Chapter Text
For the past fifteen minutes, Maka had been staring at the blank document and blinking text cursor.
Her fingers drummed against the keyboard, writing an opening sentence shouldn’t be this hard. Maka glanced over to her notebook, a couple of lines written that were nothing more but scribbled words and phrases that didn’t make any sense, some crossed out with black ink.
A soft chime sounded off from her laptop. Her mouse cursor hovered towards the email.
1 new message from Tsubaki Nakatsukasa. Literary Agent.
Maka, congratulations! Crimson Tide is on the New York Times Bestseller list for (how many) weeks! Here’s to many more. ♥
With a smile etched on her face, Maka sent back a quick “thank you” to Tsubaki before shutting her laptop and slumped back against her chair. She reached for her cup to take a sip of chamomile tea, it helped soothe her stress level.
She glanced at the floating wall shelf above her desk, her debut mystery thriller novel—Crimson Tide, printed in multiple languages and editions displayed proudly.
It quickly catapulted her into fame and success in ways she least expected, so much that it became too much to cope. As reviewers continued to rave about her book, it added the unneeded pressure it led to question her ability to write the next bestseller.
She loved writing. It was the only thing she’s good at, and she couldn’t let the passion slip away.
And so, Maka made the difficult decision of taking a step back from writing for a year, however it yielded no result of coming up with a new storyline.
She felt like a fraud, so much that Maka was convinced the reason her book became a success was solely by luck.
Doubt clouded her mind. The fear of not living up to her standards, the possibility for her future book to be a flopping disaster. Nothing more than a one hit wonder.
A renowned worldwide bestseller at the age of twenty one was her greatest achievement. Failure wasn’t an option and she was taught to strive for the best.
The more she tread the waters of the rough seas, the more she got swept away. Swallowed by the sea and ultimately drowned, Maka was suffocating.
The back of her neck beaded with sweat, her room was unusually warm. She sought comfort for her cup of warm tea again only to be met with disappointment as it had gone cold.
Maka traced her fingers against the door frame, her height measurement written in ink that fades over time served as a reminder in the years growing up here.
Entering her old bedroom felt like being a teenager again. Her bed sat untouched since she’d left for college, her desk sat clean and neat with notebooks and stationeries.
Feeling bored, she switched on her desk lamp with a click of a button before switching it off again.
Maka shifted her gaze towards the drawers, she pulled on the left side and found stacks of test papers with near perfect and excellent results. It was something for her to be proud of which led her to keep them as sentimental value. What was she thinking at that time?
Shifting the papers aside, Maka discovered her journal hidden underneath. The journal has seen its better days, the once white pages had turned yellow, close to falling off from its cracked spines.
Left with only a couple of pages, mostly written and filled. While most girls’ would write about their thoughts and feelings—she wrote short stories.
Young Maka had the ideas, fluid with words, and descriptive scenery. She would write continuously without breaks as the words flowed naturally in her mind. Maka was appalled with the written entries on the page. She hoped silently to herself, that deep down, she still resides within her.
The welcoming smell of food roused Maka from her thoughts, the same time her stomach let out a soft growl.
Upon exiting her bedroom, the warm aroma of baked cheese and homemade tomato sauce greeted her. It lured her to the kitchen, the closer she got, the hungrier she felt.
“Chicken Parmigiana?” she asked.
Her father, Spirit Albarn, turned to her. “Your favourite.”
Maka leaned over the oven, watching the dish bake slowly to perfection. The cheese bubbled, chicken coated with bread crumbs browned to crisp texture. Three minutes left on the timer was an agonising wait.
“You know,” Spirit began. “While I am glad you decided to stop by, I appreciate a heads up beforehand.”
Away from her father’s gaze, she winced. Maka knew taking a step away from the desk wasn’t helping, she needed to escape. This was the only place she could think of, with a couple beer bottles in hand, she showed up knocking on the door of his apartment.
“I thought of surprising you.” She excused. “And we can have dinner together.”
Spirit hummed acknowledgedly. A pause lingered in the air before he asked, “Have you thought of writing a new book yet?”
It was a simple question that Maka could have easily come up with a simple lie, yet she struggled to think of one.
The oven dinged, literally saved by the bell. “It’s done.” she expressed, a little too excited.
And soon enough, the simple average, middle class apartment was engulfed by the warmth of home cooked meal.
Beer in his hand, Spirit popped the bottle cap. “You can help yourself with one.”
Instead, Maka raised her glass, “I’m good with the wine, thanks.”
“Just like your mother,” he spoke with a fond smile. “Well then, cheers.”
Maka raised her glass of red wine and took a sip while her father did the same with his chilled beer.
Cutleries clinked on the plates as father and daughter silently ate their dinner. Maka basically feasted on the Chicken Parmigiana with much satisfaction, something she had to give her father credit for.
“How is your mother?” he asked casually.
Maka cut another piece, “She’s in Spain right now,” she glanced back at him and added, “She’s happy.”
His gaze focused on his plate, “That’s great to hear.” He said. Maka saw a tiny smile curled upwards.
It was past midnight, Maka quietly peeked through the tiny gap of the door, observing her parents seated opposite of each other. The solemn mood hung in the air along with the dejected look on their faces. Nothing was said, all the arguments, the yelling, finger-pointing exhausted all of their strength that led to the three-page document presented between them.
Her mother had her arms crossed over her chest, her father massaged his temples and slid his hand down his face.
Maka didn’t understand what the document was, or why it caused her parents great concern.
Spirit reached over to grab the pen and leaned closer towards the document. Rolling the pen between his fingers, he casted a longing look at her mother. However, she didn’t reciprocate.
Spirit turned to the document, the nib pressed against the paper. He was debating within himself, he was also anxious and hesitant.
The silence was deafening and continued that way until Spirit let out a tired sigh and swiftly signed the document and let the pen clatter against the table.
At five years old, Maka just witnessed her parents divorce.
She was told that it was for the best. Sometimes people are happier being apart than when they were together. Not once, Maka questioned their separation. Life went on after that.
Maka tipped her glass back, finishing remnants of her wine. She stared at the photos of her childhood. The young girl smiling brightly with her pigtail hair in the arms of her loving parents. The sun was bright with clear blue sky in the park, her mother baked her favourite strawberry shortcake to celebrate her birthday.
She smiled at that memory, albeit a bittersweet one. Two weeks later after that photo was taken they filed for divorce.
The following photos showed the next stages in her life. Her high school and college graduation, Maka still bore that bright smile and stood proudly in her academic dress and diploma in hand.
But the next photo frame was what surprised her.
The scene was taken during winter, it featured a young, affectionate couple with their arms together in a warm embrace, gazing at each other as they shared a moment. Maka wasn’t born yet based on their youthful appearance.
They looked like a perfect couple, clearly in love before things turned out the way it did.
Maka had to point out, “I’ve never seen this before.”
Spirit walked up next to her, “I discovered it while looking through some old stuff.”
Her mother looked radiant with tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth, snowflakes tangled in her long, blonde hair blowing in the wind.
“To be honest, I thought I would never see this photo again,” he added.
“Why did you display it?” she asked again.
He shrugged, “I like to remember the good times.”
Spirit displayed the tender look in his eyes. After all these years, he still harboured feelings for her.
“I’ve made mistakes, Maka. I was young and immature. I can’t undo what I did but I’m redeeming myself to be a good father.”
“You are a good father,” Maka replied back. She meant it and wouldn’t think otherwise.
Mistakes can never be undone, that is the fact. The reality of life, one can only move forward and redeem yourself.
She felt a tug in chest. Memories from the past surfaced in her thoughts, Maka swallowed silently and forced those memories back, sealed and hopefully forgotten.