CHAPTER ONE
The Bottle Never Lies
The bottle slows as though it knows exactly what it's doing.
At first, it spins wildly, blurring faces into streaks of colour and laughter. Music pulses through the living room, vibrating the floor beneath my bare feet, mixing with soda, perfume, and something sharp I can't identify. Someone screams. Someone else claps too loudly.
Then the bottle hesitates.
The room leans forward as one.
My breath catches when the glass finally stops, its narrow neck pointing directly at me clear, deliberate, impossible to misunderstand.
For a split second, everything freezes.
Then the noise crashes back.
"Yesss!"
"Finally!"
"About time!"
I force a laugh, though my throat tightens as if I've swallowed something too large. Heat crawls up my neck, settling on my cheeks. I already feel their expectations pressing in from every direction.
"Easy," someone says. "Pick your boyfriend."
A few people nod, already bored. This is supposed to be predictable. Safe. A formality before the game continues.
After all, everyone here knows us.
They know how long we've been together.
They know how openly I love him.
They know how often I defend him, how I choose him even when it costs me something.
I glance at him instinctively, waiting for our eyes to meet.
They don't.
He's leaning back against the couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest, laughing at something his friend whispers. He doesn't look worried or curious.
He looks certain.
I'll certainly choose him.
Certain I always will.
The bottle glints under the light, still aimed at me like an accusation.
"Dare," the group chants.
My pulse thunders as the rules are repeated, louder now, exaggerated for effect.
"Seven minutes in heaven!"
"Opposite sex!"
"Upstairs!"
Someone whistles. Someone groans. A few phones come out, already hungry for reactions.
I sit there, smiling stiffly, fingers twisting in my lap. This is nothing, I tell myself. A silly game. A harmless moment.
So why does my chest feel tight?
Why do I suddenly feel like I'm standing at the edge of something I can't see the bottom of?
My eyes wander without permission, skimming familiar faces,friends, classmates, people I've known for years until they land somewhere unexpected.
The corner.
The darkest part of the room, where light barely reaches.
He's sitting there alone.
He hasn't touched a drink. He hasn't laughed once. He isn't watching the bottle or the people shouting around me. He's simply observing, quiet and composed, as if he exists on a different frequency altogether.
He looks older than everyone else here, not in a way that feels out of place, but grounded. Like he belongs somewhere calmer.
For a moment, I wonder why he's even here.
Then he lifts his head.
Our eyes meet.
The contact is brief,barely a second but something in my stomach flips. His gaze isn't playful or curious like the others'. There's no anticipation there.
If anything, he looks cautious.
I'm almost concerned.
He looks away first, shifting slightly, as if the moment never happened.
But it did.
The chant grows louder.
"Choose! Choose! Choose!"
I should stand and walk the three steps to my boyfriend. I should smile, roll my eyes, make a joke of it. That's what everyone expects. That's what I've always done,kept things smooth, easy, predictable.
Instead, my body moves before my mind catches up.
I stand.
The room quiets slightly, sensing something off.
I take one step forward.
Then another.
Gasps ripple through the crowd when I don't turn toward the couch.
I hear my name whispered. I hear laughter falter, confusion slipping in where certainty lives.
My boyfriend straightens, his smile fading slightly.
"Hey," he says, laughing. "Wrong direction."
I don't look at him.
I keep walking.
Each step feels heavier than the last, as though the floor itself resists me. My heart pounds so hard it's almost painful, but I don't stop until I'm standing directly in front of the man from the corner.
Up close, the age difference is more noticeable but not uncomfortable. He smells faintly of cologne and something clean. His expression is unreadable, eyes steady as they search my face.
The room has gone silent now.
Someone whispers his name, barely audible.
Someone else lets out a nervous laugh.
"That's my uncle," my boyfriend says from behind me, disbelieving his voice. "You're kidding, right?"
I hear him stand. I feel his presence like pressure against my back.
The man in front of me exhales slowly.
"Are you sure?" he asks quietly, voice calm, low enough that it doesn't carry across the room.
There's no judgment in his tone. No amusement. Just a question -one that gives me an opening to stop, to turn around, to pretend this was all a mistake.
For a heartbeat, I consider it.
Then I think of the way my boyfriend didn't look at me earlier.
The way certainty can feel like being taken for granted.
The way I suddenly feel invisible in a room full of people who claim to know me.
I nod.
Once.
The reaction is immediate.
A chorus of shocked exclamations. Someone swears under their breath. A friend covers her mouth, eyes wide. My boyfriend says my name again, sharper this time.
But the game has rules.
And I've made my choice.
The stairs creak beneath our feet as we move away from the noise, music fading with every step. The hallway upstairs is dimmer, quieter, heavy with the weight of what everyone thinks is about to happen.
Nothing dramatic does.
No touching.
No crossed lines.
We sit on opposite sides of the room, seven minutes ticking by in thick silence.
He asks if I'm okay.
I say yes, even though I'm not sure what that means anymore.
When the door opens and we return downstairs, the party resumes like a forced laugh ,too loud, too quick, too desperate to cover the crack running through it.
My boyfriend won't look at me.
His friends avoid my eyes.
And his uncle doesn't come back down at all.
Later that night, lying in bed with echoes of laughter still ringing in my ears, I told myself it was nothing.
Just a dare.
Just a moment.
Just a stupid game.
But moments that mean nothing don't follow you into the dark.
They don't sit heavy in your chest.
They don't change the way silence feels.
And somewhere deep inside, I know without understanding how or why that the bottle didn't just land on me.
It chose me.