next one they bring out is a different beast altogether. Red with intricate gold embroidery and studded with tiny stones—clearly meant for the main wedding.

I change and step out again. This time, she steps closer.

Her hand lifts, like she’s about to adjust my collar—but it hovers there. No contact. Still, she’s so close I can practically feel the heat from her fingers.

“The shoulders...” she says softly. “It’s crooked on the shoulders.”

I turn toward the mirror and fix it myself, swallowing a sigh. What I wouldn’t give for her to do it for me. It’s like I’m starved for her touch.

Eventually, I pay up—we leave the store with two sherwanis and a yellow kurta , which she said is a must-have for the haldi function because everyone wears yellow.

Apparently, haldi means turmeric. On the drive back, she explains how a special turmeric paste is applied to the bride and groom a few days before the wedding as a blessing and skincare ritual. Hence the yellow.

I nod and listen. But somewhere between her explanation and the way her eyes light up talking about the ceremony, I start imagining it.

What if this was my wedding?

What if all these rituals... all this color, this warmth, this noise—was for us ?

What if she was my bride?

The thought lingers like a ghost.

Once we’re back at the farmhouse and out of the car, the sun’s already setting. The shadows stretch long and the air is cooler now.

We walk toward the bride’s mansion in silence. That silence has wrapped around us for a while now. And then, as we step past the tall white columns near the veranda, she speaks.

“I don’t understand why I get so angry whenever you say something sweet or confess shit,” she whispers.

I blink. I’d noticed it too, but I thought it was just leftover resentment. Hatred. The typical fallout. But this? This sounds... deeper.

“Maybe...” I begin without knowing how to say this. “Maybe you get frustrated with yourself because you don’t know whether I’m still manipulating you? That I’m not sincere?”

I mean it as a possibility, not a jab. And something in her frown tells me I’ve landed in the right spot.

She stops walking. Turns to face me.

“Are you?” she asks, voice barely above the breeze. “Sincere?”

Fuck . That’s a million dollar question, isn’t it? The one that underpins everything. The one that decides if she lets herself feel anything again. The one with the simplest answer— yes —but is the most difficult to deliver.

I stop and turn to face her as well. Heart pounding.

She’s looking at me like she wants to believe me, but there’s that flicker of doubt in her eyes—like she’s afraid she’ll be burned again. Like she’s bracing for betrayal. And I hate it. Because I’m thinking that no matter what—she’ll always wonder whether I’m sincere or not.

Christ . I want to touch her, but I don’t. I’ve lost that privilege.

So I do the only thing I can—I tell her the truth. As plainly and rawly as I can.

I take a shallow breath.

“Aarohi, I know I pretended in the beginning. But that changed quickly... with each touch, each kiss. When you gave me this bracelet...” I hold my hand up to show it to her.

“That’s when I fell in love with you, I think.

But the fall had started way before that.

Because it was so easy to fall. And pretending was harder .

So when I say I love you ... it’s because I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. I don’t fucking want to.”

She doesn’t move.

Not a step. Not a blink.

But something in her gaze shifts—like I’ve shaken something loose, even if she’s not ready to show it yet.

Her mouth opens—maybe to argue, maybe to ask something—but a loud, familiar screech cuts through the moment.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Kashvi barrels toward us, finger aimed at my face like a damn weapon. “I TRUSTED YOU!”

I freeze. What the hell did I do now?

Before I can even blink, Aarohi steps between us like a goddamn shield. I almost lose it—right there, on the driveway. That single gesture undoes me.

Don’t melt. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.

But Kashvi side-steps her, fueled by pure rage.

Aarohi lunges again, gripping her by the shoulders. “Kash! What the hell! Stop— stop !”

“I THOUGHT WE HAD A TINY, BABY TRUCE LAST NIGHT!” Kashvi screams at me, trying to claw her way around Aarohi.

Okay. Nope. That’s it. She’s going to accidentally hurt her.

I slide in front of Aarohi, planting myself between the two of them. “Hey! Hey—what happened? What’s going on?”

Kashvi’s eyes are blazing. But then I see it—past her shoulder.

Standing awkwardly in the distance, in a sharp suit, looking like he just realized he walked into an ambush. Shell-shocked. Puppy-eyed.

And just like that, it clicks.

I glance at Kashvi again. Then at him .

Jesus . My tiny, baby truce with Kashvi just went down in flames—and I didn’t even get to enjoy it.

I’m going to kill Liam.