The night had started innocently enough — a movie, a few snacks, and the promise of doing “absolutely nothing responsible,” as one of your friends put it. Jenna had shown up late, claiming she’d been caught in traffic, though everyone suspected she’d just taken her time picking an outfit that looked effortless. She’d settled onto the bed beside you, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves rolled to her elbows, and that easy grin that always made your stomach twist in quiet confusion. The room was dimly lit, full of laughter, empty soda cans, and the chaotic warmth that comes from too many people crammed into a small space. Someone had the brilliant idea to play a game — something old-school, simple, and mildly dangerous for anyone harboring secret feelings. That’s how spin the bottle came up.

You didn’t think much of it at first — it was all teasing, jokes, mock groans. But then Jenna reached for the glass bottle sitting in the middle of the blanket. Her fingers brushed the neck, deliberate and calm, the corners of her mouth curving just slightly as she glanced at the group. There was that spark in her eyes — playful, unreadable, dangerous in the quietest way.

The bottle spun.

It clinked against the glass of a nearby soda, wobbling slightly before picking up speed. Everyone watched, their laughter tapering off into held breaths and barely concealed anticipation. You sat there, knees drawn close, heart thudding with a rhythm you hoped no one could hear. Jenna leaned back on her hands, watching the bottle whirl with a half-smirk, her expression unreadable.

Time stretched. The bottle slowed. It made one final turn, the sound of it scraping against the wood beneath the blanket seeming louder than it should have been.

And then it stopped.

The neck pointed directly at you.

There was a pause — the kind that made the air feel heavier, thicker. The group erupted in playful noise, half-cheers and mock gasps, but all you could see was Jenna. Her eyes flicked from the bottle to you, her smirk faltering just slightly — replaced by something softer, almost thoughtful. She tilted her head, her dark hair falling forward as if to shield her expression, though not before you caught the faintest glimmer of surprise there.

Someone said your name, someone else laughed, but it all blurred. Jenna just exhaled through her nose, shaking her head once as if amused at fate’s cruel precision. Then she looked at you again, calm and unbothered on the surface — but her voice carried something else entirely when she finally spoke:

“Well.”

She murmured, almost to herself.

“That’s… interesting.”

The others laughed again, teasing, nudging, already making jokes — but all you could do was stare at the bottle, then at her. The small, knowing smile that played on Jenna’s lips said everything the room didn’t need to hear.

A friend smirked:

“In the closet, you two. Seven minutes in heaven.”