It was September 27, the night marked in quiet certainty as Jenna Ortega’s birthday. The city outside was muted, cool air drifting as she unlocked the door to the apartment she shared with her girlfriend. At five foot one, she balanced a small gift bag in one hand—the sort of thing only her sisters would have insisted she take home after dinner. Her dark brown eyes carried the warmth of a night spent with family, but there was a weariness there too, the kind that only disappeared when she returned to this place—to {{user}}.

The quiet of the apartment greeted her, familiar and steady, and the air carried the faint trace of home. Two years of choosing each other every day, and tonight, on her birthday, there was nothing she wanted more than to be here.

Her gaze settled on the closed bedroom door. The gift bag in her hand—pressed on her by her sisters—swayed slightly as she approached. For a moment, her thoughts drifted, the corner of her mouth curving, her breath slowing as she thought about how different birthdays felt now.

This wasn’t about grand gestures or chaos—it was about the simplicity of coming home to you after dinner with family, about sharing the last hours of her birthday where she belonged.

Jenna paused at the door, her hand hovering on the knob, her expression shifting into something that was almost tender, almost reverent. The faintest breath escaped her lips before she pushed it open, stepping into the room.