Chapter 6: Caulfield-Llewellyn-Fayyad

Side S

Safi felt like she had been trapped in an endless dream.

In that dream, everyone was Safi, and yet no one was truly Safi.

In that dream, she shattered into countless pieces, controlling everyone like a phantom, but sparing just one person.

In that dream, she saw herself pinned against a wall by Max, a gun pressed to her chest.

In that dream, a cherry blossom tree shone with a dazzling light.

The dream world had no logic, only the illusion of beauty.

Safi wakes up with a dull headache, feeling restless and unsettled, as if the vivid, strange dream still clings to her. She reaches to her right first, her fingers brushing against Max’s warm skin, then stretches to her left and grabs her phone from the nightstand.

Unlocking the screen, she checks the time. It’s only 5 AM.

She opens Crosstalk and scrolls to the latest update, immediately feeling her stomach clench.

I swear on Gabriel García Márquez, there’s a damn ghost at Caledon University.

Safi rubs her temples, sighs, and locks her phone. Rolling onto her side, she faces the sleeping beauty beside her. In the darkness, she traces the air just above Max’s face, outlining her delicate features with the tip of her finger.

It’s too early to wake her.

Max, how the hell am I supposed to explain what happened last night to everyone?

Safi touches the graze on her cheek, where the bullet barely missed. The wound still burns with a dull ache, the surrounding skin slightly swollen. She treated it with a first-aid kit last night—disinfected it, applied some medicine—but the pain lingers, a sharp reminder of everything that happened.

She exhales slowly.

She’s not going to wait. She’ll report Lucas for opening fire on campus. Straight to her mother before Lucas has a chance to cover his tracks.

Pulling a few personal strings isn’t a bad thing, sometimes.

The Snapping Turtle bar isn’t exactly the ideal spot for a serious conversation, but Safi chooses it anyway. Compared to a private dining room in some upscale restaurant, she prefers the lively, bustling atmosphere here. At least, she feels she can speak her mind freely.

The three of them sit in a booth near the corner, with Safi and Max on one side and Yasmin across from them. The two younger women order pasta, while the president opts for fried rice. No one gets anything to drink besides the complimentary iced water already on the table.

“Mom, before we start, let me reintroduce you to Max. This is Max, the talented photographer-in-residence at Caledon University, and she’s also my girlfriend now.” Safi says, a hint of nervous anticipation in her eyes as she looks at her mother.

Yasmin watches them both for a moment, taking in the words. A quiet sigh escapes her as her gaze shifts from Safi’s face to the striking Pride flag hanging on the wall, before settling on Max.

“Max, I didn’t realize you and my daughter had gotten so close.” Yasmin’s voice is warm, but there’s an unmistakable authority beneath it.

Safi frowns, picking up on the unspoken message in her mother’s tone, which seems to say to Max that, You’re a teacher. You shouldn’t be dating a student.

It irritates her. She’s a grad student, not some high school kid.

Pressing her lips together, Safi decides to set that conversation aside. “Mom,” she says, “the main reason I wanted to meet today isn’t to talk about us.” She takes a deep breath before continuing, “I’m trying to get my book published, but it looks like Lucas is putting obstacles in my way. Could you help me, Mom?”

Yasmin turns her gaze to Safi, her expression unreadable. Instead of answering right away, she picks up her glass, takes a slow sip, then asks, “I know you’ve been writing, but I haven’t seen your work. What’s your book about? And why do you think Lucas is trying to block you?”

“Every poem I’ve written is about Maya, my… friend I lost during undergrad.” Safi says, the word lingering in the air before she chooses the safer term. Then, as if unable to hold back any longer, her words spill out faster, laced with urgency. “I put almost everything about Maya into these poems. Our time at school, the events we went to, Lucas being her mentor. I even included some of Maya’s own writing.”

She exhales sharply. “I don’t know why Lucas is trying to stop my book from being published. All I want is to remember Maya.”

“A few days ago, Gwen told me the publishing process was on hold. Then Lucas said to me, ‘Whatever you think you know, you’ll never be able to prove it.’ That’s all I have, but I KNOW he’s involved. We can go to Gwen if we need more proof.”

“I confronted Lucas last night, hoping to get some answers, to understand what’s really going on.” Safi finishes, waiting for her mother’s reaction.

Yasmin pauses for a noticeably long moment before responding. “So, the ghost that haunted Caledon last night, that was you?” Her voice is as calm as ever. No shock, no judgment. But there’s a weight to her words that’s impossible to ignore.

“Well… it’s complicated. The short answer is, yes, it was me.” Safi admits. “But I just wanted the truth. And Lucas? He’s far from innocent.” She touches the graze on her cheek. “He shot at me! If his aim had been a little better, your adorable daughter would be six feet under, keeping her dear friend company.”

Safi gestures toward Max. “Max was right there. She saw everything.”

Yasmin narrows her eyes at the wound, then shifts her gaze to Max, who gives a small, confirming nod.

Silence lingers between them before Yasmin finally leans back, setting her glass down in thought.

Max stays quiet throughout, occasionally glancing at Safi’s face to check on her. She doesn’t interrupt their conversation, but simply reaches under the table, giving Safi’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, offering her silent support.

Finally, Yasmin breaks the silence. “Is your book truly meant to honor her, or are you searching for answers about her death?”

“Mom, I can show you my manuscript!” Safi’s voice sharpens with frustration. “I have nothing to hide—Lucas does! If he has nothing to feel guilty about, then why is he trying so hard to stop my book from being published?”

Her words come faster now, edged with desperation. “These poems mean everything to me. I don’t want Maya to be easily forgotten by everyone. I won’t back down.”

Yasmin sighs, her voice softening. “Safiya, I know you’re hurting. I know you want to do something for your friend. I would never stop my daughter from remembering a friend, and I won’t let anyone else stop you either.”

She meets Safi’s gaze with quiet but firm resolve. “But first, I need to see your draft. Then I’ll give you my answer.”

Safi feels something in her chest unclench. “Thank you, Mom.”

Yasmin nods, then adds, “As for Lucas firing a gun on campus, I’ll make sure there’s a full investigation.”

A slow breath escapes Safi, and the knot of tension in her finally loosens. For the first time in a long while, she knows she’s not standing against the world alone.

Just then, Yasmin speaks again. “By the way, Safiya—about you dating a girl. I need some time to process that. But it doesn’t change how I see Maxine.”

She turns to Max with a genuine smile. “Maxine, you’re an incredibly talented photographer. Your work has always been outstanding.”

Then she looks back at Safi. “And as for you… you’re my daughter, Safiya. Your happiness is what matters most to me.”

At that moment, Amanda arrives at the table, setting down two plates of pasta before heading back for the fried rice, which she places in front of Yasmin.

“Sorry for the wait,” she says apologetically. “No one usually orders fried rice, so the kitchen had to make a fresh batch. Hope that’s okay.”

Then, her eyes land on Safi and Max’s hands, fingers interlaced. A flicker of recognition crosses her face before she gives them an understanding wink.

“Enjoy your meal!”

Side M

Max felt like she had been trapped in an endless dream.

In that dream, she wandered alone through motel after motel.

In that dream, her 27-year-old self was back in the darkroom where she had been confined at 18.

In that dream, she held a gun against Safi, pinning her to a wall.

In that dream, a blue butterfly danced with a fleeting light.

The dream world had no logic, only the illusion of eeriness.

By the time they step out of the Snapping Turtle, it’s already past 1 PM. Sunlight pierces through the crisp winter air, casting a warm, comforting glow on their faces. Safi, wrapped in her custom white coat with her hands tucked into her pockets, walks shoulder to shoulder with Max along the campus path. Yasmin had left earlier for the Administrative Building, leaving the two of them to take a leisurely stroll.

Max steals a glance at Safi, who still seems lost in thought. Through an imagined camera viewfinder, Max mentally frames a shot of her girlfriend, picturing how she would look in that moment. She’s never really had a chance to photograph Safi. Every time she tries, Safi notices immediately, shielding her face with a hand or whatever book happens to be nearby.

Come to think of it, Safi never lets Max read her drafts either. She often talks about the struggles of writing a book, but whenever Max asks to see it, she dodges the question like it’s nothing.

Just like those failed attempts at candid shots.

And now Yasmin gets to read the manuscript? Max feels a pang of… jealousy?

But then again, Max was the one who suggested seeking Yasmin’s help in the first place. Safi, with her stubborn student mindset, was solely focused on reporting Lucas for shooting her, completely missing the bigger picture and ignoring the complexities of the situation. Max, on the other hand, has spent months working at Caledon, earning a paycheck, and has a decade of freelancing experience. She knows that once people in power become involved, it is incredibly difficult for an individual to fight back.

Which means that gaining the support of the administration takes priority over targeting a reputable colleague.

Sure, this approach may not align with the idealistic American notion of justice—and it definitely won’t make for exciting gameplay—but she has to admit that it’s the simplest and most effective solution.

“Max, are you okay?” Safi’s voice pulls her out of her thoughts.

In Max’s imagined viewfinder, Safi has turned to her, worry etched across her face. Her brown eyes are filled with concern.

“I mean… after everything that happened last night… I’ve been really worried about you,” Safi says. “I couldn’t bring it up in front of my mom while we were eating.”

Max comes to a halt. She doesn’t want to relive last night. Doesn’t want to face the fear, the violence, the trauma again. She swallows against the dryness in her throat, then opens her mouth. “Last night wasn’t great, but I’m fine now.”

Reaching out, she cups Safi’s cheek, her thumb brushing over the faint scrape left by the bullet. “But you, you got roughed up before you even had a chance to make your big move.”

Safi covers Max’s hand with her own, guilt flickering in her gaze. “It’s my fault. I pulled you into this mess without even asking. I owe you an explanation.”

“Hey, don’t say that. Something good came out of last night too.” Max smiles, rising on her toes to press a soft kiss to the uninjured side of Safi’s face. “You’re the best thing that happened.”

A faint flush colors Safi’s cheeks. She turns away, taking a slow step forward, her eyes drifting into the distance. The wind plays with her hair as she speaks—not just to Max, but as if whispering to Maya beyond the horizon.

“I used to believe, deep down, that there had to be more to Maya’s death. She was so smart, so talented, how could she just decide to end her life? I thought it was my mission to uncover the truth, to dig up everything that had been buried, to make sure the world knew what she went through.”

Following that, her voice drops, as if confessing to a past version of herself. “But last night, it finally hit me. I realized… I can’t risk my life for this. And I certainly can’t risk someone else’s—especially not yours. That’s not what Maya would have wanted to see. And it’s not something I want you to carry.”

A pause.

“Maybe… maybe everything I’ve done so far has just been an excuse. A way to vent my own resentment and grief. My own refusal to let go.”

“Maybe the real way to honor her isn’t about screaming into the void, demanding answers that will never come.”

“Maybe it’s about making sure the words she left behind are seen, that her voice isn’t lost, that her life meant something.”

“Maybe what really matters is learning how to live. Not by forgetting her, but by… allowing myself to move forward.”

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“…A life with you.”

Max steps forward, wrapping her arms around Safi’s waist from behind and resting her head against her back. “Let’s not rush things just yet. We haven’t even been on a real date.”

A small chuckle escapes Safi, her tone a mix of teasing and wistfulness as she plays along. “Say… if we ever have kids, should we give them the last name Caulfield-Llewellyn-Fayyad?”

Max raises an eyebrow. “By the time they finish writing their name, the other kids will be halfway through the third question on the quiz.”

Safi laughs. “Good point. That’s why I just sign my poetry as Safi Fayyad. I don’t like long names. Plus, I haven’t seen my dad since the divorce, so there’s no real attachment there.”

One particular word catches Max’s attention. Poetry.

“Your poetry draft…” She hesitates, then askes with gentle curiosity, “Can I read it?”

Safi turns to look at her, still wrapped in Max’s arms, surprise flickering across her face. “You want to read it?”

“Yeah. You never show it to me, and I’ve been a little curious.” Max admits, gazing up at her. “If it’s about remembering Maya, then at the very least… I want to see her through your eyes.”

“And if Yasmin gets to read them, shouldn’t I have that privilege too?”

Safi’s lashes flutter down, as if she were having a silent debate with her poet self. After a few seconds, she exhales and reaches out, ruffling Max’s hair. “Alright. But it’s just the bookdraft_Final_FINALFINAL version, not the ThisTimeIMeanIt one. I still need to edit it later.”

“Hey, hands off the hair—I’m a teacher!”