Cameron stared at her phone long after the conversation ended, the screen dimming before she tapped it again just to see Jasmine's name still sitting there. It didn't feel real.
Jasmine had reached out. Jasmine wanted to see her again.
A message that shouldn't have meant anything was now embedded beneath her skin like a splinter.
Her first instinct had been to shove it all away, to laugh bitterly and remind herself how far she'd come. How much it took to forget Jasmine. To kill the ache. To get through a full day without checking old messages or picturing a version of her that never existed.
She had been fine. Better. Maybe not happy, but stable. Settled. And she liked that word—settled. It meant stillness. It meant calm.
And now?
Now her chest was a clenched fist again.
She tossed her phone onto the couch as if that act alone could banish the thoughts already forming in her mind. She stood, pacing the small living room, hands restless, as if moving could undo what had already begun.
It was nothing. A friendly message. A favor. A box-packing request.
Not a confession. Not a rekindling. Not fate.
Except—why now?
Why her?
She paused, biting the inside of her cheek.
You're doing it again. Stop it.
She pressed her palms into her eyes until stars bloomed behind them. It had been a year. A full year of silence. A year of growing dull to Jasmine's name, of convincing herself it never mattered, of learning how to fill the void with other people, other patterns, other lies.
And yet...
Here she was again, trying to decode a smiling emoji like it held some sacred answer.
Curiosity hit next. It always did.
What had Jasmine been up to? Has she changed? Was her hair still dark, still worn in that loose, easy way that made her look like she didn't try too hard but still looked incredible? Was she still with Andrew? Had she remembered Cameron randomly one night while cleaning out drawers and decided, Why not?
Cameron mumbled under her breath, "Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter," like a mantra.
But it did.
Because she picked up her phone again.
Scrolled through the short conversation.
Re-read Jasmine's offer like it might shape-shift into something more the second time around.
Hope came next.
Uninvited and dangerous.
Maybe this meant something. Maybe Jasmine remembered her in ways that mattered. Maybe this was Jasmine opening the door that Cameron had never dared to knock on. Maybe she had broken up with Andrew. Maybe she wanted to see if there was still something there. Maybe—
She caught the thought and shut it down, hard.
Biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper.
Don't. Don't do this. You know what this is. You know what it isn't.
But the damage was already done. The seed had been planted. Her pulse was faster now, her body fully betraying her logic. Her hands gripped the phone like it held all the answers, like one more message might tilt the axis of the world in her favor.
This was fate.
It had to be.
"What are the chances?" she whispered to herself.
What are the chances that after all this time, Jasmine would reach out the same week Rosalie had asked her to go out of town with her? What are the chances that just as things were settling into something almost comfortable, Jasmine would come back?
Fate was such a stupid word. But she believed in it anyway.
Believed in it because it was easier than admitting she hadn't moved on. Not really.
She sank onto the couch, phone resting on her thigh. The whiskey from earlier still sat half-finished on the table, its burn now a distant memory. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard again, not to reply, but to type something else—something she wouldn't send.
[So what happened to your boyfriend?]
She stared at the text.
Then deleted it.
Too direct. Too transparent. Too pathetic.
Instead, she opened Rosalie's name in her messages and stared at that too.
She thought about texting her. About telling her the truth. That Jasmine had reappeared. That the shape of her name alone was enough to knock the wind out of Cameron's chest.
But what would she even say?
Hey, remember that girl I told you meant nothing? Turns out I'm still stupid about her. Sorry.
No. She couldn't do that.
She couldn't tarnish what she had with Rosalie, even if it was already beginning to thin around the edges.
Rosalie was warmth. Rosalie was real. Tangible. Reliable.
But Jasmine... Jasmine was the ghost Cameron had never been able to exorcise.
She stood again, began pacing.
If she said no to helping Jasmine, that would be the end of it. The final nail in a coffin she should've buried years ago. But if she helped...
If she went...
She was opening the door again. Just a crack. Just enough to let the light in.
And wasn't that what she wanted? Not even Jasmine. Not really.
Just the possibility.
Just the whisper of maybe.