Page 49 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

She thinks I was asleep.

I wasn’t.

I felt her lips on mine when she woke up, soft and lingering, like she didn’t want to wake me—but couldn’t resist. I stayed still, pretending, just to savor it.

Then she was gone. Showered. Dressed. Out the door.

Fuck . It’s the wedding day. And I slept in.

By the time I drag myself out of bed and check the time, it’s almost noon. I throw on clothes and head to the main hall of the bride’s house. Sure enough, a ceremony is already underway.

Ishika’s perched on the couch, beaming at her mom while a crowd of aunties surrounds her in full festive chaos. On the floor near her, Kashvi and Rohi are giggling like schoolgirls.

And Rohi— God, Rohi. She looks ethereal in her salwar suit.

But when doesn’t she?

I slip onto a nearby couch, where a few uncles are murmuring and laughing. Raj Uncle’s nowhere in sight, but I know he’ll track me down soon. It’s going to be a packed day.

Rohi and Kashvi haven’t noticed me yet. But Ishika catches my eye and gives me a little nod. I smile back.

Two seconds later, both Rohi and Kashvi’s heads snap in my direction.

One is bright-eyed and beaming like she just won a game show.

The other is glaring like I just ran over her dog.

The weird part? It’s Rohi with the scowl.

Before I can even form a question, Kashvi lets out a shriek.

“LUCIFER!”

Jesus. I nearly jump out of my skin. What’s with these two trying to murder me with their sudden bouts of yelling?

She launches off the floor like she’s powered by rocket fuel and sprints toward me. I glance at Rohi, whose eyes are now wide with something between horror and disbelief.

“What—what’s going on?” I manage.

“ What-what! ” Kashvi mocks me, giggling as she plops dramatically onto the couch beside me.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says, and I’m still watching Rohi, who looks like she’s about to bolt.

Kashvi sighs dreamily. “Can’t believe my plan is working.”

I frown. “What plan?”

“Oh, you know...” she waves her hand nonchalantly. “Now that you’re wrapped around her little ring finger, I can brainwash her into a revenge plot .”

I blink. No panic. No dread. Just... deadpan.

“Really? And what exactly would that entail?”

“Leaving you at the altar,” she replies sweetly.

I snort. “Nice try. I’m not giving her a Western altar to walk away from. Indian wedding, remember?”

Her face lights up. “ Perfect! I’ll kidnap her from the mandap . Ooooh! Hijack your baraat .”

She swings her feet happily.

Then out of nowhere—”Where’s my kadhai paneer?”

“Um...”

“You do want me to call off the hitman, right?” she says with mock seriousness.

Now I’m frowning. “Are you drunk already?”

She bursts into laughter. “No, Lucifer. Just high on mischief.”

But then, softer—more real: “Stupidity aside... I’m glad you fixed things.”

My face goes still. Last night flashes behind my eyes. Everything we said. Everything we admitted. The pain. The healing.

“I won’t hurt her again, Kashvi,” I murmur. “I’m sorry I ever did.”

She pats my hand. Twice. “Call me Kash.”

I blink—my eyes widening. “You... you want me to call you Kash ?”

“Ew! Not with that face,” she grimaces.

I laugh, then sober. “Alright. What’s happening right now, Kash ?”

She giggles again—floaty, almost suspiciously light. Either she’s drunk, or...

Oh fuck. Is this post-coital bliss? We swapped rooms last night. Which means she was with Liam.

Jesus .

“So those bangles Ishika’s wearing?” she says, pointing. “That’s the chooda . Bridal bangles. Red, white, gold. She’ll wear them for at least three months after the wedding. Or maybe six—I don’t know. It’s how you know she’s a newlywed.”

I nod as I take it all in.

“And that—” she gestures to golden umbrella-shaped trinkets tied to the chooda with string, “—is kaleere . Basically our version of the bouquet toss. But more intense.”

I frown. “So she throws them at someone?”

“ Buddhu ,” she groans. “No. She bangs her wrists together above every unmarried girl in the family. If a kaleera breaks and falls on your head—you’re next.” (Buddhu = Idiot.)

My heart slams. I’m already halfway to lunging toward Ishika and yanking those kaleere loose. But no. Let fate decide.

The ceremony starts.

A cousin goes first.

My inner chant begins: Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Then it’s her turn.

My Rohi.

She glances at me—just for a beat. Expression unreadable. Then bows her head in front of Ishika.

“Ooooh, the suspense!” Kash’s commentary finds my ear but I ignore it. Because I’m now sitting up straighter.

I don’t even blink.

Break. Break. Break away!

And then—

A tiny golden string falls from the kaleere and lands right on Rohi’s head.

She gasps. Then giggles—her voice echoing through the main hall.

And I? I melt, right in front of everyone.

My eyes lock with Kiki Aunty’s—she’s already laughing, looking straight at me.

And then Rohi turns. Glowing. Her smile so blinding it guts me. I grin at her and then wink.

She’s next. And I’ll be damned if I’m not her groom.

??????

The whole day’s been a blur.

Between hauling things around, assembling the flower canopy with a bunch of uncles, and then trying to manage the damn baraat , I’m surprised I haven’t passed out.

The groom’s family literally exited the farmhouse, circled the entire property once, and then entered it again—singing, dancing, playing drums like it was some kind of joyful protest march.

Now, for context—I could’ve walked that entire perimeter in fifteen minutes flat. The baraat took two hours. Two .

If it were me, getting married to Rohi? Yeah. I’d have my baraat inside in less than two minutes. Zero theatrics. Straight to the vows.

But... traditions .

Now we’re all gathered at the mandap . Joota churai is done. And I’ve barely seen Rohi all day.

She’d been getting ready with Kash and Ishika—the full glam squad: makeup, dress fittings, manicures, bangles, hair, more bangles. It’s been a marathon prep.

I’ve mostly been floating between Liam and Raj Uncle, helping out wherever I can.

But then I saw her.

She greeted the baraat in a cream-colored lehenga choli that made my chest ache. When she walked down the aisle with Ishika, toward Vikram, she glanced at me—and I swear my damn soul stuttered. Her eyes were glistening. Sweet. Like she was searching for me in the crowd and found me.

She’s mine. Mine . And I still can’t believe it.

It’s now past 3 a.m.

Kash is fast asleep in Rohi’s lap. Poor thing is barely upright. The priest is still reciting prayers. I’ve been unofficially promoted to coffee duty, handing out little paper cups to anyone who looks like they might collapse.

Everyone’s trying to stay awake for the vidai —the farewell.

At some point, Liam comes over and gently wakes Kash up, guiding her back to the bride’s mansion. She stumbles off groggily with him, muttering something.

With her lap finally free, Rohi circles the mandap and basically drops beside me.

She rests against my side, and I can feel the exhaustion radiating from her. The whole space is hushed now—just the soft murmur of mantras and the occasional clink of jewelry.

I place a hand on her shoulder. She drops her head onto my shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes shut immediately.

“Wake me when it’s vidai time,” she whispers.

I press a kiss to her forehead. It’s the most I can get away with under the watchful eyes of several aunties. But it’s enough.

An hour passes.

Ishika and Vikram are now circling the fire—the pheras . Most of the crowd has either left or is half-asleep in their seats. The bride and groom’s parents are still front and center, unmoving.

We haven’t moved either.

Rohi is full-on asleep on my shoulder now, and I may have drifted off too because I jolt awake when a gentle hand touches my head.

Kiki Aunty is smiling down at me. “It’s time, beta . Wake her up.”

Then she walks away.

Around us, people are gathering bags, fixing sarees, prepping for the final send-off. Ishika and Vikram are standing just to the side, whispering to each other and holding hands.

I clear my throat, dry as a desert. “Baby... wake up, Rohi. It’s time.”

She mumbles something into my chest, completely unintelligible, and snuggles deeper into me.

Then her hand starts sliding... south .

Shit.

I gently try to catch it before it gets too far, but she’s still asleep and clearly on a mission. Her fingers trail along my chest, heading downward. Fast .

“Baby,” I say again. “Wake up. It’s vidai time.”

“Five more minutes, Luc,” she mumbles, lips barely moving. “Then we can fuck.”

My brain short-circuits.

I got my Luc back. She called me Luc again. Jesus .

She’s still asleep. Mouth open.

And now her hand is flirting dangerously close to the waistband of my pajamas.

Fuuuck .

I look around in a panic. Thankfully, everyone’s focused on the newlyweds. No one’s watching us.

I gently, desperately, grab her hand just as it brushes the drawstring.

Nope . Not today.

“Oh-Kay!”

I sit up and carefully ease her upright, gripping her shoulders.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”

Her eyes flutter open, blinking around in slow confusion. Then she looks at me. Still frowning. Still adorable .

“You up?” I ask, fighting a laugh. “Water?”

She nods slowly, eyes half-closed. God , she’s cute as hell.

I pass her the paper cup, praying she doesn’t remember what she just said.

But me?

Yeah, I’ll never forget it.

Between sips, she rests the cup in her lap and glances around, eyes still heavy with sleep.

I lift both hands and gently brush a few loose strands of hair away from her face.

Suddenly, her eyes fly open wide. She grabs my hand— aggressively —and stares at it like I’ve betrayed her.

Ohhh . She finally saw it.

I chuckle as she inspects my left palm, her fingers tracing the still-fresh henna. The stain is light, but clear as day—tucked inside a minimalist swirly design is one bold word:

Rohi

Large. Centered. Undeniable .

Her lower lip trembles.

I bring the back of my other hand to her cheek. “You found the LV , didn’t you? You idiot,” she whispers.

“ Your idiot,” I murmur back with a soft grin. “C’mon. We can cry later. Right now, you’ve gotta say bye to Ishika, yeah?”

She looks up at me, eyes shimmering. “I love you,” she says softly, her mouth wobbling as she tries to contain the tears.

“I love you too,” I whisper. “So, so much.”

She looks like a toddler trying not to have a meltdown, which only makes me love her more.

“Sweetheart,” I say gently, “ vidai . Everyone’s leaving. Want me to help you up?”

She nods, still pouting.

“You’re so fucking cute,” I say without thinking.

She groans in that soft, grumpy way of hers and stands up anyway.

A few minutes later, we’re all gathered near the cars.

A sleek black BMW, beautifully decorated with white and red flowers, sits ready with the engine running and doors open. This is it—the car Vikram and Ishika will leave in.

Kash and Liam are nearby. Everyone is crying—especially Ishika’s parents.

Rohi’s right there with them, standing with the family. Watching her hold Ishika, both of them sobbing into each other’s shoulders, is surreal. There’s so much love here.

Then, Ishika says something to Rohi that makes her laugh through her tears.

They both turn to look at me.

Uh-oh. I’m the topic, clearly.

And then—unexpectedly—Ishika walks over and pulls me into a hug.

My arms freeze for half a second before I wrap one gently around her.

“You take care of her,” she murmurs. “And don’t hurt her again.”

I nod, sincere. “I won’t. I promise, Ishika.”

She lets out a watery laugh, pats my chest twice like a warning and a blessing, and returns to her new husband.

Another few minutes later, Ishika and Vikram drive off into the night, their car trailing petals and tears and laughter. The crowd slowly begins to scatter—people shuffling back toward the farmhouse.

And then she’s there again. Rohi slides next to me, her side brushing mine, like it’s muscle memory now.

“I’m flying to Vancouver in three days,” she murmurs. Her voice is tinged with that familiar kind of sadness—quiet, heavy. The kind that comes from knowing what comes next, even when you don’t want it to.

I know exactly what she’s thinking.

Toronto and Vancouver.

She’s thinking of the miles that will stretch between us. The time zones. The uncertainty. The ache.

But there’s something she doesn’t know yet.

So I lean in a little, my voice soft but steady. “Didn’t you hear?” I say casually. “Kepler Health’s C-suite is moving to Vancouver.”

She turns to me, confused. I keep going.

“The team’s mostly remote, so... I’ll be relocating. Along with the rest of the C-suite.”

I watch the realization land in her eyes like a sunrise.

“You—what?” she breathes.

“I’m moving to Vancouver,” I repeat, smiling now.

Her lips part. No words. Just shock, then disbelief, then a kind of wonder that steals the air from between us.

And then— God , her smile. The kind that says maybe— just maybe —love gets to win this time.

“You...” she whispers but trails off.

Then she shoves my shoulder, laughing through the tears. “You absolute idiot .”

I pull her into me. And say the words I’ve been wanting to for so long.

“Hey...” I say casually. “Would you like to go on a date with me next Saturday?”

She giggles, shoves me again, and practically skips away—dancing all the way to the mansion.

I follow behind her, laughing.

Then she stops, turns around gracefully—her lehenga swirling at her ankles.

“You had me at ‘Hey’, Lamebrain.”