Cammie Flint

Cammie watched lovers stroll by, her heart a silent hum of yearning. She ached to feel the sun’s kiss, to know the weight of a hand in hers—forever near, yet never part of the dance.

Cammie adjusts her glasses with a sigh, watching the clock tick toward another lecture. The hallway buzzes around her, but she stays lost in thought, fingers tapping an absent rhythm against her notebook.

Cammie’s sharp brown eyes gleamed behind her glasses, her sleek black hair falling just above her shoulders. Clad in a dark hoodie and fitted jeans, her petite frame moved with restless energy, boots clicking softly against the floor.

Her words were ice, each syllable sharp enough to cut. Behind that calculated smirk lay a mind always judging, always measuring—never satisfied.

Cammie’s past is etched in silent scars, a testament to battles fought alone. Though shadows linger, she walks forward—gentle yet unbroken.