Page 139 of Glass Jawed
My cheeks flush.
I hesitate—but he adds gently, “Vikram’s with Ishika. He won’t be back anytime soon.”
Right. Of course he is.
The hallway is quiet as we walk back, side by side. There’s no rush, no urgency. Just a slow-burning awareness.
When we reach the room, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. A soft yellow lamp casts the space in a golden glow.
He glances at me once as I hover near the threshold like he’s waiting for my decision.
I don’t say anything. I don’t have to.
A moment later, I step inside.
His eyes search mine the second the door closes.
Not for permission—he’s too intuitive for that. No, he’s waiting for me to flinch. To change my mind. To turn back.
But I don’t.
Because I’m tired of flinching. Of denying myself the tiny scraps of comfort I actually want. With someone who I know hasneverlooked at my body with disgust. And I need this. Ineedto feel comfortable because the object of my nightmare is just across the courtyard.
So I step closer, lift my hand to his jaw, and whisper, “We won’t overthink this.”
He smiles. “Wedding favor, Rohi.”
Then he just crashes his mouth to mine.
It’s not sweet. Not tentative. It’s hungry—years of buried tension pulled to the surface in one breath-stealing kiss. My back hits the door and I let it. My hands thread into his hair and he groans into my mouth.
It’s not love.
It’s not forever.
This isn’t about revenge or escape or proving anything to anyone.
This ismine.
Yes. This... this is okay for now.
Because he isn’thim. And I’m no longerher.
THIRTY-FIVE
Lucian
She looked my way exactlythreetimes all night.
I know that for a fact because my dumbass eyes barely looked anywhere else. Five seconds here, maybe ten there, but never for long—becausehow could I look away?
She looked ethereal.
That lehenga—a pale purple with hints of pink shimmer—wrapped around her like moonlight. The matching choli dipped just low enough to make my pulse spike, and when she moved, her waist would catch the light. And her abs—God, her abs—taunted every last shred of dignity I was trying to hold onto. I had to press my palm to my chest at one point because I genuinely thought I was about to drop dead. Literal—not figurative—cardiac pause.
Kiki Aunty had leaned in at some point and whispered the name of her outfit to me. Lehenga and choli. I saw other younger women wearing something similar, but none of them quite stole the oxygen from the room the way she did. The aunties were all in their heavy sarees, glittering with embroidery and gold—but Aarohi? She looked like something carved out ofdivinity.
And then, like clockwork, came the shattering.
