Chapter 1: The First Frame

Side S

The late summer sunshine, like scattered gold, dapples the red brick walls of Caledon University, casting shadows from trees. The lake in the North Quad shimmers with gentle ripples as a dragonfly skims the surface. With most students back home for summer break, the August campus feels quiet.

On a bench near the lake, Safi sits in silence, a notebook resting in her left hand, her right hand rapidly spinning a pen between her fingers. It’s a habit she’s picked up from a Japanese American classmate during her undergrad, something she always does when she’s restless. That classmate, of course, was much better at it.

It’s been four years, and I still don’t understand why you left me.

With a sharp clack, the pen slips from her fingers and hits the ground. Safi sighs, bending to pick it up. As she straightens, she notices someone in the distance. Someone unfamiliar.

A slender woman, slightly below average height, with shoulder-length auburn brown hair. She wears a crisp white shirt and black slacks, though the brown shoulder bag slung across her body feels oddly out of place with the business-like outfit. Half kneeling by the lake’s edge, she’s holding a camera, seemingly capturing something in the water. The sunlight traces the contours of her face, giving her an air of quiet focus.

Judging by her attire, she doesn’t look like a student. But Safi knows almost every faculty member on campus, and she doesn’t recognize this woman. Maybe she's here to see my mom? Safi wonders, intrigued. She doesn’t approach right away, though. Instead, she leans back on the bench and watches.

Safi tends to curb her usual boldness around well-dressed people, keeping a polite distance. But this woman isn’t just well-dressed—she is stunning—and Safi never misses a chance to talk to a beautiful woman. If an opportunity doesn’t present itself, she will simply create one.

And it’s not just her looks, either. Something else about her also catches Safi’s attention. She has a cool, distant aura, reminding Safi of Elsa from Frozen, even in the late summer heat.

The woman snaps a few more photos, glances at her phone, tucks her camera into her shoulder bag, and then heads into the admin building. Safi waits a few minutes, but the woman doesn’t reappear.

Another twenty minutes passed. Safi rises from the bench, thinking up an excuse as she walks toward the admin building.

She suddenly recalls Moses’s arrival at Caledon and her own reluctance to give him a campus tour. Back then, she didn’t even bother to hide her annoyance.

Things change.

“Girls save the world.” Safi murmurs with a smirk as she steps into the administration building.

Safi opens the door to the president’s office and immediately spots the same woman sitting across from Yasmin, her expression reserved.

“Hi!” Safi greets her brightly, grinning as if they were friends for years.

Boldness is her strategy.

It’s summer break, after all, not work hours. Besides, she’s technically here to retrieve something from her mother—her prepared excuse. No harm in a quick chat.

The woman looks up, startled by Safi’s entrance.

Safi strides over to Yasmin’s desk, pulls open a drawer, and casually snags a car key.

“Mom, I’m taking the car,” she announces, shaking the key in her palm. “Need to run into town for a few things. Too much hassle to go grab mine.”

Yasmin frowns slightly, but doesn’t argue.

Safi knows her mom well. She won’t argue with Safi, at least not with someone else in the room. And that someone else is exactly why Safi is here.

Yasmin waves a hand. “Make it quick.”

Safi shrugs, but she doesn’t leave right away. Instead, she turns to the stranger. “And you are?”

The woman blinks, caught off guard. For a moment, she doesn’t respond.

“This is Maxine Caulfield,” Yasmin introduces smoothly. “A well-known photographer and our new artist-in-residence. Miss Caulfield, this is my daughter, Safiya Llewellyn-Fayyad. She’s a graduate student here. I apologize for the interruption.”

Maxine Caulfield seems to finally snap back to reality. She stands up uneasily, hurriedly setting her shoulder bag—which has been in her lap—onto the chair. “Nice to meet you, Miss Llewellyn-Fayyad.” She says.

“How much longer is your meeting?” Safi asks, turning to Yasmin. “Should I give Miss Caulfield a ride to the Hellerton House?”

Safi knows that’s where the university’s artists-in-residence usually stays. If, for some reason, this one is an exception, well… she’ll take this opportunity to find out where Miss Caulfield is staying anyway.

The photographer hesitates, glancing uncertainly at Yasmin.

Yasmin looks like she’s about to say something, but ultimately, she just stands and extends a hand to the photographer. “Looks like my daughter is eager to give you a tour of Lakeport,” she says. “Let’s wrap this up for today. Welcome to Caledon University.”

Safi grins, gesturing toward the door. “After you, Miss Caulfield.”

The photographer exchanges a few more words with Yasmin, slings her bag’s strap over her shoulder, and follows Safi out of the building.

Side M

Max sits in the passenger seat of the Porsche, fingers gripping the strap of her shoulder bag. The engine purrs around them, and the AC is a little too cold, making her shiver slightly.

“So, you’re the new photographer my mom picked up off the street?” Safiya Llewellyn-Fayyad asks, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road.

Max isn’t sure picked up off the street is the right way to put it, but she also can’t think of a better way to phrase it. Technically, President Fayyad spotted her at her gallery show and extended an invitation. So, in a way… yeah.

Max nods, then quickly realizes that the driver cannot see it while driving. “Yeah,” she replies simply, shifting slightly in her seat.

The driver clicked her tongue. “You’re staying at Hellerton House, right? It’s a damn nice place. Huge, comes with a private darkroom. The previous photographers all loved it.”

Not sure how to respond, Max stays quiet. Her gaze drifts from the road ahead to the passing streets, then to the girl beside her.

The girl is wearing a pair of jeans that look like they’ve been through hell—faded blue and white, almost like they’d suffered something traumatic. She wears a Dolce & Gabbana jacket, the kind that costs a couple grand at a glimpse. Her long hair is lazily pulled into a ponytail. Everything about her screams confident carelessness, like she moves through the world without a second thought.

President Fayyad mentioned she’s a grad student. That means she’s probably younger than Max.

Not that it made a difference. Max struggles making small talk with anyone, no matter their age.

On a photoshoot, there’s no barrier in communicating with others. Work is work. But outside of that, in normal life? Max finds herself easily retreating into selective silence.

The driver suddenly switches topics. “But we’re not going to Hellerton yet. I’ve got somewhere else to be first, and you’re coming with me.”

For a split second, Max’s brain conjures up a dramatic headline: Got Kidnapped on First Day of Work by Boss’s Daughter!

…Then she remembers that the lady has mentioned borrowing the car to run errands. That’s probably what this is.

Still, it won’t hurt to double-check. Kidnapping isn’t something Max wants to experience. Not again.

“Miss Llewellyn-Fayyad,” she starts carefully, “we’re… going shopping, right?”

The driver smirks. “Just call me Safi. And don’t call me Safiya—I hate that.” She slows at a red light, then turns to Max with a playful wink. “Oh, and… yes and no. The stuff on the shelves doesn’t compare to what I’m picking up.”

Max tugs at her shirt collar. She has a feeling that this girl—loud, unpredictable, and completely different from her—is going to be a social nightmare to her.

“And just call me Max.” She mutters.

“We’re here.” Safi says, pulling up to the curb.

Max steps out and frowns slightly. Across the street stands a brightly colored ice cream shop.

Didn’t she say they were going shopping…?

“This place has the best ice cream in town,” Safi announces, pushing open the door. Before Max can react, Safi grabs her hand and pulls her inside.

At the counter, Safi rattles off a list of flavors before turning to Max. “What do you want? Get whatever you like. It’s on me.”

Max scans the menu, but the sheer number of options makes her freeze up.

Too many choices.

She defaults to the safest option. “…Chocolate.”

Safi raises an eyebrow. “Do you actually like chocolate, or are you just being polite and saving me money?”

“I… don’t dislike it.”

“Do you like Rocky Road?” Safi asks. “Best ice cream in America, hands down.”

Max hesitates. “I… don’t dislike it either.”

Safi shrugs and leads them to a table by the window. Max sits down across from her, internally cringing.

Shit. I screwed it up.

Not that it matters. I’ve been screwing up every day for ten years straight, and I’m not about to rewind time just to fix a bad conversation.

A few minutes later, their orders arrive. One perfectly plated, Instagram-ready sundae and the other… less aesthetically pleasing.

Max tilts her head. She’s not exactly sure what Safi has ordered, but the pink sundae across her is definitely not Rocky Road.

She doesn’t ask, though. She never knew how to start casual conversations, especially with strangers. Even though this stranger is her boss’s daughter

“So,” Safi says, digging into her sundae, “you’re a photographer?”

“I guess… technically?”

Safi nearly chokes on her spoon. “Why do you sound so unsure?”

“Because…artists don’t call themselves ‘-ists’?”

Safi swallows her bite, then bursts out laughing. “I’ve never published a book, but I still call myself a poet. Does that count as an ‘-ist’?”

Max blinks. “You’re a poet?”

“Yeah, I write poems. Poetry major.” Safi says it as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Poetry…” Max echoes. She knows nothing about poetry.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Max hesitantly asks, “…Sonnets?”

“Nah, I do modern poetry. Less about rhyme, more about feeling.”

“...Sappho?”

“She’s ancient history. Literally. Most of her work got lost over the centuries.” Safi scoops up another bite. “No need to force the poetry talk, seriously. Not many people are into poetry. Let’s change the subject. What do you think of this place?”

“This place?”

“Caledon University. Lakeport. Vermont in general—oh, shit.”

Max looks up just in time to witness the disaster. A spoonful of ice cream slips from Safi’s grasp, landing right on her jeans. With a dramatic sigh, Safi grabs a handful of napkins and aggressively scrubbed at the stain.

That’s why you shouldn’t talk while eating. As the old saying goes.

Safi finally gives up with a defeated sigh. “Great. Now I have to wash these.”

Max glances at the already chaotic state of Safi’s jeans—blue, white, and now streaked with pink. A quiet chuckle escapes before she can stop herself.

Safi’s eyes widen. “Max. Are you seriously laughing at my suffering?”

“No, no, no.” Max says quickly, waving her hands. “I was just… thinking about your weird jeans.”

Safi’s mock-glare softens. “Oh, those? Yeah. That was an experiment that wasn’t really working.”

“Acid-wash jeans?”

“Cow printed jeans. I like them.” Safi leans back. “Anyway, back to my question. Do you like this place? I’m guessing you’re not a local.”

Max glances at Safi’s sundae, then at her expressive and open face. When their eyes meet, Max looks away.

She can tell Safi is trying to be friendly. There is an openness to her, a directness Max isn’t used to.

Eating ice cream with someone else—something so ordinary—feels strangely foreign. It’s been years since she’s just sat across from someone talking like this.

Safi Llewellyn-Fayyad is like an unexpected gust of wind, disrupting the stillness of Max’s world.

Max isn’t sure she’s ready to let her guard down. She is too used to keeping people at a distance. The space between her and other people is something that keeps her safe.

Sunlight streams through the window, making the ice cream glisten.

“I think… I’ll try to like it.”