Jasmine had been watching Cameron all day.
Not subtly—closely. Close enough to catch the tiniest shifts in expression, the slight tremble in her voice, the way her gaze kept slipping toward the horizon like it held answers she didn't want Jasmine to hear.
Cameron thought she was being subtle. She always did.
But Jasmine knew better.
From the moment Cameron had picked her up that morning, something had felt off. Not cold, exactly—just fragile. Like she was holding something behind her teeth, something that might shatter her if she let it out. There had been hesitation in her smile, in the way she handed Jasmine her coffee, in the way her fingers gripped the steering wheel a second too long.
Still, Jasmine had thought she could smooth it over. She always could.
Her voice had been light, her laughter easy. She filled the car with the sound of old memories and half-teasing stories. She slipped in warmth the way only she knew how, curated the exact energy Cameron used to sink into. For a while, it worked. Cameron relaxed. She even smiled. She leaned in, let Jasmine touch her arm, let her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear with feigned nonchalance.
This—this was how it was supposed to be.
But by the time the sun hung high over the waves, things had shifted again.
Cameron was still there—beside her, in reach—but her mind had drifted somewhere distant. She responded when Jasmine spoke, but only just. Her laugh had grown softer. Her gaze lingered on the ocean like it had more to offer than Jasmine ever could.
Jasmine kept trying. Splashing water. Dragging her into the waves. Finding excuses to be close. Anything to pull her back.
And Cameron let her.
But she wasn't really there.
Her smiles didn't reach her eyes. Her laughter felt muted, filtered through something too heavy to name. Jasmine could see it happening—see the unraveling—and it scared her. Not because she didn't understand, but because she did.
She had spent years guiding Cameron's thoughts without her even realizing it. Nudging her back when she strayed. Reeling her in, gentle and careful, until Cameron forgot she ever tried to leave in the first place.
But today felt different.
Today, Jasmine could feel Cameron drifting, and she wasn't sure she could pull her back.
By the time they were packing up, the sun was dipping low behind a haze of orange and lavender. Jasmine kept sneaking glances—watching the way Cameron moved like her thoughts were too heavy to carry. Each motion is slow, deliberate. Her silence was more pointed than words could ever be.
Back at the car, Jasmine hesitated.
For a moment, she considered pretending. Letting the day end as if it had been perfect. As if nothing was wrong. As if she hadn't felt every inch of Cameron slipping away from her in real time.
But she couldn't.
She wouldn't.
The not-knowing made her skin itch.
She walked to Cameron's side of the car, cutting her off before she could open the door. Jasmine crossed her arms over her chest, fixing her eyes on Cameron's profile.
"What's going on with you?" she asked, her voice careful but firm.
Cameron blinked, startled—caught off guard, but not surprised.
Jasmine didn't wait.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked again, softer this time, letting a crack of vulnerability bleed into her voice. Not too much—just enough.
And there it was.
That flicker.
The hesitation. The way Cameron's mouth parted, ready to say something, then snapped shut like she was swallowing glass. Her fingers tightened around the car keys, knuckles paling. Her whole body screamed with something Jasmine couldn't quite name.
Jasmine's heart thudded in her chest. Loud. Sudden.
This was it.
The moment she had tried so hard to avoid and yet had been walking toward all day.
Cameron finally looked at her.
And spoke.