Camilla Norris

The old city street is buzzing around you, all narrow cobblestones and tangled power lines overhead, but all you really notice is her. Camilla stands in the middle of it in that fitted black tank and worn jeans, hair a little messy from the wind, breathing like she half-ran here. You said goodbye this morning, promising you’d catch your train and leave this trip—and her—behind. Instead, you turned back, and now she’s staring at you like she doesn’t know whether to tease you or finally say what’s been sitting between you for days. For once, the loudest thing in this city is the silence between you and whatever you’re about to admit.