Chapter 2: Rocky Road

Side S

The first two weeks of the semester are always the busiest. A new academic year means a heavier workload for Safi, leaving her with less time to work on her poetry manuscript. Plus, she has her responsibilities as a teaching assistant to fulfill.

And then there are the late Gen Z freshmen. They overuse internet slang, misuse idioms, and yet they still think majoring in literature is a good idea. They’re a challenge for their professors and the TAs.

Safi rubs her temples and exhales a heavy sigh. She gathers a stack of books into her arms and steps into the classroom. Nudging the door open with her shoulder, she sets the books down on the nearest desk.

Then she looks up.

And sees Max standing by the window next to the chalkboard, staring out.

She seems lost in thought, her fingers twisting the strap of her shoulder bag. Twisting, loosening, twisting again, loosening again. Her gaze is fixed on the sky, or maybe… Safi isn’t sure what Max’s really looking at.

The afternoon sunlight slants through the window, but its warmth fades before reaching her. A quiet, distant coolness lingers around her.

“Spacing out?” Safi asks, her voice light and teasing as she walks over.

Max turns, forcing a small smile. “Just finished a class.”

As the university’s resident photographer, her classes aren’t part of the regular curriculum. They are biweekly, held on Friday afternoons.

Safi nods knowingly. “First time teaching?”

“Yeah.”

“How does it feel, Professor Caulfield?”

Max doesn’t answer. She looks away, her gaze drifting back outside.

Safi purses her lips. After two weeks of getting to know Max and hearing bits of campus gossip, she’s noticed Max keeping her distance from male faculty members.

It’s not just keeping her distance. Max outright avoids them. She rarely initiates conversations with male professors, and when she has no choice, her responses are brief and to the point. Her avoidance is so strong that when it comes time to write lesson plans before the semester starts, she has to turn to Safi—a friend and teaching assistant—for help instead.

Safi has tried introducing her to Moses, a friend from the Department of Astrophysics, but that goes nowhere. And when it comes to Professor Lucas from the Department of Literature, Max steers clear of him whenever possible.

Safi understands completely. She isn’t a fan of Lucas either.

Safi walks to the window, leans against the wall with her arms crossed, and tilts her head. “Hey, something happened in class?”

Max doesn’t respond right away. She slips her shoulder bag off and hugs it to her chest. “…Just thinking about some old stuff,” she murmurs after a long pause.

Safi narrows her eyes. Max is as unreadable as ever.

When she first met Max by the campus lake last month, two things caught her attention.

One, Max had the kind of face that could make people fall hard.

Two, Safi couldn’t read her at all.

Max carried herself with an icy distance, cold and unreadable, like a real-life Frozen character. Kinda cliché, but true.

And that was new.

Safi has a secret she’s never shared with anyone. She can shapeshift into anyone she has seen in real life. It’s not just about appearance. She can mimic their mannerisms, their way of speaking, their very essence.

Usually, one look is all she needs to get a sense of someone.

Her mentor Gwen? Wild and chill.

The undergrads in her TA class? A bunch of chaotic kids.

But when she saw Max by the lake, camera in her hand, she saw nothing.

No obvious tells, no clear signals.

And that intrigued her more than she cared to admit.

Figured a few out now, though. Nerdy, sensitive, always with her camera.

Sunlight casts golden streaks across Max’s face, but her expression remains shadowed.

Safi knows she’s not close enough to Max to ask about her old stuff. Suppressing her curiosity, she straightens up and silently counts down.

One. Two. Three.

Then, she opens her arms and pulls Max into a warm hug.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the wind rustling through the trees outside.

“…Safi?” Max’s voice is of uncertainty.

“Sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable.” Safi steps back, meeting Max’s gaze with a rare seriousness. “Just want to say, if you ever need someone to talk to, my door is always open. And if you don’t, that’s totally cool too. I’m with you anyway.”

Max bites her lip, her head bowed. Long lashes cast soft shadows on her face in the afternoon light.

Finally, a quiet, almost fragile, “…Thank you” escapes her lips. The word is so faint that it’s almost lost in the breeze.

Safi pats Max’s shoulder gently. She understands that some things take time to process, and she’s willing to give Max that time and space.

Side M

“Max! Max?”

A hand waves in front of her face. Max blinks, snapping out of her daze.

She’s at the Snapping Turtle bar with Safi, who’s downing something strong while Max’s pink cocktail sits untouched.

The first class of the semester already seems like a distant dream, one that Chloe will never experience.

And I’m the reason why. Her death is all my fault.

Max shakes her head slightly, trying to push the past aside, at least for now. Safi is sitting across from her, and that’s where her focus needs to be.

“What do you think about a travel sharing session?” Safi asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she sets down her glass.

“A… travel sharing session?” Max repeats.

“Yeah!” Safi frames her face with her fingers, mimicking a camera. “You’ve traveled all over the country, taking amazing photos! And my mentor, Gwen, has been to tons of places too. I bet a lot of people would love to hear about your adventures.”

Max hesitates, taking a small sip of her drink, giving herself a moment to compose and mask the turmoil inside.

Every photo from the road reminds her of the wild times she and Chloe shared, bringing back their old pirate adventure dreams. She’s lost count of how many times she’s wished to rewind time, go back to that bathroom at Blackwell Academy, and choose Bae instead. She’s lost count of how many times she’s sketched in colored pencil in her diary, imagining what Chloe might look like at twenty, twenty-five, thirty.

That Chloe, the one in her heart, is too precious to share.

But then again… no one here knows Chloe. No one knows their history. She wouldn’t have to dredge up old memories; she could just talk about her trip.

Besides, Max clearly knows she’ll always live in the shadow of Chloe’s death. But maybe Caledon could be a new start.

Not a completely fresh beginning, but a new starting line.

A starting line without power.

A starting line she craves.

She touches her shoulder bag out of reflex, where her wallet rests.

“…Doesn’t sound bad,” Max finally replies, her voice slightly hoarse.

Safi’s eyes light up. “Fantastic! I’ll talk to Gwen and sort out the details. And the venue… let’s do it here, at the Snapping Turtle! We can make some posters.”

Before Max can even nod, Safi is already off, hurrying to the counter to discuss the details with Amanda.

Max raises her glass and downs the rest of her drink in one gulp.

Surprisingly, the Snapping Turtle is unusually mellow that day—a peaceful contrast to its usual bustling atmosphere—thanks to Safi’s careful planning and Amanda’s approval. Amanda even rearranges the chairs and swaps out the usual lighting for a warm, amber glow. She also creates an original special cocktail—a rich, chocolate-colored drink called Rocky Road, symbolizing the rough paths the two guests have traveled. Safi loves it so much she has several glasses.

“I’ve been on the road since I was eighteen.” Max says, her voice echoing from the stage. “Traveling from place to place, seeing the world through my camera. Honestly, I was a little nervous about teaching at first. I’m not formally trained in photography. I wasn’t sure I was the right person for the teaching job. My first lecture was on camera mechanics and exposure, but it turned out that most of the students at Caledon already know all of it. For them, it’s just a review.”

Gwen nods. “Same here. I’ve learned to write on the road. No formal training, just me, my pen, and the highways. When I first stepped into academia, I plowed through the system like a runaway truck. Had no clue about the rules, same as when I’m driving.”

Max catches Safi smirking from her seat at the bar. After all the years she’s been Gwen’s student, she’s probably seen Gwen’s reckless driving firsthand.

…

… …

… … … …

“Art’s gotta be experienced.” Gwen says. “Whether it’s literature or photography, it can’t really be art without an audience to connect with.”

Max shakes her head slightly. “I don’t quite agree. I think art exists beyond validation. It’s an expression of what’s inside. Even if nobody ever sees it, even if nobody understands it, it’s still art. It’s still real.”

Gwen raises an eyebrow. “That’s one way to look at it. But the creative process isn’t just about making something; it’s about what happens after. When your work reaches someone, sparks something in them, inspires something new… that’s how art lives on.”

Max holds up both hands. “Agree to disagree?”

…

… …

… … … …

“Y’know one of the most useful skills I picked up on the road?” Max muses. “Lockpicking. I can pop open a locker or a garage door no problem.”

Gwen widens her eyes in mock surprise. “Wow. Guess I’d better add an extra lock to my office before finals, just in case some desperate student tracks you down and begs Super Max to change their grade.”

Max shrugs. “When you’re traveling alone, you run into locked doors. You either stop moving or learn to pick the lock. Right, Dr. Hunter?”

…

… …

… … … …

“So, Max,” Gwen asks after she finishes sharing her stories, “what got you started traveling?”

“There were… a lot of reasons.” Max’s voice is calm, like a light breeze across a dead still lake. “I was running from something. And looking for something.”

“What were you running from? And what were you looking for?” Gwen presses. She studies Max, not prying, but like a professor evaluating a student’s essay.

Max hesitates. There it is. The question she doesn’t want to answer.

“…I was running from my past self. And from certain memories.” She pauses, then continues.

“When I was on the road, I couldn’t help but wonder if the next place would be better. But every time I arrived somewhere new, I realized that my problems followed me. Every time.”

She sighs softly. “No, it’s not about ‘better’ or ‘worse.’ Every place has its own beauty. What I mean is… travel isn’t just about the distance between the starting point and the destination. And it’s not just about the experiences along the way.”

“Sometimes, from the moment you step onto the road, you’re carrying a weight you can’t set down. The places and people you encounter even become part of that backdrop.”

“Travel gives you freedom, but it also ties you down.”

“For me,” Max says quietly, “it’s about learning how to make peace with myself. And I’m still looking for that answer.”

She exhales, then looks over at Gwen.

Gwen smiles, then turns to Safi. Safi hops onto the stage for the closing remarks. “Okay, that’s it for our travel sharing session! Feel free to stick around and chat if you want to discuss anything further. Big thanks to Amanda for hosting and for making that killer Rocky Road. If you haven’t tried it yet, trust me, you need to.”

Safi grabs Max and heads to the counter, ordering two more Rocky Road on the spot.

“That’s amazing! I could’ve listened to you forever!” she says excitedly. “But maybe don’t mention the lock-picking thing in public next time, okay? If my mom finds out, she’ll definitely have all the office locks replaced.”

Max chuckles, finally letting her shoulders relax a little. Public speaking had never been her thing. Her words always scatter the moment she begins, no matter how much she practices.

But today is different. The lighting is soft, the sound system isn’t harsh, and she is surrounded by familiar faces. And, of course, Gwen is there to support her whenever she struggles on the stage.

Max slumps onto the counter, her energy completely gone. She rests her head on her arms and turns to Safi, her voice thick with exhaustion. “I… I’m tired.”

Safi runs a hand through Max’s hair, gently tucking a stray lock behind her ear. “Hey, you’re fantastic. Way better than my first time reading my poetry in public. I nearly choked on my own words. You’re incredible.”

Max closes her eyes, her hand finding Safi’s wrist. She nestles her cheek against Safi’s palm, enjoying the comforting warmth.

“Eh, girls?” Amanda sets down their drinks before them. “Sorry to interrupt, but your two Rocky Road are ready.”

Safi smiles at Amanda, picks up one glass with her free hand and sets it in front of her. Then, with the same hand, she slides a glass toward Max. “As much as I love warming my hands on your cute little face, let’s have a toast first?”

Max pouts but straightens up, lifting her chocolate drink from the counter. “Thanks for setting this up, Safi,” she says, her expression sincere. “I really mean it.”

Safi grins. “Quite the honor, doing my poet thing for a photographer.” She raises her glass. “To a successful session, cheers?”

“Cheers.”

...

Max vows to herself that she will never try such a rough, rocky, stony drink again.