Cameron couldn't let it sit any longer. The confusion. The distance. The ache of not knowing where she stood. It had grown too loud to ignore, buzzing beneath her skin like electricity with nowhere to go. She needed answers—or at least, a truth she could hold in her hands.
So she showed up at Jasmine's apartment.
The same apartment Jasmine had moved into just a month after leaving Cameron's place—the one they had briefly shared, like a dream too delicate to last. Jasmine hadn't made a big deal out of the move. She'd said she just needed her own space, something temporary, something close to work. But it felt final. Like a door closing behind her, soft enough not to echo but loud enough to be felt.
Cameron's hand hovered over the buzzer longer than she wanted to admit. Her heart pounded against her ribs as if trying to warn her. She had rehearsed a dozen versions of what she wanted to say. Some calm. Some pleading. Some angry. But all of them had one thing in common: they started with I don't understand.
When Jasmine opened the door, she looked surprised—but not startled. Like she'd known this moment would come, had simply been waiting for it. Her expression was unreadable, eyes tired but alert, her mouth set in a line that neither welcomed nor resisted.
She stepped aside wordlessly, and Cameron walked in.
The apartment was dim, the scent of jasmine tea—or maybe just the name of it—still lingering faintly in the air. It smelled like memory. The space was neat, curated, and impersonal. Not cold exactly, but protected.
The air between them was heavy, saturated with all the things they hadn't said in weeks. Neither of them moved to sit. The quiet stretched, taut and uncomfortable.
Finally, Cameron broke it. "Can we talk?"
Jasmine crossed her arms. "About what?"
Cameron laughed—dry, humorless. "Are you serious? You've been acting off for weeks, pulling away, snapping at me for no reason, and then somehow I'm the one who's suddenly distant?"
Jasmine's jaw tensed. "Because you are."
Cameron stared at her. "I've been planning something for you, Jasmine. That's why I've been preoccupied."
Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And I'm just supposed to know that?"
"I was trying to surprise you," Cameron said, her voice tightening. "I didn't tell you because I wanted it to be special."
"Right," Jasmine said flatly. "Because secrets are so romantic."
Cameron's patience cracked. "You didn't even ask," she said, voice sharp but controlled. "You just assumed I was doing something wrong. You never gave me the benefit of the doubt. You never even tried to check in."
Jasmine scoffed and turned slightly away, staring at the window like she might climb through it just to avoid the conversation. "What was I supposed to think? You're distant. You don't talk to me anymore."
Cameron felt the swell of frustration rise in her chest. "I was planning something for you," she repeated, almost begging her to hear it this time.
"It doesn't matter," Jasmine said, her voice flat.
Those two words knocked the breath out of Cameron's lungs. "Doesn't matter?"
Jasmine didn't look at her.
And suddenly, Cameron couldn't hold it in anymore. The plan, the secrecy, the excitement—all of it spilled from her lips like a wound tearing open. "I planned a trip for us," she said. "A surprise. I've been budgeting and researching and trying to make it perfect. I've been doing all of this while you've been shutting me out."
Jasmine went still.
Cameron watched her face, hoping for something—shock, regret, softness. Anything. But Jasmine just stared, her eyes searching, unreadable.
"That's why I've been distracted," Cameron added, quieter now. "Because I love you. Because I wanted to give you something unforgettable. Something that felt like us."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Then, finally, Jasmine's expression shifted. Not dramatically—just enough. Her eyes softened at the edges. Her mouth relaxed. "A trip?" she asked, like the idea had caught her off guard.
"Yes," Cameron said. Her voice cracked slightly, a tremble sneaking into her throat. "Because I love you."
Jasmine's lips parted, and for a second Cameron thought she was going to say it back. But she didn't. Instead, she looked at her for a long moment—calculating, maybe, or just absorbing.
Then she asked, softly, "Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because I wanted it to be a surprise," Cameron said. "I thought… I thought it would make you happy."
Jasmine nodded slowly, as if finally hearing her. Her body language shifted—less rigid now, more open. Her fingers reached forward and brushed lightly over Cameron's wrist. A featherlight touch, deliberate but restrained.
"You really did all that for me?" she asked.
Cameron nodded. "Of course I did."
Jasmine smiled, small and knowing. "You're too good to me."
The words slid over Cameron's skin like silk, but left her cold.
They should have made her feel appreciated, seen. But instead, they clung to her like a compliment with thorns. Like something Jasmine could admire without ever having to reciprocate.
"You're too good to me."
As if Cameron's love was a thing to marvel at, not a thing to return.
Cameron smiled back, but something inside her twisted. She wanted to believe this moment meant something. That they'd just turned a corner. That this was them, working through it.
But deep down, she wasn't sure.
Jasmine hadn't apologized. She hadn't acknowledged the accusations, or the way she had walked out without explanation. She had accepted the gift of Cameron's love like it was inevitable. Like of course someone would move mountains for her.
Cameron realized, in that quiet space between gestures and words, that Jasmine might never actually choose her the way she wanted to be chosen.
She would accept the love. She would soak in it, benefit from it. But would she ever match it?
Still, Cameron stayed standing in that apartment, Jasmine's fingers tracing hers like nothing had been broken at all.
And maybe that was the problem.