They were together now. That was the truth.
But it wasn't the fairytale Cameron had once let herself fantasize about. It wasn't even close. There was no romantic montage, no whispered declarations at midnight, no sense of finally arriving at the place she had been aching toward for years.
It was quiet. Lopsided. Uneven.
She kept waiting for Jasmine to say something. Anything.
Cameron had always believed she needed touch, but that wasn't it—not really. What she craved was confirmation. Language. Acknowledgment that she wasn't imagining the way she felt. That she mattered.
She wanted Jasmine to say she loved her. To say she missed her when she wasn't around. To say I'm glad I'm here now. With you. Something real. Something that stitched all the broken pieces of their past into something she could believe in.
But Jasmine didn't speak like that.
Jasmine's love language was built on favors and sacrifices. She noticed the way Jasmine's mood lifted when Cameron offered to drive her somewhere without complaint, when she remembered the exact way she liked her coffee, when she canceled plans with someone else just because Jasmine wanted company. It wasn't that Jasmine didn't want love—she just wanted it done her way.
But it wasn't.
Not when Jasmine laughed off compliments. Not when Cameron tried to open up about her past and Jasmine nodded distractedly, already thinking of something else. Not when she said "I love you" once, quietly, one night in the dark—and Jasmine kissed her instead of answering.
Cameron let that kiss be enough.
Cameron tried to adjust. She buried the impulse to reach out, replacing it with quiet acts of service. But the dissonance was glaring. The first two weeks passed in uneven rhythms—Jasmine kept testing how much Cameron was willing to bend, and Cameron kept letting her. The dynamic hadn't shifted as much as it should have. Cameron was still following, still being led.
One night, Jasmine was curled up on the couch, venting about work. She paced the same circle she always did: underpaid, underappreciated, invisible. Cameron sat beside her, nodding where appropriate, responding when prompted. But something about it felt hollow. Distant. Like she was reading from a script.
Jasmine paused mid-rant. "Are you even listening?"
"I am," Cameron said, too quickly. Too flat.
Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "You're being distant."
Cameron blinked at her, stunned by the irony. "I'm being distant?"
"You've been weird all week," Jasmine replied. "Like you're somewhere else all the time."
Cameron exhaled slowly. She hadn't meant to bring this up yet, but the words were already pushing their way out. "Did we make the right decision?"
The room went still.
Jasmine's expression changed—tightened. "What does that mean?"
Cameron hesitated. She didn't want to be cruel. She didn't want to destroy whatever fragile version of togetherness they had managed to assemble. But she also couldn't keep pretending everything felt okay. "I just… this doesn't feel how I thought it would."
For a brief second, something cracked across Jasmine's face—disappointment, fear, defensiveness. She buried it fast.
"So what? You're saying this was a mistake?"
"I don't know," Cameron admitted, voice low. "I want it to work. But it's like… I'm still trying to get close to you, and you keep changing the definition of what close even means."
Jasmine scoffed, folding her arms. "That's rich, coming from you. You're the one pulling away."
"Because I never know where I stand with you," Cameron said, and now her voice had heat behind it. "You never say anything. I tell you how I feel, and you deflect or brush it off or change the subject. I need something more than errands and sleepovers."
"What, you want me to write you a love letter every morning?"
"No," Cameron said, hurt, sharpening her tone. "I just want to feel like I matter. I want you to say it. Even once."
"I'm here, aren't I?" Jasmine shot back. "I broke up with Andrew. I moved in. I'm doing everything you asked."
"I didn't ask you to move in," Cameron said softly. "You just did. And now I don't even know if you want to be here, or if this is just where you ended up."
That silenced Jasmine.
She looked away, jaw clenched, lips twitching like she had something to say and couldn't decide if it was worth it.
Cameron stood slowly. "Do you even love me?"
Jasmine blinked. "Are you serious?"
"I need to hear it."
"You already know I do."
"Then say it."
But Jasmine didn't. She was still as stone, eyes wide and defensive, as if the very act of speaking the words would cost her something she wasn't willing to give.
Cameron waited. One second. Two.
Then she nodded, shoulders sinking.
"That's what I thought."