Page 9 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

“Do I seem like I’m over him?” I blurt out.

Before I can brace for the reaction, Liam pauses the game. The screen freezes with my team—Real Madrid—losing to his damn FC Barcelona. Typical.

I grunt and toss my controller on the couch, grabbing my glass instead. The whiskey burns slightly, not enough.

I can feel Liam watching me, probably wondering if I’ve grown a second head. I never talk about Tim. Not directly. Not like this.

It’s been a week since that dinner with Aarohi, and her words won’t stop circling in my head. ’I think you’re still not over what happened.’

Was she right? Hell, I thought I was. But then... why am I even doing this? Why did I chase her down with charming smiles and lattes and text messages? Why did I make a fucking plan to mess with her?

Jesus. My brain hurts.

“Lucian... the fuck did you just say?”

I look at him and he is, indeed, staring at me like I’m crazy. “I just... I went on a date. And I feel like I may have damned myself with the way I was talking.”

“Is it the barista chick?” He wiggles his brows—smiling.

I roll my eyes and shove his shoulder lightly.

“Alright! Listen... do I think you’re over him?” He gulps his beer in one go. “Maybe? But are you moving forward from him? No.”

I frown. “Elaborate.”

“I don’t know how it feels to be cheated on, but I can assume I’d react the same way as you are. You... you’re different, man. You barely go out. Your PS5 was literally collecting dust until a year ago. Not to mention—you drink every day.”

“I don’t drink every day,” I snap but then quickly realize that I do. Honestly, I can’t recall the last time I didn’t end a day with a drink in my hand.

He throws me a pointed look and I shake my head.

“Okay, let me ask you a few questions,” he quickly angles himself toward me on the couch, one shoe almost brushing the suede fabric. I wince involuntarily.

He looks at what I’m irked about and removes his foot from my sofa—all while rolling his eyes.

“Fine,” I sigh. “Hit me.”

“Do you still talk to Tim?”

“No,” I scoff. “The man is blocked!”

He nods. “Do you still think about him every day?”

“Of course not. Maybe a little since I started dating Rohi, but no... not every day.”

“ Rohi , huh?” He smirks. “Nicknaming her already?”

I groan, because I know what’s been on my mind constantly.

Not Tim.

Her.

How she prepares my coffee order before I even arrive on the mornings she’s working. How our lunch date went after my guest lecture this week—not a snide remark in sight. How her voice was starting to go soft.

How cripplingly attractive she was.

No flinching. No biting remarks.

Just Rohi. As she is.

“Do you think your relationship with him was perfect?”

That freezes me.

Was it? Clearly not if he cheated.

I rewind back. There was distance. Moments where I felt him pulling away, but I didn’t know why. Or maybe I did, and I ignored it. Either way—I never confronted it. Never asked. Never did anything.

“No, I don’t think our relationship was perfect.”

He claps my thigh. “And now I get to call you out.”

I blink.

“You once said that Tim destroyed something that was perfect. A relationship that could’ve headed for marriage. This was three—maybe four months ago. You were drinking but not drunk. Although, that’s not new.”

A rough breath escapes as I drag a hand over my face. Had I really idolized my relationship with Tim? Maybe. I knew we were in a rough patch—Cooper had just passed, I was drowning in work, barely sleeping. But I thought we’d get through it.

Meanwhile, Tim was... trying to figure himself out. Questioning his sexuality in silence while lying next to me every night.

“Okay,” I exhale. “So maybe I’m conflicted.”

Liam stays quiet, which isn’t rare.

“I know for a fact I don’t want Tim back. There’s no fucking way. But—”

I pause mid-thought, catching the flicker in his expression as he glances between me and the paused screen.

“What?” I narrow my eyes.

“What what ?” he tries to play it off, shifting in his seat.

“That face you just made.” I point. “You think I want Tim back?”

Liam scratches the back of his head and lets out a sigh. “No... I don’t think you do. But that doesn’t mean you should start dating someone when you’re still wondering whether you’re really past all of it.”

The words land harder than I expect. There’s something unsaid in his tone. A line he doesn’t cross. I bristle, but let it go.

“I’m just talking holistically,” he continues. “I think you’re over Tim . But you’re not over what he did .”

That earns a slow nod from me. Because yeah... maybe he’s right.

Eventually, we go back to our game. We play until just past eleven. He gives me a quick side-hug before heading out, leaving behind the faint scent of beer and a gnawing loop of thoughts.

I stare at the door after it closes.

Maybe I’m over Tim. But I’m not over what he did.

Or who he did it with.

A woman.

A woman who now shows up in my mind more than my inbox.

Whose tiny, amused smiles feel like little victories I didn’t know I was chasing.

Whose careful words make me work for every inch of her trust.

Not a nameless blur of limbs. But Aarohi .

She wasn’t supposed to be like this—grounded, perceptive, resistant to the charm I used to win people over.

She was supposed to fall for the version of me I carefully curated for this plan.

But she’s not naive. She’s not simple. She’s not one-dimensional.

She makes me feel like I’m the one being examined. So if I want something real from her, I’m afraid I’ll have to give something real in return.

And that terrifies me.

Not because it’s hard. But because it’s unreasonably, dangerously easy.

And easy... feels like surrender.