Page 48 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

There is no describing the sheer terror of watching the woman you love suddenly lose all the air from her lungs.

The way her body folded in on itself—like it was trying to protect her from me . From the ghosts I’d etched into her mind. From the horror of whatever memory had taken hold.

And god , I broke right along with her.

But unlike the park, I held it together. Just enough. Just long enough to offer the comfort I failed to give her that night. Because this time, I was present. This time, I was hers to hold.

Her body trembled in my arms— again .

Two nights in a row.

My heart bled for her. Ached with a guilt so raw I thought it might consume me whole.

But then... she said it.

The words I’d convinced myself I would never hear.

“I love you.”

And just like that, everything stopped.

I didn’t realize I was shaking until I could feel her hands, even through the dryness of her henna, grounding me.

I don’t know what I was saying—probably something too desperate, too broken—but I must’ve been holding her so tightly she could feel every ounce of it.

Like I could absorb her through my skin.

Like I could take those words and embed them into my bones so I’d never forget how it felt.

Her beautiful gift of three words.

They didn’t erase the others—the words she’d spoken in pain.

But they eclipsed them. Outshined them.

Rewrote the story they’d tried to tell.

She loves me.

God . She loves me.

I want to fall to my knees. I want to scream. I want to thank whatever twist of fate brought me back to her.

And yet, my first instinct is to reject it.

To tell myself I don’t deserve it. That I’m still the selfish bastard who broke her heart, broke her trust . That I should be cast out, not brought in.

But I stop.

Because this time—I don’t want to run from it.

I have her love. She’s given it to me—freely.

So I try— really try —to hold onto what she’s given... instead of what I think I don’t deserve.

Jesus Christ .

This woman loves me.

I close my eyes, grounding myself. My chest heaves once, twice. I focus on keeping my breathing steady because if I lose it now, I’ll spiral.

Then I feel her. Really feel her.

She’s still curled into me, her soft breaths fanning against the side of my neck.

And beneath my hand—resting gently on her chest—I feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat.

Slow. Rhythmic .

I feel the warmth. The gentle cadence.

And it brings me back.

Back to now.

Back to her .

Alan once told me to focus on something that pulses. Something consistent. A metronome. A ticking clock. A heartbeat.

I found mine.

She’s my heartbeat.

After a few minutes, we’re in sync. Breathing steady. The panic has passed, but it’s left us both stripped—of air, of energy, of anything but the need to just be in each other’s arms.

“I think we need water,” I murmur, clearing the lump in my throat.

She nods, still tucked into the crook of my neck like she’s not ready to let go. I glance around and spot a water bottle near the edge of the bed. Without shifting too much—without breaking contact—I stretch to grab it.

She slowly unwinds her limbs from me and takes the bottle, coughing lightly before sipping. I watch her, drinking her in more than the water. She looks pale, but... peaceful . The storm has passed. At least for now.

She hands the bottle back to me with a tiny smile. I take a long gulp— desperate for it —and just as I’m halfway through swallowing, she blurts:

“What if you need dick?”

I choke. Violently. Coughing, gasping, laughing all at once like I’ve just been hit with a semi after baring my soul.

She giggles and reaches over, giving me a few firm slaps on the back. So helpful.

“Did you just—?” I manage between coughs.

“I mean... it’s a valid question,” she shrugs, far too innocently for the absolute bomb she just dropped.

I blink. “Are you going to start hunting for dick too?”

She frowns at me, half-scandalized. “Don’t be obtuse , Lucian! You know what I mean. I just... I don’t have the... uh, equipment.”

She waves vaguely near her lap. It’s so endearing I can barely keep a straight face.

And honestly? I do know what she’s asking. I’d wondered if she’d ever bring it up. She didn’t when we first started dating, and I never pushed. Maybe I didn’t give her the safety back then. But she’s asking now.

And god , that means everything .

The answer, though? That’s easy.

But I can’t resist fucking with her a little first.

“You do have equipment, baby. So do I. And they match perfectly .”

She stares at me, blank. Then groans. Loudly. “You’re impossible! You know what I meant. What if you need a cock ?”

Good god!

She throws her hands in the air. “There! That clear enough for you?!”

I burst into full laughter, and then sober up under her glare.

“Baby,” I say gently, grinning, “I just told you. What we’ve got? It fits. I don’t need anything else. And also... I’m a top.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. Hypothetically— hypothetically —if I did? There’s strap-ons. There’s... ass-play—”

“Oh my God, stop ! I get it!”

I gasp, mock-offended. “Such a prude. I may need to rethink my love for you, sweetheart.”

She groans into her hands and mutters something that sounds like, “You’re the worst.” But she’s smiling, and it’s everything .

And then— without warning —I say it. No hesitation.

“Christ, I’m so in love with you.”

She freezes. Her eyes widen just slightly, shimmering again.

“I think...” she whispers, “I think I’ve finally let myself actually hear it. Say it again?”

Oh, baby.

“I love you,” I repeat, moving closer. “I’m in love with you, Aarohi Talwar.”

I cup her cheeks gently. “It’s a love that won’t waver. A love that will heal me... right alongside you.”

Her face crumples in my hands. Beautiful. Wrecked. Soft.

“You’re so stupidly, pathetically poetic,” she whimpers, and somehow it sounds like I love you, too . And god , I’ll take it.

I smile through the sudden sting in my eyes. “Can I... kiss you, please?”

She rolls her eyes. “You missed the window. Like, thirty seconds ago.”

Brat.

I kiss her anyway. It’s slow—enticingly, achingly slow.

And she melts. I do too—because this kiss? This kiss is home. It’s everything I’ve been aching for. Not lust. Not longing. Just us .

We slide down slowly, still tangled together, lips never parting as I crush her to me. It’s not about sex. It’s about imprinting every single emotion into her through this one kiss.

And I try. God, I try.

Eventually, we come up for air. Her nose is a little red, eyes puffy. She looks exhausted.

And still— so fucking happy.

I reach out and pick a dried flake of henna from her cheek. Somehow it transferred from her hands to the bedsheet to her face.

“We need to clean—”

“Let’s clean the bed first,” she says at the exact same time I do.

We burst out laughing.

Fuck . I’ll never forget this night. I’ll tattoo the date onto my soul.

Or maybe just in henna. Like I plan to tomorrow—when I sneak her name onto my hand.

She thinks I didn’t see it. Buried in that intricate, swirling design.

LV

Tucked discreetly into her left palm.

She thinks I missed it.

I didn’t.

I nearly had a heart attack when I saw it. But then everything unfolded and I couldn’t say a word.

Tomorrow, though. She’ll know.

Her eyes flutter closed, and I lean down to kiss her lids. One. Then the other.

When she’s fast asleep, I quietly clean the bed as much as I can. Loosely wrap her hands with a handkerchief so she doesn’t scratch herself with the jagged bits of dried henna.

Then I climb in beside her.

And for the first time in forever... I drift into a dreamless sleep.

Because all my dreams?

Just happened in real life.