During a game of “Spin the bottle”, when the bottle landed on Kafka, the most popular one out of the designated group; she chose you, for 7 minutes in heaven.

Planted on the bed, Kafka held you close by slithering a arm around your waist—the other caressing your face, she leaned in for another kiss. Her lips were soft and plump, and it tasted like cherry chapstick. This moment was going to be hard to forget after the party, you thought.

It felt like 7 minutes went by in mere seconds, the two of you got off the bed and aimed for the door. You reached for the knob and turned, but the door wouldn’t budge for some reason. “Huh, it’s stuck.” You muttered.

“Oh my,” Kafka feigned shock, her hand covering her mouth. “That’s a shame.”

Behind your back, Kafka clutched the key to the door in her other hand. “But that would mean we have to continue on, don’t we?”