Cameron folded an old t-shirt, smoothing the fabric between her fingers before dropping it into the half-packed suitcase at her feet. The apartment was quiet, save for the occasional distant hum of traffic below and the rhythmic rustling of her hands sorting through years' worth of accumulated belongings. A toothbrush she had forgotten she even owned. A single sock missing its pair. The remnants of a life that had, at one point, fit perfectly within these walls.
She moved with slow deliberation, pausing to consider what was worth keeping, what should be left behind. A bottle of jasmine-scented lotion sat on the dresser, unopened. She remembered the day she bought it, thinking it would make Jasmine laugh. She'd never worked up the nerve to actually give it to her. Now it felt like a relic from another time.
The suitcase wasn't full, but Cameron felt full. Of what, she wasn't sure. Too many things. Too many memories pressed into the corners of the apartment like dust that refused to be cleaned away.
She needed a break.
Stepping out onto the balcony, she pulled a cigarette from the pack in her hoodie pocket. The lighter flicked to life with a soft snap, and she inhaled, letting the smoke settle heavy in her lungs before exhaling slow. The skyline stretched out before her, familiar yet distant. She had spent countless nights out here, watching the city breathe, waiting for something—anything—to feel different.
Two years.
That's how long it had been since the night she and Jasmine had sat on this very couch, talking about love, about fear, about the cautious steps toward something neither of them could fully name at the time. Two years since they'd chosen to move forward—together, but also as individuals. There had been good days, bad days, and days that blurred into something in between. But time had moved, whether she had wanted it to or not.
Cameron rolled the cigarette between her fingers, lost in the rhythm of it.
She thought about the moments that had shaped her, the choices that had led her here. The first time she saw Jasmine, that electric pulse of something real and sharp. The nights tangled up in each other, desperate and raw. The fights that had carved them open, the silences that had stitched them back together. The breaking, the rebuilding, the endless cycle of trying and failing and trying again.
And now, this. Packing up. Moving on?
She wasn't sure. That was the problem with reflection—it forced you to see things you weren't ready to name. Cameron had spent so much of her life trying to outrun her own emotions, only to find herself right back where she started, sitting in the middle of them, sifting through the pieces like they might suddenly arrange themselves into something understandable.
The cherry of her cigarette glowed in the dim light as she took another drag, then flicked the ash over the railing. Below, the world continued as if nothing had changed. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, nothing had.
She heard the door open behind her.
Jasmine's voice, soft but certain.
"Need any help?"
Cameron didn't turn around right away. She took one last drag and tapped the cigarette out in the ashtray before turning to face her. "Yeah," she said, offering a small smile. "I think I do."