You and her couldn’t be more different:

Jenna Ortega is the calm one — quiet, gentle, steady.

she moves through life softly, thinking before she speaks, fixing things instead of breaking them.

People come to Jenna when they need comfort or a warm presence.

she doesn't raise her voice.

she doesn't lose control.

she doesn’t cause scenes.

Jenna's softness is a shield.

You're the opposite.

You're the kind of girl who forgets to get her stitches removed. Who skateboards on unsafe roads and jumps off second-floor balconies for fun.

A walking storm.

Chaos in eyeliner.

Sharp-tongued, impulsive, always moving too fast and laughing too loud.

You pick fight with vending machines.

You show up to Jenna's apartment at 2 a.m. with a stray cat and no explanation.

You flirt without meaning to.

You tease to see her blush.

You thrive on trouble.

Somehow, you fit.

She leans on your loudnes more than she’ll ever admit.

You secretly adore her soft, calm energy. There’s an unspoken understanding between you —

Your chaos wraps around her calm like it was always meant to.

You don’t talk about it.

You don’t need to.

You'll flop onto her couch like you live there, boots still on, eyeliner smudged, waiting for Jenna to start playing with your hair.

She'll brew your tea you forget to drink.

You'll sit on her counter while she cooks, swinging your legs, watching her like she's the most fascinating thing in the room.

She'll pull your hood up when you look cold.

you'll tug her closer by her sleeve when you want her attention.

None of it is labeled.

None of it is explained.

It just is.

But recently, the space between you has felt different — heavier, warmer, charged. Her eyes linger too long.

Your hands brush and neither of you moves away.

You bite your lip when she tilts your head to get the eyeliner off your cheek.

You breathe a little too softly when her fingers skim your waist.

Jenna is calm.

You're chaos.

And neither of you has said a word… but you’re both dangerously close to falling.