Cameron sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her knuckles were pale from the pressure, her spine rigid as if any movement might set something off. Across the room, Jasmine paced, her bare feet muffled against the plush carpet. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows that stretched and shrunk with every frantic turn Jasmine made, her silhouette warping across the walls like a storm cloud that refused to pass.
Cameron had spent the last twenty-four hours trying to ignore the sense that everything was coming apart. She had rationalized, made excuses, and whispered reassurances to herself. She's just restless. It's just a rough patch. She'll settle soon. But now, watching Jasmine muttering under her breath, rubbing her temples, shaking her head like she was arguing with ghosts, Cameron couldn't pretend anymore.
"Jasmine," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "Can we talk?"
Jasmine let out a sharp laugh, high and brittle, like something about to shatter. "Talk? Now you want to talk? Now, after you've been acting weird this entire trip?"
Cameron blinked. "I've been acting weird?"
"Yes, Cameron!" Jasmine spun to face her, arms thrown wide in disbelief. Her eyes were glassy, wild. "One second, you're all over me, planning this perfect getaway, making me feel like I'm your whole world—and the next, you're watching me like I'm some kind of ticking time bomb! What the hell am I supposed to think?"
The words hit harder than they should have. Cameron had been watching her—but not out of malice. Out of fear. Out of confusion. Out of the growing sense that something was slipping and she didn't know how to stop it.
"I just... I don't understand what's going on with you," she said softly.
Jasmine scoffed, turning her back. "Right. Of course. Because I'm the problem."
"That's not what I'm saying," Cameron said, standing slowly. "I just—Jasmine, the way you've been acting… it's not like you. One minute we're having the best time, and the next, you're sneaking off, getting angry over nothing, trying to do things that could get us in real trouble. And when I try to say anything about it, you twist it around like I'm the one pushing you away."
Jasmine's shoulders tensed, her spine going stiff. "I don't need you analyzing me, Cameron."
"I'm not trying to analyze you." Cameron took a step forward, cautious. "I'm trying to understand you."
Jasmine didn't respond right away. Her body remained frozen, hands clenched at her sides. When she turned, her eyes were shining with unshed tears—bright, angry, terrified.
"You think I don't know that?" she said, voice cracking. "You think I don't feel it too? That something's… off?"
Cameron's heart sank. She hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected Jasmine to admit it, even if just in passing.
Jasmine's breath came fast and uneven. "But I don't need you acting like I'm broken."
"I don't think you're broken," Cameron said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think you're hurting."
And then, something shifted. The anger in Jasmine's posture softened, her mouth trembling like a child on the verge of a confession. She let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in her chest for years.
"I don't know what's wrong with me," she whispered. "Some days, I feel like I could take over the world. Like I'm... electric. Untouchable. And then other days, it's like everything is caving in, and I can't breathe. And I don't know which version of me is real."
Cameron's chest tightened, not with fear, but with helplessness. This wasn't something she could fix with a vacation or a kiss or a whispered reassurance. This was something deeper. Older. Maybe something Jasmine didn't have words for yet.
She reached for her hand. "Both of them are real," she said. "And neither of them are things you have to face alone."
Jasmine hesitated, eyes flicking down to their hands. For a moment, Cameron was afraid she'd pull away again. But slowly, Jasmine let their fingers intertwine. Her grip was loose at first, then tightened—clinging like a lifeline.
"I don't want you to leave," she said, her voice so soft it nearly disappeared into the space between them.
"I'm not leaving," Cameron said gently. "But we can't keep pretending this is normal. I don't want to lose you, Jasmine. But I don't want to lose myself either."
The words startled even her. She hadn't meant to say them—not like that. But the truth rang clear between them.
Jasmine wiped her cheeks roughly, as if embarrassed by her own display. She stepped back, took a deep breath, then exhaled with shaky resolve. "Okay," she said. "I'll try."
Cameron nodded. She didn't say thank you. Didn't say that's all I needed. Because it wasn't. She needed more. But for now, this was the only ground they could stand on.
She squeezed Jasmine's hand once, gently. It was a promise. Fragile, but real.
And yet, as she looked at Jasmine—so full of contradictions, of highs and lows, of passion and unpredictability—Cameron couldn't shake the feeling growing at the edge of her mind.
This was only the beginning.
There was still so much Jasmine wasn't saying.
And Cameron was starting to wonder how long she could keep pretending love was enough.