Truth or Dare

The moment the word party left my mouth, it was over.

The girls sprang up like they had been waiting for this moment all their lives. Dancing, shouting, moving their bodies to a rhythm that only we understood. The energy was infectious, filling every corner of our tiny space.

And, of course, no pre-game was complete without a little drink.

We took out a bottle of Big Ben—not too much, just enough to set the mood but not enough to get high before the real deal. Just a small bottle to warm up.

Then came the MP3 loudspeaker.

The moment we pressed play, the compound knew—oh, these girls again. The music blasted, our voices rang through the air, and we screamed all sorts of rubbish without a care in the world. Because why not? We were getting ready for the party ahead, and the world had to feel our vibe.

—

When it was time to step out, we all came out in our personal best.

Ruth went for a one-handed crop top, paired with white bomb shorts that made her look effortlessly stylish.

Light showed off her fresh, glowing skin in a short, sexy jean skirt. On top, she wore a crop top with sleeves—just enough difference to make it uniquely her.

Biancus, being Biancus, chose to cover her insecurities with a long gown. But don't get it twisted—it had long sleeves that played a little game of "expose but not too much," hugging her in all the right places and proving, once again, that she was effortlessly sexy.

Irene? She was feeling herself in a short, stretchy, body-hugging dress that left nothing to the imagination.

Royalty, the boss of town and queen of parties, went for a reversible shirt with bomb shorts that had scattered edges—giving her that wild, carefree, "I own this night" look.

And then there was me.

I have insecurities. A lot of them.

So I went with something that made me feel safe but still gave me the confidence to step out. A floral mini-gown—short, but not too short. It had shorts underneath for extra comfort. The straps were so tiny we called them Indomie hands—so delicate, just barely holding everything together.

It was our night.

And we were ready.

Once we were all dressed to kill, we slipped on our shoes, hyped each other up one last time, and headed out.

The club we chose for the night? Explore.

I know, the name sounds like it should be some grand adventure, like stepping into another world where the lights blind you, the music shakes the walls, and the bodies on the dancefloor move in hypnotic waves. That's what we expected.

That's not what we got.

The moment we stepped in, reality hit. The place was dry.

Not just dry—D.R.Y.

It was exam season, which meant most people were locked in their rooms, cramming for dear life, trying to absorb entire textbooks in a night. The same textbooks that took scholars years to compile, that lecturers spent months rushing through, and now—now these students believed they could download all that information into their heads in one night. A miracle none of us were interested in performing.

But their absence? It sucked the life out of Explore.

The vibe was off. The club wasn't calling, wasn't giving, wasn't even whispering. It was just there, struggling for air.

And the music? Oh God.

We had stepped in with high energy, ready to lose ourselves in the beat, but instead, the DJ was playing some slow, sad excuse for a party anthem. Like, sir, read the room—well, read us.

So, naturally, we took charge.

Irene, in full Mama mode, marched up to the DJ and said something—we didn't hear what, but we saw the way she moved her hands like she was giving a life lecture. The DJ nodded, fiddled with his setup, and then—boom.

That was more like it.

The bass dropped, the speakers roared to life, and the small crowd that was there finally started moving. The attention immediately shifted to us. After all, in a space this empty, it was easy to become the center of attention.

And that's exactly what happened.

The music pulsed, and the girls let loose.

Light? Unexpected bombshell.

I mean, I always knew she had vibes, but that night? She ate. She moved with this quiet confidence, throwing in little dance steps like she wasn't trying too hard, but still absolutely owning it. It wasn't loud or extra—it was just right. Just enough to steal glances, to make people think, damn, who's that girl?

Biancus? Full supporter mode. She didn't dance much, but she hyped everyone else up, throwing in cheers, laughing, keeping the energy going.

And me?

Let's just say I folded real fast.

At first, I was dancing, matching their energy, but the moment I noticed all the eyes on us, my confidence took a nose-dive. My movements slowed, my hands got awkward, and before I even realized it, I was backing away.

I sank into the nearest seat, silently thanking the dim lighting for hiding how flustered I was.

Biancus was the first to notice.

Her eyes locked onto mine, and without saying a word, they spoke: Why are you sitting down?

I sighed, tilting my head towards the people watching.

"I got shy," I admitted.

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I don't even like dancing in crowded areas."

And just like that, it was fine.

We sat there, laughing, watching the girls do their thing, and somehow, that felt just as fun. Just being there, together. We hardly got moments like this—when there were no classes, no stress, just us.

That was rare.

And it was everything.

—

But of course, it didn't last forever.

Royalty? She was bound to get claimed.

A girl dancing like that, looking that good? Someone was going to swoop in, and we should've seen it coming.

One minute, she was hyping us up, moving effortlessly to the beat—the next? Gone.

Vanished into the crowd with some guy who was clearly captivated.

We didn't even get a warning, just a glance at her being led away, her usual mischievous smirk thrown in our direction as if to say, Don't wait up, bitches.

Just like that, we had lost her for the night.

And as if her absence was some kind of spell, the party died.

The energy we had fought so hard to build crumbled. The music was still loud, but without her in the mix, it just wasn't the same.

That's when he walked in.

Tall. Confident. Moving like he owned the place. He didn't hesitate, didn't scope the crowd—he walked straight up to Irene.

And then, with the same certainty, he said, "I really like you."

Irene, being Irene, didn't even blink. She just tilted her head, listening, letting him talk while we exchanged glances behind her.

What was happening?

A few moments later, she turned to us with a look that screamed, I got this.

"Girls, let's go," she said simply.

That was it.

No explanation. No second-guessing. Just Irene, taking charge as usual.

We followed without question.

The guy led us outside to his car—sleek, black, something expensive. The kind of car that made you rethink your life choices. The kind of car that smelled like money.

We slipped inside, the engine roared to life, and just like that—our night was over.

Explore might have been a letdown, but the story? The memory? The chaos?

Worth it.

The ride home was quiet, the excitement of the night settling into a comfortable hum. The air outside was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth of the club we had just left. The streetlights flickered as we pulled up to our house, the city half-asleep, but my mind was still restless.

We all got out of the car, stretching, yawning—except for Irene. She lingered, leaning against the car door, talking in hushed tones with the guy who had driven us home. Her voice was soft, laced with laughter. It was already late, and for someone who barely stayed with us anymore, I half expected her to leave with him. But part of me wanted her to stay, just for the night. The house wasn't the same without her presence—annoying as she could be sometimes.

While she stayed behind, the rest of us sank onto the pavement outside our house. Shoes kicked off, backs against the wall, we let the night replay itself. The club had been dry, but the company had made up for it. Laughter bubbled between us as we teased each other about our failed dance moves, about how Royalty had been "kidnapped" by some random guy, about how Light had surprised everyone with her smooth moves.

Then, as if the night wasn't over yet, our neighbor strolled up to us.

"Hey, it's my birthday today," he announced, his voice thick with excitement. "Why don't you guys come over?"

We exchanged glances. House parties weren't really our thing. There was something about walking into a stranger's space, surrounded by people you didn't know, that felt different from a club. More personal. More unpredictable.

"We don't really go to people's houses," Ruth said cautiously, but he wasn't letting up.

"It's a house party," he insisted. "There are already a lot of people there. It'd mean a lot."

Something about the way he said it—so eager, so hopeful—made it hard to outright reject him. So we did what any sane group of girls would do.

"Yeah, sure, we'll come," we lied.

It was just to get him off our backs.

But then, as if fate had other plans, the music from his house started blaring louder. More and more people flooded in, laughter and cheers filling the air. The energy shifted. Suddenly, it wasn't just some random neighbor's party—it was an event.

I felt it in my bones—the need to let go, to drown in something reckless. A promise I had made to myself whispered in my head: Tonight, I just want to let loose.

"I think we should actually go," I said.

Ruth turned to me, her eyes sharp. "Good. Because I hate broken promises."

If there was one thing Ruth couldn't stand, it was people not keeping their word. It was almost religious for her—the belief that if you say something, you follow through. There was no in-between.

That was Ruth. That was why she was the way she was.

Biancus, however, was different. She didn't care for parties, and she wasn't the type to let people pressure her into things. If she said no, it was no. No second-guessing, no persuasion, no regrets. I admired that about her. I wished I had that kind of certainty, that kind of control over myself. But we were all different. That's what made us, us.

So, when Ruth, Light, and I finally slipped on our slippers and walked toward the party, Biancus stayed back.

The second we stepped in, I knew I had made a mistake.

Because standing there, smiling like the night had been leading up to this moment, was his girlfriend.

And she said the one thing I had been avoiding all night.

"Who's ready for a Truth or Dare game?"

My stomach twisted.

My heart burned.

Truth or Dare.

Of all the games in the world, it had to be that one.

If only they knew. If only they knew how one single round of Truth or Dare had left me with regrets I had buried deep, experiences I had sworn never to relive. Decisions that haunted me, that whispered to me at night when I was alone with my thoughts.

I had told myself I wouldn't do this again.

But karma? Karma wasn't done with me yet.