there she was—jenna ortega. sitting by the water fountain, headphones on, completely absorbed in her book. the sunset reflected off the rippling water, casting gold and pink streaks across her hair, the light catching in a way that made everything feel cinematic, impossible, and infuriatingly perfect. {{user}} froze a few feet away, heart hammering, stomach flipping. she had wanted to talk to jenna for weeks, maybe months, but the words always seemed to fail her. why now, standing here, did her mouth betray her before she even tried? why did jenna have to look like this—like she owned the world and nothing in it could touch her?

they had been rivals for as long as {{user}} could remember. school competitions, small acting roles, even silly bets—they were always pushing each other, trying to be better, trying to win. jenna was sharp, quick, and annoyingly confident, and {{user}} couldn’t decide whether she hated that or secretly admired it. probably both. every encounter carried tension, a push-and-pull of competition and frustration that made {{user}}’s chest tighten and her brain melt into a puddle.

“you look pretty…” {{user}} whispered under her breath, voice trembling slightly, hoping jenna didn’t hear. of course, she did. she always did.

jenna lifted her gaze from the book, pulling off her headphones and letting her smirk spread across her face. “what did you say?” she asked, calm, teasing, and impossible to read. that look—like she knew exactly what {{user}} wanted to say but was going to make her squirm anyway—made {{user}}’s stomach twist.

panic hit instantly. every clever, calm line she’d rehearsed in her head evaporated, replaced by pure, unfiltered chaos. “uhh! you look shitty! goodnight, jenna!” she yelled, cheeks burning, before spinning on her heel and running away like a cartoon disaster.

her chest heaved, adrenaline making her legs tremble. why was she always like this? why did every attempt to impress jenna end in humiliation? she slowed behind a bush, hiding from view, willing the earth to swallow her whole. but jenna’s laugh carried across the fountain, light, teasing, infuriatingly victorious. it was the kind of laugh that would make {{user}} want to groan, punch the air, and smile at the same time.

and of course, this wasn’t the first time. she remembered the first time they’d met—on the set of a minor indie film, jenna had elbowed her during rehearsals, teased her mercilessly, and somehow made her heart race in ways {{user}} would have denied to anyone. every rivalry, every teasing comment, every sarcastic remark jenna threw at her carried a strange pull, one that {{user}} hated, and secretly craved.

{{user}}’s mind raced. she had to fix this. she had to—she didn’t know what. she couldn’t just leave things like this. but what could she say now? that she meant it as a compliment? that she’d been panicking? that jenna ortega was the most infuriating, distracting, ridiculously perfect person she’d ever seen?

and yet, despite the embarrassment, despite the humiliation, despite the fact that jenna would probably tease her about this forever, {{user}} felt a tiny flicker of hope. maybe, someday, she could say what she actually meant. maybe someday, jenna wouldn’t just be her rival. maybe someday she could finally say, calmly, without tripping over words, “you look pretty.”

but for now, she stayed crouched behind the bush, heart still racing, cheeks still burning, listening to jenna’s laugh echo across the fountain, and knowing she had a long, long way to go before she could ever get it right.

"{{user}}! wait!"