Page 147 of Glass Jawed
Which is weird—no one’s ever come to my room before. No one’s had to. I’ve always beenout there—on hand, helping the uncles, lifting things, existing in the periphery like an honorary wedding worker.
So yeah, the knock startles me. A small part of me—traitorous andstupid—hopes it’s Aarohi.
It’s not.Of course, it’s not.
She wouldn’t come here. Not after what I saw.
I glance at my phone. Fuck. Almost 4 a.m.
I need to be up by 8 if I want to help Raj Uncle with the morning errands and get thatthingthat Mina Aunty wanted.
With a sigh, I push myself up and shuffle to the door. The second I crack it open, I freeze.
Kashvi is standing there. Fists on her hips. Eyes narrowed like she’s ready to throw hands.
“Hey, what—”
I don’t even finish the sentence before she shoves past me, marching into my room like she owns the place.
She’s scanning the room like a detective on a deadline.
“Kashvi?” I croak, my throat raw. “What... what do you need?”
She spins toward me so fast I nearly stumble. “Where is it?” she snaps.
“Where’s what?”
“Alcohol!” she says, stabbing a finger toward my face. “You lookdrunkandhighanddeceasedat the same time.”
I frown, then sigh. “That’s just heartbreak, Kashvi. I haven’t been drinking.”
She rolls her eyes—but I can see her shoulders lose a little tension.
Then it hits me. She knows. She knows about my alcoholism.
Aarohi must’ve told her.
Whether she’s here on her own or because Aarohi sent her—it doesn’t matter. The room feels a little less hollow now. A little less like a tomb.
“So... uh. You know, huh?”
“Yeah,” she mutters. “She told me.” Then, eyeing me again: “You really haven’t been drinking?”
I shake my head—immediately regretting it when a sharp bolt of pain shoots through my skull. I wince and blink slowly.
Kashvi steps closer. I can’t tell if she’s sniffing for booze or just wants a better look at the wreckage. Either way, she leans in.
Then she startles, like something just clicked. Her hand shoots out and lands firmly on my forehead.
She flips it over, the back of her hand brushing across my skin.
Then she checks her own.
She mutters something that sounds suspiciously like“chutiya”under her breath. “You have a fever.”
“Oh.” That’s all I manage. Because yeah—I think I do. But I forgot. What with the full-blown nervous breakdown.
“Sit down,” she orders.
