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“Dad, what color is the sky?”
Her father glanced up from where he was fixing something on the porch. “Blue, champ.”
Amanda frowned immediately, little legs swinging as she sat beside him. “What’s blue?”
That had always been the problem with colors, hadn’t it?
People tried explaining colors to her constantly, but every explanation eventually looped back into comparisons that she couldn’t understand.
Blue like the ocean, blue like blueberries and blue like summer skies.
None of it meant anything when the entire world existed only in shades of gray.
Amanda had spent most of her life curious about color. Obsessively curious, honestly. She asked questions constantly as a kid, trying to piece together what everyone else would one day wake up and suddenly understand for themselves after meeting the person meant for them.
What did green actually look like?
Was yellow really as bright as people claimed?
How could sunsets possibly be beautiful enough to make grown adults emotional?
People described color like it was magic. Life-changing. Overwhelming.
Amanda believed them. But that didn’t stop it from feeling impossible to imagine. Because for her entire life, the world had only ever existed in monochrome. Gray sidewalks. Gray oceans. Gray trees swaying beneath gray skies.
The world was still beautiful in grayscale. Sunlight still spilled warmly across the floor in the mornings. Snow still looked soft falling outside windows. Oceans still stretched endlessly beautiful against the horizon even in shades of silver and charcoal.
But sometimes it felt like she was trapped inside a locked room while everyone else stood outside describing how breathtaking the view was.
And the worst part?
The door could only be opened by one specific person somewhere out there in the world.
Amanda hated it.
Why did she have to wait for someone else first? Why did something as simple as seeing the full world depend entirely on another person finding her someday? It felt unfair sometimes, like she had been born missing something fundamental and the solution existed completely outside her control.
What if it took years?
What if she never met them at all?
Amanda groaned dramatically into her pillow at the thought.
Still, she wanted it badly.
Not only because of the colors themselves, though that was definitely part of it. She wanted to know what blue actually looked like. Wanted to understand why people became emotional over sunsets or stared too long at flowers or painted entire galleries dedicated to color alone.
But more than that, she wanted whatever happened after.
Because people never talked about meeting their soulmate like it only changed their eyesight. They talked about it like the entire world shifted afterward. Like life suddenly settled into place in ways it hadn’t before. Colors were only the visible part of it.
And judging by her parents?
Amanda could see why.
They were disgustingly in love with each other.
The kind of couple who slow danced in the kitchen for absolutely no reason while dinner burned quietly on the stove behind them. The kind who still reached for each other absentmindedly after years together. The kind who looked happier simply existing in the same room.
If meeting your soulmate meant ending up loved like that someday?
Then Amanda wanted it more than anything.
So naturally, ten-year-old Amanda had ended up on her bed with her laptop balanced against her knees, typing:
What is the average age people meet their soulmate?
According to the search results, most people apparently met their soulmate in their twenties. College. Workplaces. Coffee shops. Airports. Bars. Random trips abroad. Entire articles discussed how soulmate meetings tended to happen once people had “grown into themselves.”
Amanda slumped deeper into her pillow with a dramatic pout.
Twenty was ancient.
But then she kept scrolling and suddenly her eyes widened.
Interviews popped up from people who met their soulmates as teenagers. Summer camps. Middle school. Family vacations. One couple apparently met at twelve because their parents got stuck together during a roadside emergency.
Amanda sat up straight immediately.
So there was still hope.
“Hey champ, ready to go?”
Amanda looked up as her father knocked lightly against her open bedroom door before stepping inside.
She immediately shut her laptop and grinned. “Ready as ever!”
Her backpack already sat waiting beside the bed.
This was one of the reasons why Amanda loved summer so much. Her father planned short trips during the summers, and Amanda had quickly learned how to take advantage of that. She begged to come along so consistently over the years that eventually it just became tradition.
And honestly? Her father loved having her there too.
The trips slowly became theirs in a way Amanda treasured deeply growing up. Long drives stretched across highways while music crackled softly through old speakers. Random roadside diners. Campsites tucked somewhere beneath endless trees. Fishing lessons Amanda remained embarrassingly terrible at no matter how patiently her father tried teaching her. Some nights they sat beside campfires long after dinner was finished while her dad taught her random survival skills she would probably never actually need in real life.
“Be safe, okay?” her mother said as Amanda bounded downstairs two steps at a time. “And listen to your dad.”
Her mother crouched slightly to kiss her forehead, smiling in that soft fond way parents did when they were pretending not to be emotional over something small.
“Aye aye, chief!” Amanda replied immediately, throwing out a dramatic salute.
Her mother laughed under her breath before pinching both her cheeks affectionately. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Love you too, mom!”
Amanda giggled as her mother pulled her briefly into another hug anyway.
“Have fun,” her mother said warmly as she stood back up, passing packed food containers towards Amanda’s dad near the front door. “And don’t stay gone forever. I’ll miss you both.”
Her father leaned down to kiss her quickly before taking the bags from her hands.
Amanda gave her mother one last tight squeeze around the waist before finally grabbing her dad’s hand and following him outside towards the car, excitement already buzzing in her chest.
Who knew?
Maybe this would be the summer everything finally changed.
That was the other reason Amanda loved joining her father on trips every summer.
She refused to simply sit around waiting for the universe to eventually decide when it happens. If there was even the smallest chance she could meet her soulmate earlier than expected, then she was taking it.
At least she was trying, right?
That was what Amanda told herself every year anyway.
She made herself available to the world constantly after that. She lingered outside after school longer than necessary. Wandered through parks. Volunteered to run errands. Talked to most kids in her area.
And every summer, she followed her dad wherever his trips took them. Different towns. Campsites. Gas stations. Diners. Hiking trails.
New people every single year. Yet no matter how many faces passed through her life, none of them changed anything.
No sudden burst of color. No overwhelming magical moment people always described online. Just grayscale.
Amanda tried not to dwell on it too much. Most kids her age hadn’t met their soulmates yet either. It wasn’t unusual.
That was what she kept telling herself until one random Tuesday at school when her classmate and the new transfer student locked eyes across the classroom and immediately started crying because suddenly they could see color.
The entire room exploded afterward. Everyone crowded around them instantly.
“What’s it like?”
“Can you actually see color right now?”
“What color is my shirt?”
“Is it weird?”
Amanda stayed in her seat, quietly watching the chaos unfold around them.
The transfer student kept staring at the classroom walls like she couldn’t believe they had changed. Amanda’s classmate looked equally overwhelmed, blinking rapidly while describing colors with this stunned little laugh that made the entire thing feel painfully real.
Jealousy twisted unexpectedly hard in Amanda’s chest. Because god, she wanted that too.
That night at dinner, Amanda pushed vegetables around her plate more than she actually ate them.
“Mom… Dad…” she started quietly.
Both of her parents looked up immediately.
Amanda poked at her food again before asking, “When do you think I’ll meet my soulmate?”
The table fell quiet for a second.
Her parents exchanged one of those looks adults always seemed capable of having entire conversations through before both turning back towards her with softened expressions.
Her mother smiled gently first.
“You’ll meet them when you’re ready to meet them.”
Amanda frowned almost immediately.
Ready?
What was that even supposed to mean?
How could she possibly prepare for someone she didn’t know yet? She didn’t know who they were, where they lived, what they looked like, or if she had already accidentally passed them in a grocery store somewhere without realizing it.
How was she supposed to become “ready” for a person who existed entirely as a mystery?
The answer felt frustratingly vague in the way adult advice often did.
Her father reached over to squeeze her shoulder lightly. “You don’t have to rush it, champ.”
Easy for him to say. He had already found his person.
But eventually, Amanda stopped thinking about soulmates and colors quite so often.
Not because she stopped caring entirely. The curiosity never fully disappeared. Every now and then she still caught herself staring a little too long at sunsets she couldn’t properly see or wondering what color actually looked like beyond everyone’s frustrating comparisons. Sometimes she still imagined ridiculous scenarios where she accidentally bumped into her soulmate at a grocery store or passed them somewhere on the street.
But life slowly gave her other things to think about first.
Her siblings, for one.
Amanda had spent the first several years of her life as an only child before her younger siblings came along close enough together that the house suddenly became louder almost overnight. Toys scattered across living room floors. Tiny shoes abandoned near the front door. Crying in the middle of the night. Homework spread across kitchen tables while cartoons played too loudly in the background.
And Amanda adored them immediately.
But it also meant helping however she could whenever things became difficult. And that became even more important after her father got injured at work during her early teenage years. The injury thankfully wasn’t permanent, but it was serious enough that he couldn’t return for a long while. Everything inside the house shifted quietly after that in ways Amanda noticed even when her parents tried shielding the kids from it.
Money became tighter. Stress settled into the household like something heavy people pretended not to acknowledge directly.
Her mother picked up extra work. Bills were discussed in hushed conversations late at night. Her father grew quieter during recovery, frustrated by his own inability to help the way he wanted to.
So Amanda stepped in where she could.
At first it was small things. Watching her siblings after school. Helping with meals. Doing more chores without being asked. But eventually that turned into part-time jobs alongside school once she got old enough to work.
Grocery stores. Cafes. Babysitting. Whatever she could manage between classes and helping at home.
By high school, exhaustion had become normal enough that she barely questioned it anymore.
And somewhere along the way, the summer trips with her father started disappearing too. At first they only became less frequent. Then shorter. Then eventually they stopped altogether.
Summer no longer meant road trips across states or camping beneath stars. It meant longer shifts at work while her siblings stayed home from school. It meant helping keep the house running while her parents tried balancing everything else.
Life simply kept moving forward. With school, work, family and responsibilities.
The soulmate thing slowly drifted further into the background beneath all of it. Not gone entirely, just less consuming than when she was younger and was convinced every new person she met could potentially change her entire world overnight.
Most days Amanda was simply too busy to think about destiny.
Then high school ended and adulthood arrived so suddenly it almost felt unfair.
The biggest change came only a few months after graduation when her father was offered a job opportunity in Vermont.
The Midwest had been home for Amanda her entire life. Every version of herself she could remember existed there somewhere. Childhood parks. Familiar roads. Friends she had known long enough that conversations no longer needed effort. Favorite diners. Teachers. Tiny meaningless places that only mattered because they were her spots.
Leaving all of that behind hurt more than she expected.
She spent the final weeks before the move trying not to think too hard about goodbyes because every time she did, sadness crept up on her unexpectedly. Long drives with friends started feeling strangely important. Pictures were taken constantly. Everyone promised they’d stay in touch no matter what happened afterward.
Amanda wanted to believe all of it.
Some friendships probably would survive the distance. Others wouldn’t.
That was just how life worked sometimes.
Still, underneath the sadness sat excitement too. Real excitement.
A completely new place. A fresh start. And buried somewhere deep in the back of her mind lingered a quieter thought she felt slightly embarrassed admitting even to herself.
Maybe her soulmate was there. Maybe that was why life suddenly pulled her family across the country.
The thought lingered stubbornly throughout the move no matter how much Amanda tried dismissing it. Somewhere between long hours trapped in the car, rest stop breaks, and overnight motel stays, she kept wondering if this might finally be where her life changed.
Lakeport felt different immediately after arriving. Colder, for one. The town sat surrounded by forests and mountains that made everything feel larger and quieter all at once. Even the architecture looked different from what Amanda grew up around.
Beautiful too. She noticed that quickly.
A few mornings after the move, Amanda started taking long walks through town before everyone else in the house woke up. Partly to familiarize herself with the area and partly because the constant unfamiliarity still left restless energy sitting beneath her skin.
That was how she first found Caledon University.
The campus stretched across the distance beneath pale morning fog, old buildings rising beautifully while students wandered sleepily between classes clutching coffee cups and backpacks.
Amanda stopped walking without meaning to.
It was genuinely pretty. The kind of pretty that made her chest ache faintly with the sudden thought of what it might look like in color.
For a moment, she imagined the campus fully alive with students crossing the pathways between classes, laughter carrying through the air while sunlight spilled across the old brick buildings and leaves gathered along the edges of the walkways.
Then reality settled back in again. College wasn’t happening for her.
Not because she wasn’t capable of it. Amanda knew she could’ve done well if circumstances were different. But tuition was expensive, her siblings were still young, and her family needed stability more than they needed another financial burden hanging over them.
So Amanda made the decision herself. She would work instead. Honestly, she didn’t resent it as much as people seemed to expect her to.
A bar near Caledon had been hiring while preparing for its grand opening, and Amanda ended up getting offered a full-time position before the semester even started.
The Snapping Turtle. The pay was decent, the atmosphere felt comfortable almost immediately, and the owners liked her enough to trust her quickly.
For the first time in a while, life finally felt like it might be settling into something manageable again.
Amanda had work she genuinely cared about, a new place that was slowly beginning to feel like home, and enough routine in her life that the constant anxiety about the future no longer sat quite as heavily on her chest every morning.
Even if the world around her still remained grayscale. And it stayed that way for years.
At first Amanda tried not to think too much about it. Plenty of people met their soulmate later in life. She knew that. The internet was filled with stories about people finding each other in their thirties, forties, even older.
Still, every birthday started feeling a little strange after a while. Because she remembered being ten years old sprawled across her bed researching soulmate statistics like they personally mattered to her future. She remembered believing adulthood would naturally arrive hand-in-hand with color someday.
And now she was an adult. Nothing had changed. No miraculous moment. No sudden burst of color flooding the world around her.
No soulmate.
Amanda laughed bitterly at herself sometimes over it, especially during quieter nights walking home after late shifts. God, younger Amanda would’ve been devastated knowing this was how things turned out.
Sorry, kid, she occasionally thought to herself with tired amusement.
Looks like we’re not getting the magical soulmate reveal after all.
The thought sounded sad when she actually let herself sit with it too long, but reality had a way of dulling expectations over time. After enough years passed, disappointment stopped feeling sharp and slowly became something quieter. Easier to carry.
Because maybe the universe simply hadn’t made someone for her. The possibility no longer sounded impossible the older she got.
Amanda had met thousands of people by now. Different towns. Different jobs. Different stages of life. She talked to strangers constantly. Built friendships over time. Connected with people wherever she went.
And yet nothing.
Sure, there were billions of people in the world, but time kept moving too. Every year that passed made the whole soulmate thing feel slightly less magical and slightly more unrealistic.
Eventually Amanda stopped waiting for it. Or at least tried to.
It wasn’t like her life lacked meaning without it anyway.
Her parents were getting older. Her siblings still leaned on her more than they probably realized. Bills still needed paying. Life still kept moving regardless of whether destiny decided to participate. And somewhere along the way, the Snapping Turtle stopped feeling like temporary work and quietly became part of her life instead.
Amanda threw herself into the bar completely after taking the job. If she was going to spend most of her time there, then she wanted the place to feel warm. Welcoming. Somewhere people could relax after terrible days or celebrate good ones or simply exist for a while without feeling judged.
Over time, the Turtle slowly became hers in every way except ownership. She memorized regular orders. Learned who needed conversation and who preferred silence. Stayed late helping drunk students call rides home safely. Broke up arguments before they escalated. Listened to breakups, career crises, existential breakdowns, and embarrassingly emotional drunk confessions at two in the morning.
Caledon students especially flooded the place constantly. Amanda privately referred to most of them as trust fund babies. Affectionately, usually.
Eventually certain faces became familiar enough that they stopped feeling like customers and started feeling more like recurring characters in her life.
One of the most consistent groups was a trio who practically claimed part of the bar as their territory during Friday nights.
Vinh Lang, Maya Okada and Safi Llewellyn-Fayyad.
Amanda got to know them gradually through dozens of scattered conversations across shifts. Complaints about professors. Midterm stress. Relationship disasters. The occasional drunken philosophical debate that somehow always happened after midnight.
There was still an undeniable gap between Amanda and the students sometimes. She felt it most during conversations about future careers or internships or graduate programs. Watching people her age or younger actively chase dreams they had the freedom to pursue occasionally tugged painfully somewhere deep in her chest.
Not because Amanda regretted her choices, but because sometimes she wondered what her life might’ve looked like if circumstances had been different.
Still, the Turtle had quietly become its own kind of dream too. And Amanda genuinely loved it there. Loved the people, loved the noise and unpredictability and ridiculous stories. Loved how naturally conversations seemed to find her no matter who walked through the door.
Over time, socializing with customers simply became Amanda’s thing. She greeted people by name. Checked in on people. Remembered details about their lives in ways that made people feel seen almost immediately.
And in return, the town talked to her. Constantly.
By complete accident, Amanda somehow became one of the most informed people in Lakeport because everyone told her everything eventually. Students. Professors. Locals. Tourists. Heartbroken strangers sitting alone at the counter nursing drinks.
News traveled through the Snapping Turtle before it reached almost anywhere else. Which eventually earned Amanda a nickname she grew sick of at one point.
The Eye of Lakeport.
At first, Amanda had liked the nickname.
The Eye of Lakeport sounded cool in a ridiculous small-town way. She liked being someone people naturally gravitated towards. Liked that customers trusted her enough to talk openly while leaning across the counter late at night. It made the Snapping Turtle feel alive, connected to the pulse of the town around it.
But eventually, Amanda realized there was a quieter cost that came with always knowing things.
Because people rarely only shared the good parts of their lives. They shared heartbreak too. Grief. Messy situations Amanda wished she could fix but couldn’t.
Sometimes she learned about things before they even became public. Other times she watched people unravel slowly in real time while pretending everything was fine.
And one of the worst examples of that was Maya Okada.
Amanda still remembered the first time the trio started regularly coming into the Turtle together. Vinh loud and charismatic enough to fill entire conversations by himself when he wanted to. Safi sharp-tongued but funny that always caught Amanda off guard. Maya calmer overall, though she could match Vinh and Safi’s energy beat for beat whenever she wanted to.
They fit together easily. The kind of friendship that looked long-lasting from the outside.
Until suddenly it wasn’t.
News about Maya spread through Lakeport fast, the way terrible things in small towns always seemed to. Amanda heard fragments first before the full story finally settled heavily into place. And afterward, the trio never looked the same again.
No one needed to explain it directly for Amanda to notice.
Vinh started showing up alone more often, and when he did, he drank like he was trying to outrun something clawing at the inside of his chest. Some nights Amanda cut him off herself despite the irritated looks it earned her.
“That’s enough for the night, Vinh,” she’d tell him firmly while pulling the glass away.
Vinh always complained. Sometimes argued weakly. But eventually he’d let her. Because underneath the frustration, he probably knew she was right.
And Safi…
Amanda barely saw Safi anymore after everything happened.
The absence itself felt wrong considering how often she used to be at the Turtle before. Safi had once carried energy into rooms naturally without even trying. She talked with her hands when excited. Rolled her eyes dramatically during arguments. Filled space effortlessly.
Now whenever Amanda did catch glimpses of her around town or inside the bar, she looked hollowed out somehow. Just emotionally exhausted in a way grief carved into people when it stayed too long. There was no life in her eyes anymore. One look at Safi and it was painfully obvious she was mourning someone deeply important to her.
And Amanda thought that hurt almost more than hearing the actual story itself. Because it was painfully obvious how much Maya had meant to her. They weren’t just casual friends who happened to spend time together. They had been inseparable. Best friends in the truest sense of the word.
And now Safi moved through life looking like part of her had been left behind somewhere she could never return to.
Eventually, the town moved on. Slowly, the intensity of everything softened with time until Maya Okada became one of those names spoken more quietly around Lakeport instead of constantly. People graduated. New students arrived. Life continued moving forward whether anyone felt ready for it or not.
And somehow, years passed before Amanda fully realized they had. The undergrads she once watched stumble into the Snapping Turtle half-asleep after exams were postgraduate students now. Some disappeared from town entirely after graduation while others lingered around Caledon longer than expected, trying to figure out what came next for them.
New faces came in. Old regulars stopped appearing. Professors retired. Couples broke up. New relationships formed across conversations.
The Snapping Turtle remained constant through all of it. So did Amanda.
Safi and Vinh still occasionally came by together sometimes, though Amanda could tell immediately their friendship had never fully returned to what it once was. Like losing Maya had shifted the foundation beneath both of them permanently in ways neither fully knew how to repair afterward.
There were still moments where Amanda caught glimpses of the old dynamic between them. A familiar joke slipping out naturally. Shared memories resurfacing mid-conversation. But underneath it sat hesitation, distance. Grief that time had softened but never fully erased.
And eventually, Safi started bringing someone new around too.
Moses Murphy.
Amanda remembered him being painfully awkward the first few times he showed up at the Turtle. Polite in that slightly nervous way that made it seem like he constantly worried he was bothering her. He lingered near Safi more than participated at first, usually listening quietly while conversations unfolded around him. But over time, he warmed up.
Amanda quickly realized Moses was the kind of person who could accidentally spend twenty uninterrupted minutes passionately about his interests. He had a nerdy side that he made absolutely no effort to hide. Games, Sci-fi, manga and anime. He spoke about them with complete sincerity instead of embarrassment. She found it kind of endearing. She also discovered fairly quickly that despite regularly hanging around a bar, Moses vastly preferred hot chocolate over alcohol.
Eventually she got into the habit of already preparing it whenever she spotted him walking through the door during colder nights. Moses always looked genuinely touched by the gesture every single time, which only made Amanda continue doing it more stubbornly afterward.
And somewhere during all those years, Amanda realized her own life had quietly stabilized too. Her siblings were older now. More independent. Her parents no longer needed quite as much constant support from her. The Snapping Turtle practically ran like second nature at this point.
For the first time in a long while, Amanda actually had free time for herself again. That probably should’ve felt relaxing. Instead, it mostly gave her room to think. Because old thoughts had room to return again. Like soulmates. Or rather, the lack of one.
Amanda had long since accepted the possibility that she simply might never meet hers at all. She was in her thirties now. Three full decades spent living inside grayscale while the rest of the world promised there had always been something more waiting beyond it.
Maybe that simply wasn’t meant for her. The thought no longer devastated her the way it might have when she was younger. Time had worn the sharp edges off that disappointment years ago.
Still, sometimes loneliness settled heavier than usual during late nights after closing the bar.
And Amanda started wondering if perhaps she had been unfair to herself all this time. Because even if soulmates never happened for her, didn’t she still deserve to experience love at least once?
Didn’t she deserve something beyond waiting endlessly for a miracle that might never come?
Lately, she had been getting dangerously close to downloading a dating app. Or maybe finally working up the courage to flirt with women at house shows instead of admiring them quietly from across crowded rooms now that she had long since realized her attraction had always pointed in that direction anyway.
Which honestly made the soulmate thing feel mildly insulting sometimes. Amanda had already done the hard part of figuring herself out, yet she got nothing.
And maybe that had somehow been the universe’s breaking point.
It happened on a Monday. Amanda remembered that clearly.
The day had started completely normally. She came into the Snapping Turtle with coffee in hand, complained about the cold while opening the bar, and spent the afternoon slipping easily into the rhythm she’d perfected over the years. Making small talk while wiping down counters and preparing drinks at the same time.
By late afternoon, students had started trickling in one by one the way they always did after classes. The Turtle slowly filled with overlapping conversations, clinking glasses, and laughter from somewhere near the back booths.
Amanda was midway through preparing an order with her back turned towards the counter when she heard the front door open followed immediately by Safi’s familiar voice somewhere behind her.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Fayya—”
The greeting died halfway through Amanda’s mouth as she turned around.
And the world stopped.
Amanda forgot how to breathe.
Standing beside Safi was someone Amanda had never seen before. A woman around her age bundled beneath winter layers, shoulder-length auburn brown hair disappearing beneath a yellow beanie, freckles dusted softly across flushed cheeks, and striking blue eyes widened in complete shock as they locked directly onto Amanda’s.
And suddenly there was color. It crashed into her all at once.
One second the world existed in familiar grayscale and the next it shattered apart beneath an explosion of color. The world split open like someone had ripped away a veil she never realized had been covering everything. Warm amber light flooded across the Snapping Turtle. Safi’s clothes were suddenly rich with color too, her dark curls gleamed warmly beneath the hanging lights.
And the woman standing in front of her—
God.
Nothing could have prepared Amanda for this. Not articles online. Not descriptions from other people. Not years spent desperately trying to imagine what the world truly looked like. Reality was so much more.
The deep red of the woman’s sweater beneath her jacket. The bright blue of her eyes. The soft scatter of freckles across her flushed cheeks and nose. Even the small yellow details of her winter accessories somehow looked impossibly vivid to Amanda’s overwhelmed brain.
It was beautiful. Overwhelmingly, painfully beautiful.
And somehow the woman herself seemed equally stunned by it all, staring back at Amanda like the universe had just split open beneath her feet too.
Neither of them spoke.
Amanda realized that she was still holding someone’s unfinished drink order in one hand, completely frozen behind the counter while the rest of the bar continued existing around them unaware that her entire life had just changed.
Because after thirty years of grayscale, the universe had finally answered her.
And for some reason, it had decided to happen on a random Monday afternoon while Amanda was halfway through making margaritas.
Safi looked between them once, then immediately did a double take. Her eyes moved from Amanda to the brunette beside her and back again before realization slammed into her so fast Amanda could practically see the exact second it clicked.
“Oh my god,” Safi breathed.
Amanda barely heard her.
Because the woman standing beside Safi was still staring directly at her with the exact same stunned expression Amanda knew had to be mirrored on her own face. Neither of them had looked away yet. Neither of them even seemed capable of it.
The silence stretched.
Safi slowly looked between them again, piecing everything together in real time before suddenly barking out a laugh loud enough that a few nearby customers glanced over curiously.
“No fucking way!”
That finally jolted Amanda back into reality enough to blink rapidly.
Safi pointed dramatically between the two of them. “You guys are soulmates?!”
The brunette beside her opened and closed her mouth once like she had completely forgotten how to speak.
Amanda was probably doing the same thing.
“Oh, this is insane,” Safi muttered, sounding genuinely delighted now. “I bring my new friend here for the first time and she turns out to be your soulmate?”
Amanda could only stare helplessly while Safi looked entirely too entertained by both of their complete inability to process what was happening.
Then Safi gestured dramatically towards the still visibly overwhelmed brunette beside her.
“Amanda,” she said, grinning now, “this is Max Caulfield.”
Amanda liked the sound of it immediately.
Max.
It suited her.
From there, the rest of the conversation slowly stumbled forward in awkward bursts while Amanda’s brain desperately tried catching up to the fact that she could see color now.
Apparently Max was Caledon University’s Artist in Residence for the year, personally invited by Yasmin Fayyad herself. Amanda had heard enough about Yasmin over the years through Safi and the rest of the Caledon crowd to know she had a terrifying eye for talent. She almost felt like thanking the university president personally at this point. Because intentional or not, Yasmin had technically brought Amanda’s soulmate directly into her bar.
Which felt insane to think about for too long.
Eventually numbers were exchanged after Safi loudly insisted they should before they forget. Amanda pretended to be more composed about the entire thing than she actually was while typing her contact information into Max’s phone with hands that still felt slightly shaky.
And then somehow, slowly, they started getting to know each other. Because yes, they were soulmates. But they were also complete strangers.
The universe had apparently decided they belonged together while conveniently forgetting to provide literally any prior context beyond Congratulations! You can see color now.
So Amanda and Max had to figure out the rest themselves.
Admittedly, Amanda found herself captivated embarrassingly fast.
Max was quieter than she expected at first. A little awkward in a way that somehow only made her more endearing. She carried herself with this soft hesitance that contrasted strangely with how observant she was. Max noticed everything.
Amanda supposed that made sense for a photographer. And god, when Max talked about photography, she could listen for hours. There was something deeply sincere about the way Max viewed the world, like she genuinely found meaning hidden inside ordinary things most people stopped paying attention to years ago.
Safi helped bridge the awkwardness between them a lot in those early days too. Sometimes intentionally. Sometimes by shamelessly forcing them into the same spaces together until conversation happened naturally.
Amanda was definitely buying the Fayyads something at some point for their service towards her. Even if Safi’s family was richer than Amanda would probably ever be in her lifetime.
But apparently, the universe had forgotten to mention one very important detail about Amanda’s soulmate.
Max Caulfield was not an ordinary person. She was, somehow, a time traveler.
The thing was, Amanda would’ve thought that was incredibly cool under literally any other circumstance. But unfortunately, she found out during what was arguably one of the most emotionally catastrophic weeks of her life, and even more unfortunately, she hadn’t learned it from Max herself.
She learned because reality itself essentially broke apart around them.
One moment Safi was dead. The next she was alive again. And somehow both realities existed inside Amanda’s head at once alongside the horrifying realization that the storm tearing through Lakeport had been connected to all of it somehow.
Amanda still remembered the splitting headache that came with the memories settling into place afterward, two timelines crashing painfully together inside her mind until she genuinely thought she might lose it.
In the Living timeline, things between them had been moving forward naturally. Slowly but surely becoming something real. Dates. Long conversations. Lingering touches Amanda now remembered in vivid detail.
Hope.
Meanwhile, in the Dead timeline, Amanda remembered recognizing almost immediately that something was deeply wrong with her. The exhaustion in her eyes. The grief. The paranoia. The way Max seemed constantly trapped halfway inside her own head searching desperately for answers Amanda couldn’t understand. So she had given her space there. Supported her quietly through it all.
Distance.
And now all those feelings existed inside Amanda at once—the closeness, the distance, the tenderness, the confusion—until trying to untangle which emotions belonged to which timeline made her chest ache.
Max eventually explained everything as best as she could. The two timelines. How both she and Safi had powers that triggered the storm tearing through Lakeport. How reality itself had started unraveling around impossible choices neither of them had ever asked for.
Amanda understood enough to realize none of this was supposed to happen and yet it had anyway.
Max told her about the choice she had ultimately been cornered into making, and how she had refused to accept it. The entire explanation was messy, confusing, and terrifying to fully process, every answer seeming to unravel into even more impossible questions, but beneath all of it Amanda could still see the truth clearly. Fear. Grief. And a girl who had spent far too long trying to hold collapsing realities together mostly on her own.
Amanda used to think living in a world where people spent their entire lives in grayscale until one specific person looked them in the eye and suddenly unlocked color from the universe was already strange enough. Now apparently there were people with superhuman abilities, and probably far more impossible things hiding beneath reality that she simply hadn’t stumbled across yet.
Maybe the world had always been stranger than she realized.
But through it all, Amanda wasn’t actually angry at Max for what happened inside either timeline. Max’s actions made sense in both. She could understand why grief consumed her so completely in the Dead timeline. She could understand why things progressed naturally between them in the Living one.
What hurt was the secrecy.
The realization that Max had been carrying something this enormous alone while standing beside her every day pretending reality itself wasn’t unraveling around them.
Amanda understood why Max kept it hidden. She really did. None of this was easy to explain even with context. Time travel. Alternate timelines. Powers tied to storms and tough choices. Max had probably been terrified of sounding insane long before she ever reached the point of actually telling anyone.
But understanding it didn’t stop the hurt from settling in anyway, because Amanda still thought she deserved the truth before her entire understanding of reality collapsed in on itself.
To Max’s credit, she was genuinely apologetic afterward. Guilty in a way Amanda could tell ran deep. And she tried to make up for it, Max answered every question Amanda threw at her with patient honesty, no matter how ridiculous or emotionally charged it sounded in the moment. Even the stupid questions. Especially those.
Amanda would admit the whole thing got into her head sometimes too. There were days the clashing memories between timelines left her emotionally exhausted enough that functioning normally felt difficult. And during arguments, Amanda occasionally found herself blurting things out she never thought she’d have to say in a relationship.
“Don’t rewind.”
The first time she said it, Max had gone completely still.
Because somewhere along the way, Amanda had learned Max’s tells. The subtle twitch in her fingers before using her powers. The way her right arm shifted slightly upward without thinking. The furrow in her brows right before concentration settled in fully. And if Max pushed herself too far, eventually the nosebleeds followed.
She learned all of it after insisting on watching Max and Moses test her powers together.
At first Max resisted the idea entirely, clearly uncomfortable with Amanda seeing the uglier side of her abilities. But Amanda was stubborn, and eventually the testing sessions quietly became part of their routine.
Moses approached everything with fascinated scientific curiosity while Max reluctantly demonstrated what she could do, mostly sticking to smaller rewinds because she refused to attempt anything that felt remotely risky.
Amanda mostly watched, observed, and worried, because every time Max overused her powers, she could physically see the toll it took on her afterward. The headaches. The nosebleeds. The way her body seemed to completely crash afterward no matter how much she tried brushing it off with an awkward little smile and a quiet “I’m okay.”
Amanda never really believed her.
She remembered one night in particular after a longer rewind test with Moses where Max had gone pale halfway through speaking, swaying slightly before Amanda immediately guided her down onto the couch. Max’s nose had started bleeding again, exhaustion written all over her face while Amanda pressed tissues gently into her hands before disappearing into the kitchen to grab water, painkillers, and the blanket Max always gravitated towards whenever she felt awful.
“You push yourself too hard,” Amanda had muttered softly while wiping the remaining blood from beneath Max’s nose.
Max only smiled tiredly in response.
Eventually Amanda coaxed her into lying down properly instead of stubbornly insisting she was fine enough to stay awake. Max folded into her almost immediately afterward, too worn down to resist being cared for anymore.
Amanda recalled sitting there quietly with Max tucked against her chest beneath the blanket, fingers slowly combing through auburn hair while Max’s breathing gradually steadied against her shoulder. Neither of them spoke much. She just stayed there holding her until Max finally fell asleep.
Still, Amanda understood why they kept doing it. At some point, it stopped being entirely about understanding Max’s abilities. Amanda suspected they were also trying to distract themselves from the Safi-shaped absence left behind.
Because once the storm settled, Safi left Lakeport with Diamond to search for more people like them. More people with powers. People who might understand what they were becoming, how to live with abilities that constantly seemed bigger and more dangerous than themselves. They wanted answers, but more than that, they wanted to know how others survived carrying something so impossible. She still kept in touch constantly through text updates, pictures from random towns, and stories about leads that usually turned into dead ends after weeks of chasing them down.
But even through phone screens and messages, Amanda could tell Safi missed home sometimes, and she could definitely tell Max and Moses missed having Safi around too.
Honestly, Amanda did too. But they continued on anyway. That’s how life goes.
Amanda and Max spent long nights sitting together talking through everything piece by piece, trying to navigate emotions neither of them fully knew how to process yet. The timelines. The secrecy. The fear. What they actually meant to each other now that reality itself had complicated things beyond normal relationship problems.
And through all of it, one thing remained painfully obvious.
There was attraction between them. Maybe that part had been inevitable considering they were soulmates after all. It was evident in the quiet glances, lingering touches, conversations that stretched too long because neither wanted to leave yet. And somehow, despite everything, it only kept growing stronger the more time they spent together.
Amanda really liked Max. Like a lot. Enough that it genuinely scared her sometimes.
She remembered saying once that she probably wouldn’t be this willing to play Lois Lane for just anyone, but it was Max, and unfortunately Amanda liked her far too much already.
And that feeling hadn’t changed, if anything, it had only intensified afterward. Because the more Amanda learned about Max, the more she understood just how much pain the other woman had been carrying for years long before they ever met.
There were wounds in Max that clearly went far deeper than the storm in Lakeport. Old griefs. Old trauma. A crushing weight of guilt Amanda could sometimes physically see settling across Max’s face whenever conversations drifted too close to certain subjects.
And Amanda didn’t want Max carrying all of that alone anymore, not if she could help it. She reassured her over and over that she wasn’t going anywhere. No matter how chaotic things became or how terrifying Max’s reality turned out to be, Amanda wanted to stay beside her through it.
Not simply because they were soulmates, but because Amanda genuinely cared about her. She wanted Max to know that opening up wouldn’t scare her away, and that she didn’t have to hold the weight of those memories entirely on her own anymore.
Their relationship became steadier as the year passed.
They still had difficult conversations sometimes, but they learned each other more with time. Learned how to communicate before things became too overwhelming. Learned when the other needed comfort, space, reassurance, or simply someone nearby in silence.
There were milestones too. Big ones for their relationship, like meeting the family.
Max met Amanda’s family first.
Amanda had warned her beforehand that “meeting the family” unfortunately meant meeting all of them, including her five younger siblings who immediately attached themselves to Max within the first hour.
Honestly, Amanda should’ve seen it coming.
Max fit into the chaos of her family surprisingly easily despite how nervous she’d been beforehand. Her siblings adored her almost immediately, especially after discovering Max was willing to listen patiently to their rambling stories and answered any questions they had.
Her parents loved her too. Maybe a little too much.
At one point Amanda’s mother openly told Max embarrassing stories about how dramatic Amanda had been growing up regarding the soulmate thing, including her childhood obsession with trying to meet her soulmate early just to finally see color.
Amanda genuinely considered leaving the room out of humiliation while Max sat there laughing softly with flushed cheeks. “Mom, please,” she groaned at one point while her siblings betrayed her by eagerly contributing additional stories.
To make things worse, Max found all of it unbelievably cute.
Later on, Max introduced Amanda to her own parents over video call.
Amanda remembered being strangely nervous beforehand despite the fact she regularly handled drunk college students having emotional breakdowns at the Turtle without issue. But Max’s parents welcomed her warmly almost immediately, and before the call even ended, they were already extending invitations for Amanda to visit Seattle with Max someday.
And then slowly, almost without either of them noticing exactly when it started happening, Amanda began staying over at the Hellerton House more often.
At first it was just frequent overnight visits, then staying over the weekends. Then eventually Max started dedicating drawer space to Amanda’s clothes because she was constantly leaving things behind anyway.
Amanda also quietly took over portions of Max’s kitchen.
Max genuinely seemed to think coffee and a concerning amount of chips were enough to survive on, which Amanda found deeply concerning. Over time the Hellerton House filled with groceries, leftovers, Amanda’s stuff, and enough traces of her that the place gradually became theirs instead of simply Max’s.
Somehow, moments like that made Amanda appreciate the world around her even more now.
She had gotten used to color by now, mostly, but every so often the world still caught her off guard in the best way. The deep reds and golds of autumn covering Lakeport, lights glowing brightly through rainy nights, sunlight spilling softly across Max’s freckles during mornings at the house.
Sometimes she still found herself staring a second too long at completely ordinary things simply because she finally could. And getting to experience all of it beside her soulmate made the world feel even more beautiful than Amanda had imagined growing up.
As for the timeline memories, things became stranger.
There came a point where Amanda started forgetting parts of them without fully realizing it was happening until Max gently pointed it out. Apparently the same thing had started happening to Moses too. Small gaps. Missing details.
Max helped both of them remember. And Amanda found herself strangely grateful for that. Because more than anything, it showed trust. Max no longer carried everything alone in silence the way she used to.
Eventually Safi returned to Lakeport too, though Diamond chose to remain on the road searching for more people like them. She still kept in contact, the same way Safi once had, sending updates from random places and leads she continued chasing down across the country.
Though, Safi wasn’t the only one that came back.
Over time, Max slowly began opening up to Amanda about her past.
Some stories arrived in fragments during sleepless nights at the Hellerton House. Others slipped out accidentally during conversations before Max visibly realized what she had admitted aloud. There were also memories that clearly still hurt too much to explain properly, moments where Max’s voice would falter halfway through before Amanda quietly reached for her hand instead of pushing further.
Amanda learned quickly that Max carried memories no one else remembered except her. Traumas tied to events that technically no longer existed. People she had lost and regained. Choices she had been forced to make entirely alone. Versions of reality only Max could remember clearly because she had lived through all of them.
And eventually, Max told her about Chloe. About the blue-haired best friend who had once been the center of her entire world before life and grief and distance complicated things beyond repair.
Amanda understood almost immediately that Chloe still mattered deeply to Max—enough that the silence between them clearly hurt.
The problem was that communication had never exactly been Max’s strongest skill. Amanda knew that firsthand by now. So she encouraged her gently, convinced Max to reach out instead of continuing to avoid the conversation entirely. And eventually, they did reconnect.
At first, Amanda thought things were finally stabilizing again.
Then somehow everything became even more complicated. Particularly between Max, Safi, and Chloe.
Amanda could feel the tension growing long before anyone openly acknowledged it. Conversations became more careful. Silences stretched strangely between certain topics. Safi and Chloe especially seemed unable to figure out where they stood with each other despite trying.
Then came the day Max showed up at the Snapping Turtle hours before she was supposed to leave for her exhibit in New York. Amanda remembered immediately knowing something was wrong from the look on her face alone.
Max looked terrified.
Amanda barely said two words before immediately pulling her into the break room away from the customers and noise outside. The second the door shut behind them, Max completely broke down.
Amanda had never seen her cry like that before. The words came out fragmented and uneven between shaky breaths as Max tried explaining what happened. She said she had jumped from another timeline again. From a timeline where a fire broke out at Caledon.
Amanda still remembered the exact way Max’s hands trembled while describing it—students trapped helplessly inside while flames spread through the university. The screaming, and the panic that came along with it. Then Moses carrying an unconscious Chloe through the chaos before Max finally dissolved into tears too hard to continue speaking properly.
Amanda understood enough to know why Max couldn’t continue and didn’t push her any further.
And almost like clockwork, Chloe texted later that same day saying she was on her way to Lakeport because they needed to discuss something important.
That was how the investigation started or maybe spiral was the more accurate word.
Meanwhile, Amanda was already stretched painfully thin trying to keep the Snapping Turtle afloat after the storm. Several businesses around town had been hit badly, including the Cruller bar, which meant half the town seemed to migrate directly into her establishment afterward. And unfortunately that meant mixing both angry locals and the trust fund babies of Caledon.
Amanda swore they had collectively decided to test her patience on purpose. Still, she tried helping where she could. She organized fundraisers. Helped coordinate recovery efforts around town. Used the Turtle to support local businesses struggling after the storm damage.
But Caledon’s administration changing hands only made everything worse. Owen replacing Yasmin as president immediately angered locals with his expansion plans for the university, especially regarding Abraxas House. Amanda heard about it constantly inside the bar because everyone in Lakeport apparently processed stress by complaining directly to her face.
She also became painfully aware of how Owen treated Max professionally. And honestly? Amanda wanted to fight him on sight half the time.
But, to help Max and the rest, she used years worth of connections throughout Lakeport to quietly learn what people knew about the brewing protests surrounding Caledon. Chloe helped too once she returned, and together they slowly uncovered just how deeply Lucas Colmenero had involved himself in everything.
Amanda genuinely hated him. If she had to assign Lucas a color, it would’ve been red. Angry, ugly red. The kind that made your chest tighten unpleasantly. Well, she thought he deserved grayscale more than color after what he did to Maya.
And the worst part was the disappointment. Not just towards Lucas, but towards Yasmin too for allowing things to reach that point at all.
Gwen eventually confessed what she knew. She apologized quietly to Safi for not doing more earlier despite knowing pieces of what happened, but Yasmin’s involvement complicated everything too heavily for her to act openly at the time. Eventually Gwen stepped away from teaching entirely for a while to travel again with her wife, though she promised she would return next semester.
Amanda missed her immediately after she left. She also happened to have a tiny crush on the professor, which Max found endlessly amusing.
“Honey,” She had once defended weakly after getting caught staring a little too long while Gwen was saying her farewell in the bar. “You see it too.”
And Max did.
Still, things truly spiraled once Chloe returned fully. She revealed she had started experiencing strange flashes of memories that technically shouldn’t exist. Moments where she remembered being shot. The lighthouse. Safi somehow being involved too.
Then Safi quietly admitted that maybe her own memories weren’t dreams either. They were connected somehow.
At this point Amanda genuinely thought the soulmate system had competition for “most horrifyingly complicated thing about reality.”
That was when Max finally sat everyone down and admitted the truth. She explained how merging realities had altered things in ways even she didn’t fully understand anymore. Then Chloe revealed Arcadia Bay still existed. Her mother was alive there. Max looked completely blindsided by that revelation.
Amanda realized then that despite reconnecting, Max and Chloe had still carefully avoided discussing certain parts of their past directly with each other. Understandable considering Max’s trauma, but deeply concerning too considering the scale of what her powers apparently affected now.
Things with Safi worsened again afterward too once she uncovered Yasmin’s connections to Abraxas and the real motivations behind supporting the demolition of Abraxas House.
Eventually they discovered there had actually been two disasters building simultaneously. The university fire and the Abraxas House explosion. With both happening the same night.
Max barely managed to stop Vinh from accidentally triggering the explosion after discovering bombs hidden inside a metal crate he intended to burn in order to destroy evidence tied to one terrible incident from Abraxas’ past.
But even after they stopped the protester responsible for planning the university fire—the fire still happened anyway.
Amanda remembered the dread she felt when she saw smoke rising from Caledon through the Snapping Turtle windows. Then flames. Bright. Violent. Horrifyingly vivid flames consuming the university against the night sky.
For the first time in her life, Amanda hated color. Hated how clearly she could see the fire. Hated how real the nightmare looked. She immediately started calling everyone. Max, Moses, Safi, and even Chloe. But no one answered.
Amanda broke down crying right there, outside the bar before running straight towards Caledon without thinking twice. “P-Please!” she sobbed, panic fully breaking through her voice as the officers held her back. “M-My friends are in there—Max is in there, sh-she’s in there! Th-That’s my girlfriend, please, please just let me through!”
It was Yasmin who finally ordered them to let her through. Amanda thanked her before sprinting forward across campus, past protesters huddled together in panic while smoke swallowed the night sky above them.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
Amanda blinked slightly at the sound of Max’s voice just before familiar arms wrapped around her waist from behind. Warmth settled against her back immediately as Max pressed a soft kiss beneath her jaw, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.
Amanda smiled instinctively.
“Well, hello to you too, honey.”
Max hummed contently against her skin, tightening her arms slightly around Amanda’s middle as she rested her chin on her shoulder. “So,” she asked softly, “what’s happening inside that terrifying brain of yours right now?”
Amanda laughed and leaned back into her. Her hand drifted down until her fingers found Max’s, intertwining them loosely while her thumb brushed across the back of Max’s hand.
“I was just thinking about the past.”
Max groaned behind her immediately. “Oh god,” she muttered. “That is such a dangerous sentence coming from you. Which part of the past?”
Amanda’s smile softened a little. “Just… everything, I guess.” She paused briefly before admitting quieter, “I was remembering the fire before you interrupted me.”
Max let out an offended noise against her shoulder. “Why would you willingly think about that right now?” she complained. “Especially when our wedding is literally getting closer and closer?”
Amanda laughed again, softer this time, before her gaze dropped towards their intertwined hands. Towards the bright engagement ring sitting comfortably on her ring finger.
Right. They were getting married.
The realization still hit her unexpectedly sometimes even after months of being engaged. After everything they had survived together—timelines collapsing, storms, grief, near disasters, heartbreak, healing—somehow they still found their way here. To this. To mornings tangled together in bed. Shared homes. Shared lives. Shared futures.
To marriage.
Amanda continued rubbed her thumb gently across Max’s knuckles again, unable to stop the fond smile pulling at her mouth.
Because god, she still remembered the proposal so clearly.
They had been on a trip together when it happened.
Just the two of them somewhere far from Lakeport for once, standing beneath a fading sunset after spending the entire day wandering around like they had nowhere else to be.
Amanda still remembered the colors of that evening vividly. The warm gold and orange bleeding across the sky, the soft blue shadows settling around the mountains, sunlight catching against Max’s auburn hair while cold wind tugged lightly at her jacket.
Amanda recalled laughing about something stupid when she turned around and realized Max had gone unusually quiet. The kind of quiet where Max’s hands kept fidgeting even when she tried hiding it, blue eyes fixed on Amanda with an intensity that immediately made her stomach flip.
“Amanda,” Max had started softly, voice already wavering a little, “I spent so much of my life losing people. Or thinking I would.” She laughed shakily at herself before continuing. “And somehow, after everything, you still stayed beside me. Through every impossible thing, every ugly truth, every version of me I thought would finally make you leave.”
Amanda remembered immediately starting to cry.
“And I know soulmates are supposed to be fate or whatever,” Max said, eyes shining now too, “but loving you stopped feeling like fate a long time ago. It became a choice I’d make over and over again.”
Then Max dropped to one knee.
And Amanda swore her heart had never ached so beautifully in her entire life.
They kept their wedding small, only inviting family and close friends. After everything they had been through together, neither of them wanted something extravagant. They wanted it only to be with people who had stayed beside them through every impossible thing life had thrown their way.
The ceremony was held outdoors just before sunset, when the sky was still glowing softly in shades of gold and pale amber. White flowers lined the aisle with delicate gold accents woven carefully between them. Fairy lights hung overhead waiting for dusk to settle fully, their glow already beginning to flicker softly against the darkening sky.
Amanda remembered standing there before the ceremony started and feeling overwhelmed by how beautiful everything looked.
The white flowers. The gold details shimmering beneath the sunset. The soft colors stretching across the sky behind the mountains.
When she was younger, she used to think finally seeing color would be the most magical thing that could ever happen to her. Standing there now in white and gold surrounded by the people she loved most, Amanda realized the colors themselves had never really been the important part.
It was who she got to experience them with.
Her father gently offered his arm once it was time. “Ready, champ?” he asked softly.
Amanda laughed shakily, already trying not to cry as she slipped her arm through his. The music began quietly around them as they started down the aisle together.
Halfway through the walk, her father leaned closer with a teasing smile. “See?” he murmured. “We told you you’d meet your soulmate when you were ready.”
Amanda laughed through the tears gathering in her eyes. “Yeah,” she whispered back. “Guess you were right.” Then she looked up fully towards the altar and forgot how to breathe for a second.
Max stood waiting for her in a white suit with gold detailing, the warm light catching against her auburn hair in a way that made Amanda’s chest ache painfully. Her blue eyes were already glassy with tears before Amanda had even reached her, and the second their gazes properly met, Max looked like she was barely holding herself together emotionally.
By the time Amanda finally reached the altar, Max immediately leaned closer and whispered shakily, “You look really pretty.”
Amanda snorted softly through her tears. “That’s your opening line?”
Max laughed under her breath while wiping quickly beneath her eyes. “I had better lines planned until you started walking towards me.”
When it came time for their vows, Max went first. Her hands trembled slightly around Amanda’s as she took a steadying breath.
“For a long time,” Max began softly, her thumb trembling slightly against Amanda’s knuckles, “I thought love was something temporary. Like eventually people leave, or something terrible happens, or you ruin it before it can fully become real.”
Amanda felt her throat tighten immediately.
“I carried that fear for so long that I think part of me genuinely didn’t know what to do once someone stayed anyway,” Max admitted with a small shaky laugh. “But you did. You stayed through every messy part of my life. Through the grief, the nightmares, the parts of me that were terrified to even let you close in the first place.”
Amanda squeezed her hands tighter instantly, tears already blurring her vision
“And somehow,” Max continued, voice wavering now, “you never made me feel like I was difficult to love. Even on my worst days. Even when I couldn’t explain what was happening inside my own head.” She smiled softly through her tears. “You just stayed beside me and loved me through it.”
Amanda genuinely thought her heart might burst.
“You know,” Max said quietly, eyes locked onto hers, “when I was younger, I used to photograph things because I was scared moments wouldn’t last. Like if I didn’t capture them somehow, they’d disappear.” Her expression softened even more as she looked at Amanda. “But loving you changed that too. Because for the first time in my life, the future stopped feeling terrifying.”
Amanda broke completely at that.
“I know soulmates are supposed to be fate,” Max whispered, tears finally slipping free now, “but what we built together became so much more than fate to me. It became home. It became the life I want waking up to every morning for the rest of my existence.”
Her voice cracked slightly.
“And I would still choose you in every version of my life I get to live.”
For a few seconds after Max finished, the entire ceremony fell quiet except for the soft sound of people unsuccessfully trying not to cry.
Safi had completely given up pretending at this point, openly wiping tears from her face while leaning against Chloe, who didn’t look much better herself. Moses had his head lowered slightly behind his glasses like he was trying very hard to maintain composure and failing anyway. Even Gwen was visibly tearing up nearby.
Meanwhile Max still stood in front of Amanda looking emotional and terrified all at once, like she’d just handed Amanda every vulnerable part of herself directly into her hands.
Amanda could barely breathe properly through the tightness in her chest. “You absolutely suck,” she whispered shakily, laughing through tears as she wiped quickly beneath her eyes. “How am I supposed to follow that?”
Max let out a watery laugh, shoulders relaxing slightly.
Amanda took a steadying breath before looking down briefly at their intertwined hands.
“When I was younger,” Amanda began quietly, “I thought meeting my soulmate would be this huge magical moment because suddenly I’d finally get to see color.” She smiled softly at herself. “And don’t get me wrong, colors are great. Ten out of ten experience.”
That earned soft laughter from the guests.
“But honestly?” Amanda continued, her voice gentler now as she looked back up at Max. “The longer I loved you, the more I realized color was never really the important part.”
Max’s eyes immediately welled again.
“You are.”
Amanda’s own voice cracked slightly at that.
“I waited thirty years to meet you,” she admitted softly, smiling through tears now. “Thirty years of wondering who my soulmate would be. Wondering if they were even real sometimes.” She laughed shakily under her breath. “Turns out you were just late.”
That pulled laughter from the crowd while Max covered her face briefly.
“I think before you, I got really used to being the person who held everything together. My family, the Turtle, everyone around me.” Amanda smiled softly. “And then somehow this awkward photographer with terrible eating habits and enough emotional baggage to crush a small town walked into my bar and completely ruined my life.”
Max snorted loudly through her tears while several people laughed again.
“But loving you never felt heavy,” Amanda continued more quietly. “Even during the hard parts. Even when things got terrifying or complicated or impossible.” Her thumb brushed gently across Max’s knuckles. “You made me feel safe enough to finally let someone take care of me too.”
Amanda swallowed hard against the emotion rising in her throat. She squeezed Max’s hands tighter.
“I love every version of you, Max. The awkward version. The stubborn version. The version that takes pictures of literally everything. The version that tries carrying the weight of the universe by herself even when she shouldn’t.” Amanda smiled tearfully. “I love how deeply you care about people even when it hurts you. I love that you keep trying anyway.”
By now Max was openly crying again, and Amanda could barely hold herself together much better.
“And maybe the universe did bring us together,” Amanda whispered softly, “but what we built after that was ours. Not fate’s. Ours.”
Her fingers tightened gently around Max’s hands.
“Eventually I realized that…” Amanda continued softly, “if we had met in a world without soulmates, without all the weird impossible things that kept throwing us together…” She squeezed Max’s hands tighter. “I still think I would’ve fallen in love with you.”
Her smile softened through the tears.
“I think I would’ve looked at you in any universe and thought, ‘There you are.’” She let out a small shaky laugh before adding quietly, “And after thirty years of waiting for you, I’d wait all over again if it meant finding you at the end of it.”
By the end of Amanda’s vows, most of the guests weren’t doing much better. Meanwhile Max just stared at Amanda like she was the most important thing in the world.
Amanda barely processed the officiant speaking after that. The only moments that really stayed with her were Max slipping the gold band onto her finger with trembling hands and the way Max’s eyes softened afterward like she still couldn’t fully believe this was real.
Then finally—
“You may kiss the bride.”
Max laughed shakily through her tears before leaning in. “You’re my wife,” she whispered like the realization still overwhelmed her.
Amanda smiled helplessly. “Yeah,” she murmured back. “You’re stuck with me now.”
Then Max kissed her. Soft and warm and emotional enough that Amanda could feel Max smiling against her lips halfway through it while applause and cheering erupted around them.
The celebration afterward felt intimate and alive in the best way. Fairy lights glowed overhead once night settled fully across the venue while music drifted softly through the air. Family and friends pulled them into hugs one after another.
At one point Amanda caught Max instinctively pulling out her camera to photograph everyone laughing together beneath the lights.
And then Max lowered the camera and looked at her instead.
Standing there beneath the evening lights in white and gold while her wife smiled softly at her, Amanda thought she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
She spent years waiting for the moment her world would finally fill with color. She just never expected the person standing at the center of it would become her favorite part of the entire thing.
“I’m proud of you,” Amanda said softly as they stepped out of the gallery together, the exhibit finally closing for the night behind them.
Max glanced sideways at her with an amused smile. “What’s with the sudden compliment?”
Amanda scoffed lightly. “You literally just survived opening night for your most emotionally vulnerable exhibit yet. I think your wife is allowed to compliment you for that.”
Max chuckled. “I think I’d prefer if the compliment came with a reward.”
Amanda rolled her eyes immediately. “Oh my god.”
“What?” Max asked innocently, despite the grin on her face. “You married me knowing exactly who I am.”
Amanda snorted softly as Max slipped their hands together while they walked down the quiet street.
“Maybe when we get back to the hotel, I’ll think about giving you your reward.”
Max’s entire face lit up immediately. “Then why are we still walking this slowly?!”
Amanda barked out a laugh. “Max Caulfield!”