The flames crackled at the center of the circle, clinking against empty bottles and bursts of laughter. The bonfire burned tall and warm, as if trying to keep the cold from crawling up the sand.
—I can't believe George ate THREE burgers —said Mia, giving him a playful elbow. He was still chewing half of the third one.
—Fast metabolism —George replied with his mouth full, earning a mock grimace from Dana.
Saval sat between Semiel and Mia, a beer in hand, his long fingers resting on the warm can. He watched the group with a mix of strangeness and relief. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been around people like this without feeling like he was being watched, like he was expected to say something clever, perfect, or sarcastic. He was just there. And that was already something.
—So, what kind of jobs are you all thinking about? —asked Dana, poking at the coals with a long stick.
—I want to go into editorial design —Mia answered with a small smile—. Books, magazines, that kind of stuff. But I'd also like to do cover illustrations, if I ever have time to draw.
—An illustrator? That explains your notebooks full of scribbles —said George.
—They're not scribbles —Mia protested—. They're ideas in larval form.
—I'd like to join an NGO —Dana chimed in—. Social projects, community education. My mom says I won't make any money, but I don't care. I don't want to spend my life trapped in an office.
Semiel was staring into the fire. His lips were chapped, and his hands were buried in the sand. He wasn't talking much, but he didn't seem uncomfortable either. Saval gave him a quick glance, then looked back at the flames.
—What about you, Semiel? —asked Dana, genuinely curious—. You're always writing. Are you planning to be a novelist or something?
Semiel let out a short laugh. Not mocking—just a little awkward.
—I've thought about writing something. Maybe focusing on pure literature. I like it better when others speak than when I do. —He paused, as if that was enough, then added—: Though sometimes I do want to publish something. Maybe a book of short stories.
—You should! —Mia said with unexpected enthusiasm—. I bet it'd be super weird and good. Or sad. Or both.
Semiel nodded without looking at her. Next to him, Saval took another sip of beer and leaned forward to add something:
—I still don't know. Right now, I barely keep up with my streams. —He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment—. But if I had to choose right now… I'd want to go all in on animation. I want to chase a dream, even if it sounds kind of naive.
No one laughed. No one mocked him. There was just a warm silence—the kind that happens when someone is being honest, and everyone else knows not to break it.
—What about you, George? —Dana asked, as if to gently shift the mood.
—Systems engineering —he said—. I know, it sounds boring. But I like building things from code. It's like playing, but with infinite rules.
Saval laughed for the first time that night. Not a loud laugh, but real enough for Semiel to glance sideways at him before turning back to the fire.
They spent a while longer eating, drinking, talking about shows, making fun of professors. The wind began to shift, and someone—maybe Dana—suggested something that lit up everyone's face with a teenage grin:
—What if we play spin the bottle?
—Seriously? —said George, raising an eyebrow.
—What are we, in high school? —Saval asked, though he didn't move away.
—Exactly. We're way too sober and need an excuse to make fools of ourselves —Dana said, searching for an empty bottle.
Within seconds, they had cleared some space in the center and formed a tighter circle. The bottle spun for the first time under a chorus of laughter.
First spin: George
The bottle twirled fast, reflecting the firelight like an unsteady pendulum. It stopped, pointing at Dana.
—Oh no —said Dana, covering her face—. No kisses, okay? I dare you.
George placed a hand over his chest, pretending to be wounded.
—Then I dare you to imitate our linguistics professor when she says inconciente with a double n.
Dana stood up immediately and launched into a ridiculous, over-the-top impression that made everyone burst into laughter. Even Saval let out a more open laugh.
Second spin: Dana
The bottle spun and stopped in front of Saval. He raised his eyebrows, surprised.
—Relax, I don't kiss on the first date —he said, and everyone laughed.
—Then I dare you —said Dana with a sly smile—. I dare you to say who your first love at university was. Name and major.
Saval looked at the fire. The group held their breath. Then he gave a small smile, tilting his head.
—Antonella. Literature.
He said it in a soft voice, like letting go of something old. No one said anything. They just moved on.
Third spin: Saval
The bottle pointed at Mía. She raised an amused eyebrow.
—Kiss or dare? —he asked, more relaxed now.
—Dare. Always.
—Then tell us the most embarrassing thing you've done in front of someone you liked.
Mía laughed and covered her face.
—One time I slipped in front of a girl I liked and spilled a salad all over her —vinaigrette and everything. I apologized by saying she had great taste… in dressings.
The laughter was genuine. There was something about this group, something imperfect, that was starting to feel like something close to home.
Fourth spin: Mía
The bottle spun. The fire reflected on it like a roulette between worlds. It slowed down, then stopped. It pointed, without error, at Semiel.
The silence wasn't awkward, but it was different. Mía looked at him with a faint smile. He held her gaze.
—Kiss or dare, Semiel? —she asked calmly.
Semiel lowered his eyes, then looked back up. He spoke without theatrics:
—Dare.
Mía paused for a few seconds. Then, with an expression as simple as it was lethal, she said:
—Then say the name of the person you like.
The group fell silent. No one laughed, no one teased. The fire crackled louder, as if trying to fill the space left by silence. Semiel didn't answer. He kept his eyes on the bottle, then on Mía, then on the fire.
The person I like is…