Page 138 of Glass Jawed
I laugh and lightly shove his arm. “You’re an asshole.”
He leans in slightly, grin crooked. “You still like me though.”
“Ehh... you’re alright,” I tease.
The comfort with him is easy. Always has been. I don’t have to perform with Advik. Don’t have to second-guess my body language or mask my nervous ticks. He just... knows. And he’s never made a move. Not once in all these years, until now. During this trip.
Which is why I’m hesitant now—because maybe stepping past that line ruins a good friendship.
But there’s a current tonight.
“Remember that New Year’s Eve when you sang’Tum Se Hi’so badly that Navya yanked the karaoke cord?”
He groans. “Why would you bring that up? I thought I blacked it out.”
“It’s basicallyyourversion of Kash’sBeedifiasco.”
He chuckles, and his hand brushes mine. It’s casual. Familiar. But I don’t pull away.
We sit like that—quiet, our hands loosely linked.
I don’t feel the jolting spark. But I do feel the silent hum of attraction.
“I’m going back to Canada in a few weeks,” I say softly looking at our hands.
He nods. “I know.”
“What if us... kissing, ruins our friendship?” I ask cautiously. I’m not expecting to jump his bones. But I’ve spent too much time worrying about my body these past few months.
Ruth, my therapist, always says:build trust before you build intimacy.But the truth is—I already trust Advik. I always have. He’s never made me feel like my body was a flaw or a favor. He once stood up to my ex for an offhand joke. Didn’t make a show of it, just quietly pulled him aside and made it clear that I wasn’t someone to be mocked.
“Don’t take this the wrong way but... ours is the type of friendship that’s never beenjust friendship, Rohi,” he says.
I blink. But he’s right. We’ve always teetered on this edge—laughing too long, leaning too close. It just never became anything because life pulled us in different directions.
It’s a friendship where we’ve both known this could’ve been something. In another life. In another country. But it never had a real chance. Never will.
“So whatever this is... it stays here?” I ask.
He smiles crookedly. “Like a wedding favor. But with more sexual benefits.”
I laugh, startled. “Advik!”
“I’m kidding.” He winks. “Sort of.”
There’s something bittersweet in his voice, though. Like he knows our dynamic was always shaky but building up tothis moment.
So for tonight, we’re two people sipping whiskey, caught in the soft ache of old memories andwhat-ifs.Cradling a kind of intimacy that feels earned—not rushed.
He finishes his drink and sets the glass beside mine. “Come on,” he says, nudging my leg. “You’re about two minutes away from passing out.”
“Am not,” I grumble, even though my spine is practically fusing with the stone wall.
He stands and offers his hand. “Chalo, chalo, utaro.” (C’mon, get down.)
I roll my eyes but take it anyway. “Where are we going?”
“My room. I haven’t kissed you properly today.”
