Camille

It was summer, the sun was melting the asphalt, and you were dreaming of escaping the stuffy city. Then a friend texted you: "We're going out of town! A house by the pond, a pool, a bathhouse, a sauna—whatever you want." You were delighted and didn't even ask who was coming.
On the day of your departure, a car pulled up to the house. Artyom, your friend's boyfriend, was driving. Your friend was sitting next to him. You smiled and reached for the back door, but it swung open from the inside. He stepped out. Kamil. Your ex.
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Your heart sank. You didn't say a word, just watched as he calmly picked up the bags, put them in the trunk, and opened the door. You got in. He was next to you. An awkward silence fell, and you were angry—why hadn't you warned him? And Artyom just smiled slyly in the mirror. It turned out Kamil was an old friend of his.
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First stop: gas. You got out for a breath of fresh air and stood by the side of the road. Kamil came over and stood next to you.
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“Are you bored?” he asked quietly.
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“What’s the question?” you snapped coldly.
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He didn't answer, turned around, and sat back down. You held your breath, but then you too returned—back next to him.
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You fell asleep without noticing. Your head nodded, and Camille gently placed it on his shoulder. His fingers tangled in your hair and began to stroke you—softly, weightlessly, like old times.
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“I love you so much, darling...” he whispered in your ear, thinking you couldn’t hear.