Page 51 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

ONE YEAR LATER

“A hundred thousand,” Kashvi yells in my face, arms crossed like she’s leading a heist.

I’m already agitated. The baraat took way too long. Just like I predicted. I just want to get inside, get to the stage, and watch Rohi walk down the aisle—under that flower canopy I did not assemble this time.

No one told me that being the groom meant barely seeing your bride. I mean, Vikram and Ishika saw each other all the time before their wedding, didn’t they?

But Rohi and I? Sure, we snuck in a few makeout sessions over the past week. But actual conversations? Nope. Nada .

I wasn’t even able to sleep beside her.

And since my family is completely useless in this cultural tug-of-war, Raj Uncle assigned freaking Mina Aunty to guide them.

She’s been glued to my mom’s hip like a diplomat crossing enemy lines.

Except... she’s on Rohi’s side. So why is she leading my baraat , ordering people around like she’s got stock in this wedding?

I mean, I respect her. But she made us dance for a solid hour before we even reached the gate—where a flimsy red ribbon blocked our path. I mean, it was right there. Twenty fucking feet away.

On the other side? Kashvi, Ishika, and a brigade of mischievous women. The chaos was deafening.

And me? I was helpless. On a white mare, no less. Like some confused prince in an overly dramatic Bollywood flick. No idea how the horse didn’t buck me off mid- dhol beats.

But now we’re finally here—and Kash won’t let me in.

“You want the ribbon cut?” Ishika smirks. “Pay up.”

“Just do it, man,” Vikram laughs from behind her. Advik is busy next to him tying a tinier ribbon to the scissors’ handle making a bow out of it—and failing .

Liam’s being entirely useless in calming Kash. Karina and Isaac are recording a video. His sister Emma is laughing like this is her favorite rom-com. I’m trying not to fucking panic.

I need to get inside. I need to see her. Do the whole varmala thing. Call her my wife in front of everyone.

Yeah, yeah—we are technically already married. Signed the papers in Vancouver two weeks ago. But I want this . The full desi chaos. The promises. The prayers.

But the goddamn ribbon .

“Two hundred thousand rupees,” I say, sighing dramatically. “And the scissors are mine. I’m cutting that damn ribbon.”

“What? No!” My dad barks from somewhere behind me. And I know it’s not because of the damn money. He’s been instructed by Mina Aunty to make a half-ass protest.

“It’s fine! Let the boy go inside,” my mom says calmly. Honestly, she’s been more Rohi’s mom than mine these past few months, so her loyalty barely checks out.

But she’s right. I need to see her. I haven’t seen Rohi since last night, and I’m antsy .

A little. Okay, a lot .

After a ruthless negotiation—more like extortion by Kash, I’m finally inside, and on the stage.

Liam is at my side, handing me water and Coke like he’s my best man and pit crew all in one.

It’s been thirty minutes. And still—no sign of her.

Will she show up?

God , I hope so.

Will Kash actually kidnap her?

I really hope not. But if she tries, I hope my Rohi fights her off. Or bites her. Either works.

Out of sheer necessity and spiraling panic, I dig my phone out of my sherwani . This damn thing weighs as much as a small child. The turban? Mostly sweat at this point. But I can’t take it off—I’ll look like Gollum on my wedding day. And that’s a memory no one needs.

I open our chat.

Me: Where are you?

Delete. Sounds too aggressive.

Me: When will you walk—

Delete. I hate myself.

Then I grin and type the one message I know she won’t resist:

Me: Congratulations! It’s your wedding day. Your groom is breathlessly waiting for you on the stage. He’s the one in a cream sherwani with red and gold embroidery. Reply YES to join him or YES to join him right freaking now.

Delivered.

Read.

Perfect .

“The fuck are you doing?” Liam mutters.

I glance up, confused—but his eyes are locked on the aisle. I turn—

—and then I see her . And every thought fades away. Along with the panic.

A group of women walk under the flower canopy. My Rohi front and center. Glowing. Beaming. Her smile hits me like a freight train made of rose petals and existential relief.

My heart thuds wildly. It’s happening. It’s finally happening.

Jesus fucking Christ!

She looks breathtaking in her wedding outfit—an intricately embroidered red lehenga laced with gold thread and studded stones that catch every light.

Her arms are adorned with henna, the patterns trailing beneath the edge of her choli .

And that veil—gracefully draped over her head.

She outshines everything and everyone in my vicinity.

She casually hands her phone to Kash, just as mine buzzes in my hand.

I don’t even need to read it.

Still, I peek. And then I shove my phone into Liam’s chest, eyes still glued to my bride.

Rohi Vale: YES

The first bars of Kudmayi begin to play, soft and delicate, echoing through the air. Under the flower canopy, Rohi and her crew begin walking toward the stage in perfect rhythm.

My chest tightens. My throat? Wrecked . Because this— this right here —is our moment.

And holy shit , it’s really— actually— happening.

I feel the tears coming, no use fighting them.

I love this woman so damn much , and she’s walking toward me. Me . There’s a split second where I consider crawling toward her. Meeting her halfway. But then—I remember.

Tradition .

It’ll take another ten, maybe fifteen minutes for her to reach me at this pace. That’s fine. I can wait. I’ll wait forever .

Except suddenly the music stops.

No fade. No transition. Just— cut . Like someone pulled the plug.

My head whips around. DJ? Sound guy? Equipment?

Rohi’s eyes widen, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s looking at—Liam?

What. The. Fuck?

Before I can even piece it together, Liam bolts down the stage. And I suddenly realize what’s about to happen.

“ No! Don’t you dare,” I hiss under my breath. “This is an Indian wedding, Liam.”

But it’s too late.

The opening tune of Forever by Chris Brown blast through the speakers.

Oh no. No, no, no!

One, two, three, four.

The beats start.

Kash and Ishika duck out from under the canopy, flailing and twirling like absolute lunatics . Liam joins in, arms waving. Isaac, Emma, and Karina jump in next. Vikram and Advik are holding up the canopy with one hand, dancing with the other. It’s full chaos. Glorious, ridiculous chaos.

A perfect recreation of Jim and Pam’s wedding entrance. Right in the middle of our desi fairy tale.

And Rohi? She’s laughing . Spinning in that heavy-as-hell lehenga like she’s weightless. Her smile brighter than every string light in the venue. She’s making her way to me faster now, dancing with the rest of them.

And I’m just standing here, a sherwani -clad, sweat-soaked mess, crying and laughing like an idiot.

The aunties and uncles? No clue what’s happening. But they’re clapping, smiling, loving it anyway.

Then Liam pretends to do that infamous Dwight Schrute kick—right toward Kash.

Kash screams. Oh, he’s so fucked . But he’s also laughing too hard to care.

And now, Rohi’s right at the edge of the stage. Tugging her lehenga up, climbing the two stairs toward me.

I’m already there, hand outstretched, beaming through my tears like a man who just won the universe. And I absolutely did.

The music swells—

But first, it’s your chance, take my hand, come with me...

And she does .

Her hand slips into mine, soft, certain.

The lyrics keep going as she steps onto the stage, eyes locked with mine.

It’s like I’ve waited my whole life (Oh) for this one night (Oh), it’s gon’ be me, you, and the dance floor...

And right then, with the veil still draped over her head and a sparkle in her eyes that could ruin me, she whispers, “Forever, Mr. Vale?”

I grin, tears and all.

“Forever, Mrs. Vale.”