The days that followed were quiet.
Too quiet.
Cameron moved through them like a ghost—present, functioning, but stripped of color. She stopped checking her phone obsessively. She avoided Jasmine's usual haunts. She ignored old photos. She forced herself to reroute.
And it almost worked.
She let Rosalie fill in the silence, her presence comforting in its predictability. They weren't explosive. They weren't even passionate. But Rosalie never left her wondering. Never let her spiral. Never made her feel like she had to earn her space in the room.
So Cameron stayed close. Close enough to feel safe. Distant enough to avoid real commitment.
She wasn't sure what to call it—this arrangement, this pause between heartbreaks—but it felt bearable. Which, after Jasmine, felt like peace.
She still saw Jasmine, of course.
Occasionally. Casually. In controlled doses.
But the air between them was different now. Tight. Dry. Something crackling beneath the surface. Cameron spoke carefully, measured her laughter, and never lingered too long.
Jasmine noticed.
She always did.
"You're acting weird," she said one evening, her voice too light to be casual. "You're not… I don't know. You're different."
They were sitting outside a café, streetlights flickering above them like faulty stars. Cameron didn't look up.
"I thought you said it wasn't a big deal. What happened." Not a question. A statement. A test.
Cameron stared down at her coffee, her fingers wrapped too tightly around the cup. "I started dating Rosalie," she said. Flat. Matter-of-fact. The way you might announce a weather report.
She didn't look at Jasmine. Couldn't.
The silence that followed was brief, but loud. Jasmine blinked once. Twice. Her lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin, careful line.
"Oh," she said. The word was empty, but her tone wasn't.
Cameron heard it—the undercurrent. Possessiveness. Insecurity. Selfishness masquerading as mild surprise.
"I just… didn't think you'd move on so fast," Jasmine added.
Cameron flinched.
Because it was exactly what she had once imagined Jasmine would say if the roles were reversed. And now that it was real, it felt like a knife laced with sugar.
"I have to go," she said suddenly, standing too fast. Her chair scraped against the pavement. Her hands trembled as she shoved them into her jacket pockets.
Jasmine didn't stop her.
Didn't reach out.
Didn't say anything at all.
Cameron walked until her lungs burned.
The air was too crisp, too sharp against her skin. Her heartbeat pounded in her throat. All of it—the disappointment, the fury, the pain—churned under her ribs like rot.
You regret sleeping with me, she thought. But you don't want me to move on.
It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.
Back at the café, Jasmine remained seated.
Her hands were folded in her lap, clenched too tight to be casual.
She stared at the spot Cameron had just vacated, her expression unreadable. Her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't move.
But her thoughts roared.
The jealousy arrived slowly, like a fever. Quiet at first. A whisper of what if, of how dare she. Jasmine sat with it, letting it bloom.
She told herself it wasn't about losing Cameron—it wasn't about feelings. It was about control. About knowing she was wanted. Chosen. Safe in the space she'd carved out.
And now that safety is gone.
Cameron had pulled back. Changed the script.
And Jasmine didn't like it.
The next morning, Jasmine stared at Cameron's last message. Just a casual,
Cameron: [Thanks for meeting up.]
Polite.
Cold.
She hated it.
She hated how much she missed the old Cameron—the one who lingered on her texts, the one who trailed her like a shadow, the one who worshiped her.
And now?
Now Cameron was unreachable. Unreadable. Someone else's.
The bitterness curdled in Jasmine's chest.
I just didn't think you'd move on so fast.
What she meant was:
I didn't think you'd leave me behind.
Meanwhile, Cameron tried not to think.
She stayed curled up in Rosalie's apartment that night, her body folded against hers like a secret. Rosalie ran her fingers through her hair, said nothing.
Cameron kept her phone face-down on the floor.
But she could feel it vibrating.
Somewhere, the storm was already brewing.
And it had Jasmine's name on it.