Page 5 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

Her silence grates.

She’s too calm compared to the fury burning inside me. Like what she said a few minutes ago didn’t carry weight. Like she has processed that night and filed it away in a neat little folder labeled ’Unfortunate But Not My Fault.’

A part of me believes that it wasn’t her fault. But a larger part of me is furious at her lack of empathy. She seems to be casually bringing up the past and making it about how I reacted in my heartbreak.

Like she didn’t destroy something that night.

And she gets to sit here, sipping whiskey on my dime like we’re two civil people who didn’t meet in the middle of a fucking breakdown?

I want to shake her out of it. Pull some goddamn reaction from behind those blank eyes. But instead, I sip my second beer of the night and try not to think of Tim’s face—tear-streaked, pathetic. Or how hers had stayed dry the whole time.

She hadn’t even flinched.

I don’t remember her body clearly. Just a flash of limbs, brown skin, a messy tangle of hair, and something I saw as an intrusion. A walking symbol of betrayal.

But now... now I see her clearly. Skin warm under the string lights. The smooth lines of her collarbone. The small, steady pulse in her throat.

She’s hot .

She was hot then, too. I just didn’t let myself register it.

She shifts in her chair, and I force my eyes back to her face. Neutral. Guarded. Her friends really just left her here with me. No hesitation. No check-in. No, ’Hey, are you good with this?’

I lean forward slightly. “Did you tell them?”

Her brow furrows. “Tell who what?”

“Your friends. About that night.”

A beat of silence. She looks down, then back up. “Why would I share that with absolute strangers?”

Strangers?

“You’ve known them for over a year, right?” I press.

“Year and a half, give or take,” she says with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean I’m willing to share my failures with them.”

Failures.

I smile internally. So, she does see it that way. Good. Something opens up inside me. A sick satisfaction. But I school my face and soften my tone.

“You didn’t fail, Aarohi.”

She raises her eyes to me, almost pleading. “Didn’t I?”

“You were lied to. That’s not failure. That’s... human.”

She huffs. “Tell that to the version of me who had to go home and shower off a stranger’s boyfriend.”

I let the pause hang. Because right now, I’m getting the reactions I was hoping for. My well-placed flinches and feigned apologies are drawing out her guilt. And I have no intentions to stop. In fact, I’m enjoying her discomfort. It validates something deep inside of me .

“I meant what I said just now,” she continues, voice cool. “I didn’t know he was taken. And if I had, I wouldn’t have stayed.”

I nod slowly. “I believe you.”

She doesn’t say anything. Just presses her lips together and looks off toward the street. Her profile catches the low light, and I notice the slight tension in her jaw. Controlled. Not cold. Just... tight.

“Did you stay in the U.S. after the contract ended?” I ask casually.

She shakes her head. “I was never there. I just worked remotely. The company shut down. Ran out of money before Series A.”

I nod. I’m one of the lucky bastards who had an amazing COO going to bat for the company to get our series B funding. If not for Liam, we’d have dissolved within the first three years of our operations.

“What’s your endgame in Canada?” I prod. Trying hard to keep the conversation professional. Anything more and I’d reel myself into the sick game and unprompted plans slowly brewing in my head.

She shrugs. “Survive school. Get hired. Pay off the student loans. Not end up moving back to India.”

I know the life of an immigrant in Canada is not as easy. But I also know that they usually work hard to sustain their standing in the country. Hell, 50% of my workforce is either on a work permit or is a permanent resident.

“What roles do you think you’d want to be hired for?” I ask and tip my beer mug toward her. “After completing your degree, of course.”

She smirks and I find that absolutely nerve-wracking. “Why? Are you hiring?”

This woman truly doesn’t care about how this meeting has come about, does she? I’ve seen her naked, for fuck’s sake. And now she thinks I’ll fucking hire her?

I huff out a laugh, sounding almost bitter. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be reminded of that dreaded night every day.”

Her face falls immediately—only slightly. I wait for the guilt to consume me at my crassness. But it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel vindicated. Shit. This is getting out of hand.

I force myself to go in softer. “Sorry. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, you know.”

She side-eyes me. “You sure about that? You seem to be enjoying it.”

I sway a little at her words, forcing a duped grimace. “It’s a bit hard seeing you dismiss that night as a mistake when I was completely... destroyed.”

I watch as her eyes soften. Oh, so that’s what I need to do to get her to react appropriately. Self-deprecation could go a long way. I had plenty of brokenness to dish out, anyway.

I signal the waitress for a refill of my beer as Aarohi casually sips her first drink of the night.

“I—” she starts.

I cut her off. “Listen, I’m truly sorry for what I said that night. It’s been a year and I’m over it. I think it’s just some residual anger I’m throwing your way. I don’t mean to.”

She smiles shyly. “For what it’s worth, it definitely wasn’t a great night for me. I never thought I’d become the other woman . It was... awful.”

I exhale slowly, trying hard to contain the sinister smirk ready to crawl out. Instead, I purse my lips and nod. “I can imagine.”

“It is what it is,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “You must be glad you got rid of a cheater.”

I feel my hackles rise. It’s not that I want to defend Tim. I know for a fact that Tim cheated. But he wasn’t a cheater—as if he repeatedly cheated. He didn’t.

I can even understand—to some extent—that he was confused. What I loathe is the absolute nerve of this woman who is practically a stranger—throwing judgements at him. Praising my circumstances as if I was better for it. I wasn’t.

Last year is a testament to that.

Suddenly, I don’t control the sick need for this game to play out. I let it happen. Let it coil up my spine to form the plan I’d dismissed early on. Because this woman is wrong .

Because Aarohi has absolutely no idea about what it feels to have her heart broken in that manner. She doesn’t realize the depth of pain she caused. And now, it’s my job to let her know.

I lean back and smile. The stretch of my facial muscles feels alien. “I won’t say I’m glad. But at least I can move on. At least he got caught and I wasn’t left oblivious to his actions.”

She nods—almost empathically. I can almost feel her relax. So, I go for the jugular.

“But I’m not happy with myself with how I treated you. I’d love to make it up to you... somehow.”

That gets a real reaction. A subtle shake of her head as if she’s trying to get rid of her shock. Her brows lift.

“You want to make it up to me?”

“I think I should.”

“Because you feel guilty?”

“Because I was cruel,” I lie. “You didn’t deserve that.”

I remember that night in the form of a hazy montage. But I know I wasn’t cruel. Not to her. I simply wanted her to leave. I may have said things that were partially true, but I had a decent justification for it. Didn’t I?

She stares at me for a beat. “You said I didn’t even look like a woman.”

My chest tightens. Just a bit. Did I really say that? She’s mentioned it twice now. Could she be making it up?

“I remember,” I grit my teeth. “And I shouldn’t have.”

To her, it could seem like I was angry at myself for saying something so appalling. But I just couldn’t lie without actually knowing I had said that.

She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t nod. Just accepts it in silence. That lands heavier than any thanks ever could.

She still doesn’t speak.

Just watches me with that unreadable stare, like she’s deciding if I’m lying.

Which I am.

But not entirely.

I take a slow sip of beer, then set it down with intention.

“I’m not asking for anything dramatic,” I say. “Just... maybe we start over. Have dinner sometime. Get to know each other.”

Her brow arches. “Start over?”

“Friends,” I offer, pausing for effect. “To start with, at least.”

She huffs, amused despite herself.

“Friends,” she repeats. “You’re serious?”

I shrug. “Dead serious.”

She tilts her head. “I don’t think my Program Director will be happy with me being friends with you, Professor .”

Goddamn! She’s teasing me. The way the word professor left her mouth has me shifting in my seat. I dispel the unwanted thoughts and stick to my plan.

“I’ve heard it makes for a very romantic taboo setup, Ms. Talwar.”

She’s shocked for a moment before she clears her throat. “Are you flirting with me?”

I smile. “Would it make my proposition less awkward if I was?”

She laughs, soft but genuine, and sips her drink. Then, casually, “Are you bi?”

I meet her gaze. “Why, you doing a background check before saying yes?”

She deadpans. “I’ve had bad luck with confused men.”

I force a boyish grin. “Lucky for you, I’m not confused. I’m just greedy.”

That gets her. She snorts, shaking her head.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

“One dinner, Aarohi,” I say—injecting as much softness as I can muster.

“One dinner,” she repeats softly.

I pick up my phone and wiggle it between us. She rolls her eyes, but she’s already reaching for her own phone. “Text me a time and place.”

We exchange numbers and I nod slowly, watching the way her shoulders relax—just a little—as she stands.

She turns to leave, and I make one final comment to smoothen her edges while I sharpen my knife. “You look more like a woman than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Her steps falter but she doesn’t turn. Doesn’t respond.

Just walks away.

But I know she heard me.