Page 141 of Glass Jawed
Every five minutes or so, either Kiki Aunty or Mina Aunty—Ishika’s mom—would stroll up to me mid-chaos and slip an envelope into my hands without a word. Just a subtle nod, like I was a human safe deposit box. Thankfully, thesherwaniI was wearing had deep inner pockets. I kept tucking them away, trying not to look confused.
It wasn’t until Kashvi wandered by—sweaty and annoyed—that I asked what was in them.
“Oh,” she said, deadpan. “Cash.”
“What?”
“Shagan,” she explained. “It’s like a token of blessing. Guests give money to the bride and groom’s families. Envelopes instead of gifts. Sometimes gold. In this case—definitely cash.”
“And they’re giving it to me?”
“Well, the aunties don’t have purses, so...” She gave me a once-over. “Congratulations. You’re the designated vault.”
I blinked. I had—conservatively—several thousand dollars stuffed into my fucking jacket. Well... rupees.
Great. Just casually laundering a small fortune.
When the DJ kicked things into overdrive—some mix of EDM and bhangra—I migrated to the sidelines. I was enjoying the chaos from a distance. Watching Aarohi dance again, though this time she was surrounded by a horde of laughing cousins, some doing the worm, others twirling and something that looked suspiciously like a snake dance.
And then, out of nowhere,Navya.
The same girl from the other night, with more eyeliner and less sense.
She marched over and grabbed my wrist before I could object, yanking me onto the dance floor like I’d just been summoned to trial.
“You’re not allowed to stand still tonight!” she yelled over the music. “Move!”
I complied for maybe—maybe—thirty seconds. Did the white-guy two-step. Moved my arms a little. She tried to show me something that involved a hip thrust and I promptly gave up. I waved her off politely and began scanning for my out.
And there she was—Kiki Aunty.
Like a beacon of my salvation in a glittery maroon saree.
I immediately made a beeline for her, grabbing both her hands like we were in a Bollywood musical and spinning her dramatically. She laughed so hard I thought she might drop one of the bangles she was trying to hold onto.
She danced with me, giggling, patting my cheeks like I was her second child. Then Raj Uncle cut in, all swagger and elbow bends, and I bowed out gracefully.
I retreated again, breathless, to the corner of the dance floor—grinning like an idiot.
But my eyes?
They never stopped searching forher.
The night has gone completely still now.
The courtyard, which just hours ago throbbed with sound and light, now lies in eerie silence. A few stray workers shuffle across the cobblestones, gathering plastic cups and stray streamers, murmuring softly in Hindi. Even the fairy lights above seem dimmer.
I had changed a while ago—traded the borrowed sherwani for my old t-shirt and shorts. The teal outfit now folded back into the paper bag it came in, though it barely fit inside. I didn’t know if they had a dry cleaning service here, but Vikram had told me to return it as-is and not worry. The cash-filled envelopes had been returned to Mina Aunty.
The only thing I was worried about... washer.
Aarohi wasn’t in the bride’s mansion. I checked every corner I could without looking like apsychopath. Her crew—Kashvi, Ishika, and a few others—were lounging in the main hall with Vikram, nursing half-eaten cold kebabs and sweating through their clothes as they laughed. But not her.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out whoelsewas missing.
My pulse stuttered. Shit.
Still, I told myself it was fine. That I was only heading to the groom’s mansion to return thesherwanito whoever was stillawake. I was carrying another small bag too—something Aarohi might need.
