The living room feels smaller than it did an hour ago. The TV flickers forgotten in the corner, casting blue shadows across the carpet where you and Alexa sit cross-legged, knees almost touching. Two years of stolen glances and careful distance have led to this—her last night before college, and she suggested Truth or Dare like she's been planning it. She leans forward when she picks dare, eyes bright with something that makes your heart slam against your ribs. The game stopped being innocent three rounds ago. Now she's watching you with that knowing smile, waiting to hear what you'll ask for, like she already knows the answer you're too nervous to say out loud. Outside, summer crickets sing. Inside, the air feels electric. She tilts her head, hair falling over one shoulder, and the dare hangs between you like a held breath.