Page 134 of Glass Jawed
Technically... sure. But the truth isuglier. And heavier. And something I doubt either of them knows in full. Not unless Aarohi told them everything—which, judging by Vikram’s expression, she hasn’t.
Vikram holds a hand up. “Advik. Back off. We don’t know the whole story, okay?”
“No, but I know enough to know he should stay away,” Advik mutters.
I clench my jaw. I want to fight it. Defend myself. Say, You don’t know anything. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw or feel what I felt. You don’t know how badly I’m trying to fix myself.
There’s always this gnawing feeling where I want to shout at anyone who’d listen—I know what I did. I know what I lost. And I’m sorry. But also, I can’t fucking unlove her.
But what would be the point?
Instead, I look away, scanning the crowd until I spot Raj uncle waving at me from across the courtyard.
Saved by the dad.
“I should...” I lift my glass slightly in a gesture and step back from the brothers.
But just as I turn away, I hear Advik mutter under his breath—almost sadly, “He really needs to leave her alone, bro.”
I keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t rise to it. But each step feels heavier.
Because he’s notwrong.
I should leave her alone. I’ve done enough damage to last a lifetime.
But she asked me to stay.
And for once in my life, I’m going to listen to the woman I love.
So I’ll stay.
Even if it hurts like hell. Even if every look from her burns. Even if every look she giveshim—guts me.
By the time evening rolls around, the courtyard and center hall are nearly empty. I assume most people have disappeared to get ready for the first of many wedding functions—Sangeet.
Apparently, the word meanssong. Traditionally, it’s hosted separately for the bride’s and groom’s sides, but this family’s decided to go full Bollywood and combine it into one massive musical.
Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if fog machines and backup dancers appeared.
I’ve spent the past few hours helping a rotating cast of uncles from both sides haul chairs, lift crates, rearrange decor, and argue over lighting placement. At this point, I’m pretty sure I’m considered one of the workers. But I don’t mind. It gives me something to do, and the physical exertion actually helps keep the withdrawal jitters at bay.
That said... I do feel a little feverish now. Just warm enough to notice.
I finally make my way to the room I’ve been graciously assigned and pop in a Tylenol. I wasn’t expecting any accommodations—certainly not a private space—but last night, Aarohi’s dad casually pointed me toward a quiet guest room with a nod. No words. Just a simple gesture. As if it was obvious I belonged.
That kind of quiet generosity? I’m in awe a little.
Now I’m standing in the middle of the tiny, neatly made room, staring into my open suitcase and realizing I don’t have a single thing appropriate to wear. Unless the theme for the evening is washed-out startup founder in a sad T-shirt.
My phone pings. It’s Vikram. We exchanged numbers earlier today.
Vikram (WhatsApp): Come to my side of the farmhouse. Main hall.
Uh... okay?
I cross the wide courtyard. It’s still buzzing lightly with life—some kids running around unsupervised, a few uncles arguing over parking, but most of the women seem to have vanished into hair, makeup, and madness.
I spot Vikram and Advik lounging on a couch in the main hall on the groom’s side. Vikram’s holding a large paper bag.
