Page 76 of Glass Jawed
I groan softly, rubbing my eyes.
Fucking Kash.
The knock is soft, but persistent.
I open the door slowly, one arm still cradling the blanket around me like armor. Liam stands there, hoodie on, looking like he ran through a wind tunnel of regret and secondhand shame.
His gaze skims over me—just once—and then he steps in silently.
We don’t say much. I let him in. He kicks his shoes off and sits on the edge of the couch, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to relax here. Like I might shatter at any second and he doesn’t want to be the reason.
Hewouldn’t be. Hisbest friendwould.
He’s tapping on his phone when I join him on the couch.
“I’m here,” he says into his phone. “No, all good.”
He spares me a scared glance and a small smile. “She seems... okay. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Go to sleep, babe.”
He waits for Kashvi to respond, and his ears turn red. His smile is almost... reverent.
“You want tea or something?” I ask, when they’ve hung up.
He croaks, “My barista girl... you just relax. Doyouwant tea? I can make it.”
That earns a laugh from me. A real one. It’s small, quick, but it escapes before I can stop it.
“I doubt you’re as good as I am. Or Kash.”
He chuckles too, but it dies quickly. The room feels heavy again.
“You didn’t have to come here,” I say quietly, curling the blanket tighter. “I’mfine. All cried out.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
When he does, his voice is hoarse. “He knows he fucked up.”
I groan, head falling back against the couch cushion. “Don’t.Please. I don’t want to talk about him. Or Tim. Or tonight. Or anythingreal.”
“Got it.”
He grabs the remote and fires up Netflix. Scrolls aimlessly. “Wanna watchThe Office?”
My heart drops like a stone into my stomach.The Office. That is—was—our thing. It was our wind-down show, our default after hard days.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “Something else,” I murmur.
Liam doesn’t ask. He just scrolls and clicks on some other sitcom—something loud, absurd, and emotionally void.
We sit in silence. I’m curled into the corner of the couch, cocooned in my blanket, while Liam occasionally glances at me like he’s bracing for something.
My eyes stay on the screen, but I don’t see any of it. The words are muffled. The laughter, distant. I’m here, but not really.
Eventually, after two consecutive episodes—Liam switches off the TV.
The silence that follows is sharper than before. I know he’s about to say something. I can feel it building in the air.
And I’m dreading it. Like if he utters one wrong word, I’ll explode.
