Page 155 of Glass Jawed
I take a shallow breath.
“Aarohi, I know I pretended in the beginning. But that changed quickly... with each touch, each kiss. When you gave me this bracelet...” I hold my hand up to show it to her. “That’s when I fell in love with you, I think. But the fall had startedwaybefore that. Because it was soeasyto fall. And pretending washarder. So when I sayI love you... it’s because I don’t have the energy topretendanymore. I don’t fucking want to.”
She doesn’t move.
Not a step. Not a blink.
But something in her gaze shifts—like I’ve shaken something loose, even if she’s not ready to show it yet.
Her mouth opens—maybe to argue, maybe to ask something—but a loud, familiarscreechcuts through the moment.
“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”
Kashvi barrels toward us, finger aimed at my face like a damn weapon. “I TRUSTED YOU!”
I freeze. What the hell did I do now?
Before I can even blink, Aarohi steps between us like a goddamn shield. I almost lose it—right there, on the driveway. That single gesture undoes me.
Don’t melt. Don’t melt. Don’t melt.
But Kashvi side-steps her, fueled by pure rage.
Aarohi lunges again, gripping her by the shoulders. “Kash! What the hell! Stop—stop!”
“I THOUGHT WE HAD A TINY, BABYTRUCELAST NIGHT!” Kashvi screams at me, trying to claw her way around Aarohi.
Okay. Nope. That’s it. She’s going to accidentally hurt her.
I slide in front of Aarohi, planting myself between the two of them. “Hey! Hey—what happened? What’s going on?”
Kashvi’s eyes are blazing. But then I see it—past her shoulder.
Standing awkwardly in the distance, in a sharp suit, looking like he just realized he walked into an ambush. Shell-shocked. Puppy-eyed.
And just like that, it clicks.
I glance at Kashvi again. Then athim.
Jesus. My tiny, baby truce with Kashvi just went down in flames—and I didn’t even get toenjoyit.
I’m going tokillLiam.
THIRTY-NINE
Aarohi
“If you wanted to fuck a woman, you could’ve found one who actually looked like one.”
Some words don’t leave you. You can dig them out, bury them, pretend they’re gone. But they’re not. They linger like mold on your skin—waiting for the next crack to seep into.
And I seem to be collecting those words like a damn comic book maniac.
“My healing came at the cost of your heart.”
“When I say I love you... it’s because I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore.”
I know I’ll carry these with me for a long, long time.
