Page 53 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

TWO MONTHS AFTER MOVING TO VANCOUVER

“Uh... it’s a three-carat oval with a diamond-studded white gold band,” I tell Kiki Aunty.

She’s been after me for days to send a picture of the ring, and up until now, I’ve only had mockups. But today? Today I have the one.

My mom and Kiki Aunty have been absolutely unhinged since I started ring hunting.

It’s become their shared obsession—texting ring designs, sending me voice notes with “constructive feedback.” Honestly?

I don’t mind. Because nothing will ever feel good enough for my Rohi anyway.

But if it makes them happy to obsess, I’ll let them.

“Oh beta , are you sure? Wouldn’t gold be better?” she asks gently, her face soft and curious on my phone screen.

We video call often. Rohi thinks it’s just our moms who’ve gone full wedding-planner-mode, but the truth is—I’m just as deep into the chaos. Quietly. Happily.

I send the photo. And just like that, I watch her face shift from cautious to ecstatic.

“Oh wow! No—this is beautiful. Ohhh…”

Aaaand there go the tears.

Every time I do anything remotely wedding-related, Kiki Aunty cries. It’s a pattern now. A sweet one.

Kash? She’s more reserved. The type who begrudgingly accepts that I’m not going anywhere and eventually gives in. To be fair, she’s still working things out with Liam. But she’s the one who helped me pick this design, so I know she gets it—how important this is.

“Aunty, please don’t cry,” I say, grinning.

She sniffles and nods, trying to get it together. “Record a video, okay? And send it to me.”

“I will,” I promise.

We say our goodbyes.

Today’s the day. And yeah, I’m nervous. Even though I know— know —she’ll say yes.

Just two months ago, I wasn’t sure I’d even be here. Wasn’t sure I deserved to be. Now? I’ve got the ring. The woman. And I’m about to ask her a question I’ve waited my whole life to ask.

It’s a quiet, breezy Saturday evening. She and Kash went out for a beach day, and now that the sun’s dipping low, she should be home any minute. Her apartment is exactly how I planned it.

I just hope Kash isn’t with her—I gave her the heads-up already, and I’m counting on her to come up with an excuse.

I quickly prop my phone on the kitchen counter, angle it just right.

The door clicks.

Shit. She’s here.

I rush to the table, positioning myself just in time.

The door swings open. And there she is.

Wearing a short beach wrap dress, tote slung over one shoulder, skin golden from the sun, glowing like some kind of celestial punishment.

Then her eyes land on me. On what I’m wearing.

She takes it all in—the white tablecloth, the non-alcoholic wine, the single red rose in a vase.

I recreated everything.

Everything from that night a month ago.

Except this time... no half-open robe.

Just black pants, a crisp white shirt, two top buttons undone. I know she likes it when I do that. I’m shameless enough to use it.

Her breath hitches. Her eyes trace every detail. Then recognition sets in.

This isn’t just a date night.

It’s a memory brought to life. The night she gave me her trust. Her body.

The night I gave her the warning.

She’s completely frozen in the doorway.

And then... her eyes start to water.

I laugh softly, nerves bubbling into affection. “Baby, you gotta wait at least a few seconds until the waterworks.”

“I can’t,” she hiccups, clutching the strap of her tote like it’s keeping her upright. “Are... are you proposing?”

I blink. Then glance down.

Yup.

Ring box. In hand. Completely unhidden.

Smooth, Lucian. Real smooth.

“I mean,” I sigh dramatically, “I was trying to be subtle. Build a little mystery. But apparently stealth isn’t my strong suit.”

She starts giggling through her tears and walks toward me—slow, careful steps like she’s afraid I might disappear if she moves too fast.

I don’t wait. I drop to one knee.

And she gasps—hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide and shimmering.

“Baby—”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Don’t interrupt me,” I grin. “I only rehearsed this five times this morning.”

“You rehearsed?” she squeaks, blushing.

“Baby. Look at me.”

She does. She doesn’t even glance at the ring. Her gaze is all mine.

Locked. Adoring.

God , I love her.

“I’m not going to pretend this started perfect,” I say, voice thick. “You know better than anyone how badly I messed up. How long it took me to become someone worthy of your love.”

Her eyes glisten. Her bottom lip trembles.

“But you gave me that love anyway. You gave me your forgiveness. Your heart. Your laugh. Your trust. And your very questionable taste in slippers.”

“Hey!” she sniffles through a giggle.

“I want all of it. For the rest of my life. The rants. The nose scrunches. The moments you walk around with your hair up and a pen sticking out of your bun.”

She’s laughing now, crying too hard to be quiet.

“Marry me, Rohi. Because I need to put your name on me in henna one more time. ”

She makes a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a squeal.

Then starts nodding furiously. “ Yes! Oh my god, yes. Yes, yes, yes—obviously yes .”

She’s stomping her feet in the cutest little happy dance, wiping her face with the sleeve of her wrap. I take her left hand gently and slide the ring onto her finger. It fits like I knew it would.

And the moment I stand, she practically launches at me—arms around my neck, lips crashing into mine.

I kiss her back, hard. I could kiss her for a lifetime and still not get enough.

Then it hits me.

The video—and my eyes fly open.

“Baby,” I mumble between kisses, “I’m recording this for your mom. We gotta keep it PG.”

She pulls back for one second—just long enough to smirk. Then she jumps. Legs wrap tight around my waist, arms looped around my neck, face flushed and triumphant.

“You can crop it,” she murmurs, kissing down my jaw. “Add a little bokeh effect, who’s gonna know?”

“You’re diabolical,” I groan, holding her tighter.

“ Your diabolical.”

“I can’t send Kiki Aunty a sex tape, Rohi.”

She licks her bottom lip, looking completely unrepentant. “Stop talking and start carrying me to bed, husband-to-be.”

Husband .

Christ.

“Fuuuck... CUT!” I yell at no one, making her burst out laughing.

I half-stumble to the counter like a drunk man on roller skates, my hand smacking around for the phone while she clings to me like a very needy backpack. We’re giggling like idiots, high off the moment, the love .

I finally slam my thumb onto the screen.

Recording: Stopped .

Thank god.

She tugs my shirt collar, eyes glittering with mischief and something softer beneath it. “I love you, future Mr. Talwar.”

I look at her—eyes, nose, lips, all of her—and fall in love again. Like it’s the first time.

“I fucking love you, future Mrs. Vale.”

She squeals and buries her face in my neck. I carry her toward the bedroom, heart pounding, grinning like an idiot the whole way.

Yeah. This is it.

This. Is. It.