Chapter 3: Home Sweet Home

Side S

Safi arrives at Hellerton House, carrying a pizza, a six-pack of sparkling water, and a bag of snacks. She knocks on the door.

Knock - Knock, Kn-Knock - Knock.

As the door swings open, Safi catches a flash of gray before she even sees Max. A small, fluffy creature, previously lounging near the entrance, darts toward the kitchen cabinets.

“Holy shit, you own a cat?” Safi says, her eyes wide, completely captivated by the gray blur.

“Yeah. Their name’s Miso. They pretty much scratched their way into Hellerton shortly after I moved in.” Max replies, taking the snacks and other stuff from Safi and setting them down on the coffee table. “Wanna pet them?”

Safi tiptoes into the kitchen, careful not to startle the cat perched high on the cabinets. Miso eyes her warily, tail flicking from side to side.

Max chuckles, reaching into the cupboard for a can of cat food. She fills a bowl with some kibble and places it on the floor. Miso hesitates for a moment, glancing at Safi, before hopping down and cautiously approaching the food, taking small, delicate bites.

Max crouches beside them, gently stroking their fur. Miso tilts their head up, nuzzling Max’s hand. Max looks at Safi and nods encouragingly.

Safi leans down, extending her hand toward Miso’s head. The little cat responds with a deep, contented purr.

“The last time I petted a cat… I think I was about five.” Safi says with a smile, trying to recall. “I chased a stray up a tree, took a tumble, and broke my arm.”

Miso rolls onto their back, their tail brushing against Safi’s knees. She scratches their belly a few times, and then, suddenly, she sneezes.

“Achoo!”

She rubs her nose, blinks, and sneezes again. Then, she notices red blotches starting to appear on her hand.

“Wait, are you… allergic to cats?” Max asks, frowning slightly but asking with concern.

Safi’s never had a pet, so she’s not really sure. But with all the sneezing and her skin breaking out, she figures Max is probably right. She straightens up with a sigh. “Guess Miso and I just aren’t meant to be.”

“I’ll take them to the bedroom.” Max picks up Miso, grabs the cat bowl, and heads upstairs. “Alright, little cutie,” she murmurs to the cat nestled in her arms as she climbs the stairs. “No movie night for you. Just stay in the bedroom and be good, okay?”

Safi watches Max disappear up the stairs. A few seconds later, a faint meow echoes from the second floor, followed by the sound of a phone ringing. Then she hears Max’s voice.

“This is Max Caulfield… Hello, Dr. Preston… Yes, about next year’s gallery exhibit…”

Safi walks back to the coffee table, unpacking snacks from the plastic bag. Pizza box open, sparkling water separated, everything all lined up nice and neat. Now, she just needs Max to finish her call and turn on the projector.

But the minutes tick by, and the conversation upstairs is taking forever.

Safi shifts impatiently, her eyes scanning the room like she’s a video game protagonist. Eventually, her gaze lands on the couch.

Max’s wallet is sitting there, out in the open.

The phone call upstairs shows no sign of wrapping up anytime soon.

After a full second’s hesitation, Safi picks up the wallet and opens it.

Bills. A few cards. And a photo in the clear plastic window.

In the photo, there’s a girl with blue hair.

She looks like a teenager, definitely not old enough to drink. And judging by her features, she and Max don’t look related.

Who is she? Why is she important enough to be in Max’s wallet? If the girl means so much to her, why has Max never mentioned her?

Safi runs her tongue over her lips, then quietly places the wallet back where it was.

A few minutes later, Max comes back downstairs, looking a little apologetic. “Sorry to keep you waiting. It was from Vision Vermont. They invited me to exhibit my work at their gallery next year.”

“Whoa, that’s awesome! Congrats!” Safi says, quickly brushing aside any lingering thoughts. She grabs two cans of sparkling water, pops one open, and hands it to Max. “Cheers—wait, before we toast, should we set up the projector first? I don’t want to mess with your equipment, but the pizza’s gonna get cold.”

Max smiles, sets her drink down, turns on the projector, and dims the lights. The room darkens, leaving only the flickering glow on the wall.

Max is curled up in the corner of the couch, hugging a throw pillow and staring intently at the screen. Safi takes a sip of her drink, subtly rubs her nose (damn cat allergies!), and steals a few glances at Max. They’re watching ArcaneSeason 2, Episode 9.

Safi has to admit, Episode 8 was… intense. During that scene, she’d actually shouted, grabbed Max, and started rambling incoherently about whatever the hell was going on. Max, though, just looked confused. (“I don’t get why they put that scene right before a full-on war,” she said. “Is the story even gonna wrap up in one final episode?”)

At least she didn’t seem uncomfortable with THAT whole thing.

Of course, she wouldn’t be. On the first day they met, Max—who didn’t know a thing about poetry—casually brought up Sappho. She was clearly fine with it.

Once Safi calms down and regains her composure, they start watching episode 9. When a familiar character with a skateboard appears again, Safi snaps her head toward Max and asks, “If you could rewind time for four seconds, what would you do?”

Max’s grip on the pillow tightens slightly. “…Why are you asking?” Her voice is lower than usual, edged with a tension Safi has never heard before.

“Oh, no reason, just curious,” Safi says, flashing a lighthearted grin. “I’d probably use it to catch ice cream before it hit the ground. Or keep it from landing on my jeans. You know, something dumb like that, haha.”

Max doesn’t laugh.

The projector’s pale light casts an eerie glow over her face, making her look almost ghostly. Her fingers are slightly spread, as if she’s letting go of something, or trying to hold onto something but can’t grip.

“I don’t know.” Max finally murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Some things… no matter how many times you rewind, they don’t change.”

On the screen, the battle rages on; in the dimly lit room, the silence between them stretches.

Crack.

Safi thinks she hears the sound of ice beginning to crack. A faint cracking noise as a tiny fracture forms in the ice around Max, revealing a subtle shimmer beneath.

She doesn’t mean to say anything wrong, but she feels it anyway. Still, she can’t quite connect the photographer with time travel, let alone to her inner frozen world.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine. It’s not you.” Max shakes her head, forcing a small, weary smile. “Let’s just finish the episode, okay?”

By the time Safi leaves Hellerton that night, her nose still tingles with a faint itch. But it’s not just her allergies. Max’s silence and the photo of the blue-haired girl in her wallet linger in her mind.

Max Caulfield’s past is a mystery to her. It’s like a path scattered with shards of glass, all these jagged pieces leading to a cold, locked door.

And behind that door, maybe, is the eighteen-year-old Max. For some reason, Safi suddenly has such a feeling.

She glances back at the apartment, its door now shut.

I’ll figure you out, sooner or later.

The cool night breeze carries her thoughts and feelings away, whispering them into the darkness.

Side M

Midnight has come and gone. It’s technically September 22nd now. The town is silent, the only light coming from a few scattered streetlamps casting a hazy yellow glow on the road. Their reflections flicker against the car windows, sliding backward as the wheels roll forward.

Max grips the steering wheel, eyes wide, locked onto the dimly lit road ahead. In the passenger seat, Safi slumps against the window, her cheeks flushed from alcohol. She drifts in and out of sleep, mumbling nonsense every now and then.

Porsche is such a pain to drive. And at night? In an unfamiliar area? Just great.

“Max, go faster!” Safi blurts out, her voice thick with intoxication.

Max shoots her a glance. “This is Yasmin’s car. If it gets scratched, I’m screwed.”

Safi grins, mischief curling at the corners of her lips. “Relax. It’s insured. Just say I did it. My mom won’t do anything to me.”

Max doesn’t respond. She just keeps her eyes on the road.

Max has completely ignored every message today, not even replying to her parents’ “Happy Birthday” text. The date itself means nothing to her. It’s just a painful reminder of childhood birthdays at the Two Whales Diner with Chloe, of their old tradition, and the stark reality that Today, I’m another year older. Another year older than Chloe, which just underscores how much she’s still living while Chloe isn’t.

And then there’s Safi’s question from the other day. If you could rewind time for four seconds, what would you do?

That single question struck the deepest wound in her memory.

The power she once had.

The things she tried to fix.

The tragedies she could never undo.

Four seconds. Enough to make a choice. Enough to save someone. Enough to lose someone.

Her friend. Her fault. Her feebleness.

But now is not the time to get lost in thought. If she crashed the car in the next four seconds, that would be truly irreversible. Max glances at Safi from the corner of her eye, then blinks hard and switches the headlights to high beams.

Four hours earlier, Safi pounded on the door of the Hellerton House, practically dragged Max into the Porsche, and sped off towards downtown. During the drive, Safi explained she was going to celebrate Max’s birthday. When her messages remained unread after hours, she decided to come over directly. She added that she knew Max didn’t like big parties, so they’d just have a quiet celebration, just the two of them.

And that celebration plan went out the window the moment the Miss Poet decided to drink herself under the table.

Max pulls up in front of Safi’s place and unbuckles them both. She gets out and helps Safi stumble out of the car.

“We’re here,” she says softly, trying to keep Safi upright.

“My keys… in my pocket…” Safi mumbles.

It takes Max four tries to finally find the keys. She unlocks the door, drops the keys on the table near the potted plants, and leads Safi to the couch.

Safi slumps onto it, head tilts back, eyes shut. Max can’t tell if she falls asleep.

Max assesses Safi’s drunken state and decides she’ll be fine on her own. Just as she turns to leave, a hand suddenly clamps around her wrist.

Safi’s fingers are wrapped tightly around her wrist, the grip firm enough to catch Max off guard.

“Don’t go.” Safi looks up at her with almost pleading puppy eyes. “There's… something I need to tell you.”

No, please don’t.

A flicker of blue hair flashes through Max’s mind.

“You’re drunk, Safi. Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow.”

“No.” Safi shakes her head, surprisingly resolute. “I need to say it now.”

Her voice softens. “I used to have a friend. Her name was Maya.”

Max feels a sharp pang in her chest. Safi’s never mentioned that name before. But for a fleeting moment, Max sees a look pass over her face.

A shadow of pain. Of loss.

“She was my best friend,” Safi continues, her gaze unfocused as if staring into a distant past. “But she’s gone. She… she thought the world was too cruel to stay in.”

Max remains motionless and silent, simply listening.

She can hear the quiet tremble in Safi’s voice, the weight of something left unsaid. Like a confession in the dead of night, wrapped in regrets.

She understands. She doesn’t want to understand.

“So don’t go, Max. Stay with me, okay?” Safi whispers. “From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were special.”

Max looks at her.

Safi is staring straight at her now. There’s no drunken haze in her eyes. Or maybe, maybe her eyes were full of it.

“I love you, Max.”

Her voice wavers, just slightly. But there’s no hesitation.

“I love you from the very start.”

Time seems to freeze.

Max blinks. She has no idea how to response properly.

Her world has always been simple and complicated. Simple in that it is just her, her camera, and her memories. Complicated in that her past is a tangled mess she can never unravel.

But Safi’s words are like light shining through the shadows, bringing with them a warmth that was both unfamiliar and terrifying.

And the person saying them—Max isn’t sure just how sober she is.

“…You’re drunk.”

“I’m not.” Safi shakes her head. “And even if I were, I’d still mean every word.”

Max exhales softly, then sits down beside her. She places her free hand over Safi’s.

“Safi,” she says gently. “You’re a good person.”

Her voice is warm. Kind.

“But I’m not the right person. Not right now.”

“…Are you rejecting me?”

A beat of silence. Then, Max gives a small nod.

Safi deflates like a balloon slowly losing air. She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Or maybe, she has already fallen asleep.

Max doesn’t say anything else, either. She simply lets go of Safi’s hand, gets up, and walks to the door.

Before leaving, she turns for one last look.

As she steps outside, she turns back once more.

Safi’s slumped on the couch, eyes shut, looking like she’s just taken a bullet to the chest.

A bullet I fired.

Max closes the door behind her and leans against it, her hand over her heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.