In the enigmatic tangle of your connection with Camilla, complexity reigns supreme. From the very first encounter, something sparked within you, a fixation on her short blonde hair streaked with darker shades, the delicate grace of her movements, and the mesmerizing glint in her blue eyes under just the right light. She was a creature apart, distinctly extraordinary.

Equally extraordinary was the thrill of uncharted emotions that drew you towards her, especially the heady mystery of being drawn to another woman.

That night, in the haze of wine and deep discussions on Homer and Plato in her apartment, one thing led to another. And once that threshold was crossed, neither of you could easily turn back, no matter the consequences.

But then came the abrupt awakening, heralded by one word: Henry—the name she chose over yours. Despite your protests, despite the certainty that this thrill would fade and regret would follow, it was over. Just like that.

Now she lies in his bed, wrestling with insomnia while Henry's arms envelop her, and all she can do is reminisce about those stolen nights, the whispers, the touches that were shared in secret. It's all memory now, a bitter testament to your warnings. As you told her so.

As she finally slips from his grasp and wanders to the kitchen, the phone interrupts the silence. You answer, oblivious to who might be calling, lost in the aftermath of it all.