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It was cruel, actually. Cruel in a way Max didn’t think language had been built to explain.
Sometimes she wondered what version of herself had made the first mistake. Which Max had pulled the thread too hard and unraveled her entire life into this tangled, impossible thing. Because it had to be punishment for something. There was no other explanation for why she had to endure this over and over again, slipping through timelines like a ghost that could never fully belong anywhere.
Her students told her all the time that they wanted to be like her.
The famous photographer. The award winner. The woman whose work hung in galleries and textbooks and classroom presentations. Max always laughed softly and told them to carve their own path, to become something better and entirely theirs.
But what she really wanted to say was, no, you don’t want to be me.
You wouldn’t want a life where memory felt unreliable. You wouldn’t want to wake up some mornings and spend precious seconds grounding yourself in which reality this was. You wouldn’t want to carry so many versions of people in your head that sometimes their faces blurred together—alive here, dead there, and strangers somewhere else. Some don’t even exist in other timelines.
You wouldn’t want to be nearing thirty in one timeline and back in your teens in another.
You wouldn’t want to feel centuries old while still looking young enough for people to call you kid.
There were days Max genuinely didn’t know how long she had been alive anymore. Not really. Time had stopped feeling linear to her a long time ago. It folded in on itself instead, layers upon layers of memories stacked so tightly together that sometimes she remembered three different conversations from three different timelines before she remembered what she had eaten that morning.
If it weren’t for her journals, she thought she would’ve lost herself completely by now.
Every notebook was meticulous. Dates. Names. Tiny details no one else would’ve thought mattered. The weather. A joke someone had made. Which Chloe had died and which Chloe had lived. Which Kate had stopped talking to her. Which Victoria hated her guts so badly.
Writing things down had become essential for Max's sanity. Because the terrifying thing about timelines wasn’t how different they were, it was how convincing they became.
A reality could feel warm. Familiar. Right. People smiled at her the way they always had. Coffee tasted the same. Sunlight fell through the windows exactly where she remembered it. Entire months could pass before the wrongness finally slipped through the cracks.
And when it did, it was never something big at first. A sentence someone swore they’d never said, a memory only she carried, a photograph that came out differently than she remembered taking it.
Those were times when Max reached for her journals with shaking hands, desperate for proof that she wasn’t losing her mind. And every single time, the pages confirmed the same horrible truth.
This still wasn’t home.
And this timeline was no different.
If Max had to categorize it, it definitely belonged in the “future Max” category. Similar to another timeline she had experienced once, where she had somehow become a famous award-winning photographer despite feeling like she had no memory of earning any of it. But this one was different in some ways.
She hadn’t been on the road with Chloe. There had been no battered pickup truck, no endless drives through unfamiliar towns, no blurry motel photos pinned together like proof they had survived another week. Worse, it didn’t even seem like they were together anymore. Chloe was alive—Max had checked that almost immediately, panic making her hands shake as she searched through her phone—but judging from the old messages buried in their conversation thread, they had broken up years ago. The texts had been strangely cordial. Familiar, even affectionate in places, but distant in a way that made Max’s chest ache. Like two people who had once loved each other deeply and simply ran out of ways to keep holding on.
And somehow, somewhere along the line, Max Caulfield had ended up teaching photography at Caledon University.
That had been new—not the photography part. That had followed her through almost every timeline in one form or another, as if the universe refused to let her become anything else. But teaching? Standing in front of students, guiding them through composition and lighting and emotion? Office hours, grading papers, students calling her Professor Caulfield?
It felt too stable for someone like her.
Still, despite everything she had learned over the years, despite knowing better than to trust timelines simply because they felt comfortable, she couldn’t stop the small flicker of hope this one gave her. Because for once, the universe had thrown her somewhere entirely unfamiliar.
Usually when Max jumped onto a timeline, she landed in variations of memories she already knew. Familiar moments changed by tiny details. But this timeline had been completely new from the moment she arrived in it. New place. New people. New routines. And somehow, a completely different version of herself.
“Earth to Max? You okay?”
The voice pulled her out of her thoughts instantly. Max blinked and looked up from where she sat at the counter of the Snapping Turtle.
Amanda stood behind the bar, one elbow resting against the counter as she watched her with amused concern. The warm glow from the hanging lights softened her features, catching against the silver rings on her fingers.
Max smiled faintly and shook her head. “Sorry. I was thinking about the amount of papers I still have to grade.”
Amanda winced sympathetically. “Oof. Are you gonna be busy all night? We can move our date if you need—”
“God, please don’t,” Max interrupted immediately. The desperation in her own voice startled even her.
Amanda blinked.
Max rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly before laughing under her breath. “That’s kind of… the only thing keeping me sane right now.”
Amanda’s cheeks flushed almost instantly, soft pink spreading across her face as she tried—and failed—to hide her smile. “O-okay,” she laughed.
Max felt her own face warm a little.
Amanda leaned forward slightly against the counter. “I’ll see you later then?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here to pick you up!”
Before pulling away to get back to work, Amanda leaned over the counter just enough to press a quick kiss against Max’s cheek.
It was brief, but Max still felt it linger long after Amanda stepped away to help another customer.
That had been new too. Amanda.
By this point, Max wasn’t inexperienced when it came to relationships. God knew she had lived enough lives for that. There had been Chloe, of course. There would probably always be Chloe in some form and some way. But there had been others too, brief relationships, drunken hook-ups—people she dated because she was lonely, because she wanted distraction, because sometimes pretending to be normal for a few months felt easier than carrying the weight of everything she remembered.
So Amanda hadn’t been new in that sense. What was new was how she made Max feel, in a way love hadn’t in a very long time.
There was no history heavy enough to crush every conversation. No constant fear that one wrong choice would destroy everything around them. Amanda didn’t feel like a storm Max was desperately trying to survive. She felt safe and warm. Like Max was finally being allowed to rest. Like laughter spilling across a table during late-night dinners. Like teasing smiles thrown across crowded rooms. Like someone reaching for Max’s hand simply because she wanted to.
And maybe that was what unsettled Max the most. Because for the longest time, she had genuinely believed whatever part of her had been capable of loving someone completely had stayed buried somewhere deep inside all the timelines she had destroyed trying to save Chloe.
Chloe still mattered. She always would. In every timeline, Max found her eventually. Sometimes as a friend, sometimes as a stranger, and sometimes as someone she loved so much it ruined her. But what Max felt for her had changed over time, worn down slowly by grief, distance, and the unbearable exhaustion of remembering too much.
And now there was Amanda. Someone entirely unexpected.
But she wasn’t the only new thing this timeline had given her.
There was Lakeport. The quiet coldness of the town, the lake stretching endlessly beneath gray skies, the kind of place Max would’ve never imagined herself settling in. And then there was Caledon. The university itself with its polished halls and intimidating reputation, somehow trusting her enough to put students under her guidance like she wasn’t secretly hanging together by threads.
Then there were her friends, Safi and Moses. There was Vinh and the Abraxas Society. Her students. All of them were new. Entirely, terrifyingly new. No recycled memories. No familiar faces shoved into different circumstances. The universe hadn’t rearranged pieces she already knew this time. It had created something else entirely.
And somehow, Max had found herself woven into the middle of it like she had always belonged there.
Timelines usually felt like echoes. Distortions of lives she had already lived before. But this one didn’t feel like an echo. New enough that sometimes, usually during quiet moments like this, Max caught herself wondering something dangerous.
What if this wasn’t another mistake?
What if, somehow, the universe hadn’t brought her here to suffer this time?
What if it had finally brought her somewhere she was meant to stay?
And this was exactly why hope had become dangerous for Max.
Because the universe always waited until she got comfortable before reminding her that none of this was truly hers. It never happened immediately either. That would’ve been kinder.
Instead, it let her settle first. It let her build routines. Let her memorize the sound of Amanda’s laugh across the Snapping Turtle. Let her grow attached to her students and their terrible procrastination habits. Let her start recognizing the exact moment Safi would become bored enough to suggest doing something crazy. Let her indulge in new hobbies with Moses. Let her exist long enough in a timeline for it to start feeling real.
Then the cracks started, small things at first. A conversation repeating itself word for word days later. Objects appearing where she swore they hadn’t been before. Headaches that lasted longer than they should have. Photographs distorting at the edges. People remembering events differently than they had yesterday.
Warnings. The universe’s way of telling her it was time to go.
A younger Max would’ve left immediately. She had learned that lesson the hard way after timelines began collapsing around her the longer she overstayed. Reality itself seemed to rot when she ignored the signs for too long, like the universe rejected her presence once she exceeded whatever invisible limit she had been given. But it had been a long time since a timeline made her want to stay.
Usually, leaving hurt in an abstract kind of way. A quiet grief she had learned to swallow down over the years. She would mourn the people, the life she almost had, then move on because she had no other choice. This time was different. This timeline had gotten too deep under her skin before the cracks started showing.
It happened slowly enough that Max convinced herself she could ignore it. That maybe if she pretended hard enough, the universe would leave her alone this once. Because every extra day here mattered now. Every date with Amanda mattered. Every morning lecture at Caledon mattered. Every stupid conversation with Safi and Moses mattered. The Snapping Turtle mattered. Lakeport mattered.
For the first time in years, Max had stopped feeling like a visitor in her own life. And maybe that was why the universe finally started pushing harder.
Not just subtle cracks anymore. There were violent ones. Moments where reality outright broke around her. People remembering entirely different versions of events mid-conversation. Objects changing places when she looked away. Entire hours disappearing from everyone’s memory. Headaches so painful they blurred her vision until she thought she might pass out.
The universe wasn’t warning her anymore. It was trying to force her out.
Max had genuinely thought she had more time. She thought she’d get another month with Amanda. Another semester at Caledon. Another winter in Lakeport. She thought she had finally found a timeline worth staying in.
“Hey, Max, it’s okay,” Amanda said softly. “We’ll help you through this, okay?”
Max almost laughed at how impossible that sounded.
Amanda sat beside her on the couch while Moses and Safi lingered nearby, all three of them still trying to process everything she had told them over the last two hours.
Everything. Not vague hints or carefully watered-down half-truths. She told them how it started—or at least how she remembered it starting—using her journals whenever memory became too tangled to explain properly. The bathroom. The rewinds. The storm. The timelines. Every impossible thing she had spent years carrying alone.
At first there had only been confusion. Then disbelief, then pity, and finally understanding. God, she hated the understanding most of all. She hated how gently Amanda looked at her now, like she was something wounded. Hated the careful way Moses spoke, like he was afraid saying the wrong thing would break her apart completely. Even Safi had gone quieter than usual, her sharp edges dulled by sympathy.
Max didn’t want sympathy. She didn’t want to be understood. She just wanted this life.
“I’m not leaving.” The words came out harsher than she intended.
Amanda blinked. “Max—”
“No.” Max stood abruptly, pacing away from them before they could see how badly her hands were shaking. “No, I’m serious.” Her throat tightened painfully.
“I don’t want to do this again.”
Silence filled the room.
Max laughed weakly, dragging a hand through her hair. “Do you know what the worst part is?” she asked quietly. “It’s not even the timeline stuff anymore. It’s that I actually let myself believe this one could last.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
“I finally have something here,” she added. “Do you understand how long it’s been since I’ve had something that actually felt real?”
The words sounded pathetic the second it left her mouth, but it was true. She wanted grading papers to be her biggest problem. Wanted bad coffee at Caledon and late-night dates at the Snapping Turtle and stupid arguments with Safi and Moses over movies.
She wanted a life that didn’t involve timelines collapsing around her. She wanted Amanda without an expiration date hanging over them.
But maybe that had always been too much to ask from the universe.
The days after that blurred together into something frantic and exhausting.
Moses practically buried himself in research. Every table in his apartment became covered in papers, theories, and scribbled notes trying to make sense of timelines and temporal instability despite the fact none of it should’ve been scientifically possible to begin with. Safi approached it differently—less concerned with understanding why it happened and more focused on figuring out how to stop it from killing Max or the timeline itself.
Amanda never left her through all of it, even during the ugly parts.
The migraines that left Max shaking on the bathroom floor. The nights where reality distorted so badly Max forgot where she was for several terrifying seconds. The moments she snapped at everyone out of sheer fear and exhaustion.
Amanda stayed anyway. And somehow, unbelievably, so did Chloe.
That had been awkward in ways Max didn’t even have words for.
The Chloe of this timeline still looked at her with too much familiarity, like some part of her still remembered how to love Max even after years apart. But there was no bitterness there. Just an ache neither of them really acknowledged aloud.
It was strange watching Amanda and Chloe exist in the same room sometimes. Her ex-girlfriend and her current girlfriend bonding over trying to send her away from both of them. Darkly ironic. The kind of thing Max thought only the universe would find funny.
But despite everything, despite how impossible all of this was, they figured it out. Max could finally return to her original timeline instead of being thrown into another random reality. Moses nearly cried when they realized what was wrong and what they can do about it. Safi immediately started celebrating like they hadn’t all been running on caffeine and panic for weeks straight.
The night before they sent her back felt unbearably normal. That was the cruelest part. They ordered takeout. Safi and Moses argued over movies halfway through dinner. Amanda rested her head against Max’s shoulder on the couch like this was any other night in their apartment. Like tomorrow wasn’t about to ruin everything.
Eventually, one by one, they talked to her alone.
Moses went first. “You better meet me again,” he said immediately, pointing at her while trying very hard not to look emotional. “Seriously, Max. Somewhere. Somehow.”
Max laughed weakly. “That might be difficult considering the whole timeline thing.”
“I don’t care.” Moses folded his arms stubbornly. “Figure it out. Multiverse travel apparently exists, so honestly my standards for reality are pretty low now.”
That made her smile for real.
His expression softened after a moment. “You deserve to stay somewhere,” he said quietly. “I hope you know that.”
Max looked away before she could start crying again.
Safi’s conversation was somehow worse. Maybe because by this point, Max already knew saying goodbye to her was going to hurt in a completely different way. She had become her person in this timeline without Max even realizing when it happened and now Max had to leave her too. She looked angry. Not at Max. Never at Max. She was angry at the situation, at the universe. At the fact there was absolutely nothing she could punch or argue with to fix this. “I still can’t believe this is real,” she admitted quietly. “Like… you’re actually leaving.”
Max looked down at her hands. “Yeah.”
“And you’ve been doing this for so long?”
Max shrugged weakly. “You get used to it.”
“Bullshit.”
Max blinked up at her.
Safi’s eyes were glossy now, voice tight with emotion she was clearly trying to keep under control. “You don’t get used to something like this, Max.” She laughed shakily. “God, no wonder you looked exhausted all the time.” She crossed the room before Max could say anything else and pulled her into a hug so hard it almost knocked the air out of her lungs. And that broke something in Max immediately. Because Safi hugged her like she genuinely didn’t want to let go.
“You deserved better than this,” Safi whispered angrily against her shoulder. “You deserved one normal fucking timeline.”
Max’s eyes burned. “Safi—”
“No, I’m serious.” Safi pulled back just enough to look at her, tears finally slipping free now despite how hard she was trying to hide them. “You come into my life, become my best friend, let me get attached to you, and now the universe just gets to take you away? That’s bullshit.”
Max laughed helplessly through tears of her own. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It kind of is.”
Safi stared at her for a long moment before her expression softened into something painfully fond. “Listen to me carefully,” she said quietly. “If there’s even the slightest chance you can find us again someday, you do it.”
Max’s chest ached.
“I mean it. I don’t care how impossible it sounds anymore. Clearly impossible means nothing in your life.” Safi wiped roughly at her face before continuing. “Find me again. Find Moses again. Find Amanda again—just get your ass back in Lakeport and meet us again okay?”
Max looked away quickly before she completely lost it.
“And if you don’t,” Safi added shakily, trying to smile through tears, “I’ll personally figure out timeline travel myself just to kick your ass.”
That made Max laugh and cry at the same time. Then Safi grabbed her face suddenly, forcing Max to look at her again. “You hear me though, right?” she whispered.
Max nodded immediately.
But Safi’s expression only crumpled further. “No. I need you to actually hear me.” Her voice cracked. “You don’t get to disappear after this and decide none of us mattered because we were ‘just another timeline.’” She looked completely heartbroken now. “Because you mattered to us too. You’re my best friend, Max.”
Max pulled Safi back into another hug instantly, both of them crying openly now. “I’m sorry,” She whispered desperately. “God, I’m so sorry.”
Safi shook her head against her shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll keep living after this,” she whispered back. “Promise me this isn’t the last good thing you let yourself have.”
Max swallowed hard and nodded.
Chloe found her sitting by the lake sometime after midnight.
Max heard the familiar sound of boots against wood before she looked up. Chloe stopped beside her, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket as cold wind pushed strands of green hair across her face.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt old somehow, older than the current timeline they’re in now.
“You know,” Chloe said eventually, staring out at the dark water, “I used to think if we ever broke up, it’d be explosive.”
Max glanced over at her.
“Like screaming matches. Slashed tires. Some dramatic shit.” Chloe laughed quietly to herself. “Instead we just… got tired.”
Max swallowed hard. Reading through their old messages in this timeline had already hurt enough. Seeing Chloe say it out loud somehow hurt worse.
“I think we kept trying to hold onto versions of each other that didn’t exist anymore,” Chloe admitted softly. “Or maybe versions that existed in other timelines for you.”
Max looked down immediately.
“Hey.” Chloe’s voice gentled. “I’m not blaming you.”
But Max still felt guilty anyway. Because maybe some part of her had always been comparing every Chloe to the ones she lost. Comparing every life they built against thousands of others that never got the chance to exist at all.
“You know what the weirdest part is?” Chloe asked after a while.
“What?”
“I think this is the first timeline where I wasn’t waiting for you.”
Max blinked.
Chloe smiled faintly, though there was sadness buried inside it. “And honestly?” she said quietly. “I think that’s good for both of us.”
The words settled painfully inside Max’s chest. Because she knew Chloe was right. For so long, their love had been tangled up in grief and survival and sacrifice that sometimes Max forgot there had once been something soft inside it too. But here? Here Chloe had lived and Max had learned how to live separately from her.
“I’m happy you found something here,” Chloe continued after a moment. “Like… genuinely happy.”
Max laughed weakly. “Temporary happiness.”
“Still happiness.”
The lake water shifted quietly beneath the moonlight.
Chloe looked over at her then, expression unbearably fond.
“You looked free here, Max.”
That almost broke her.
“You laughed more,” Chloe said softly. “You actually let people in. Hell, you let yourself fall in love again.”
Max’s eyes burned instantly. “I didn’t think I could anymore,” she admitted quietly.
Chloe nodded like she understood completely. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I know how that felt.”
After a long silence, Chloe finally reached over and bumped her shoulder lightly against Max’s.
“I hope you find that again when you go home.”
Max stared down at her hands. “What if I can’t?”
“You will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No,” Chloe admitted. “But I know you deserve to.”
Max looked over at her then.
Chloe smiled sadly. “And selfishly?” she added, voice quieter now, “I kinda hope we still find our way back to each other too.”
Max’s chest tightened painfully.
“Even if we’re just friends. I don’t know.” Chloe continued, laughing shakily. “I just… miss my Max too.” She pulled her into a hug, holding her tightly enough that Max nearly started crying all over again. “I want us to be okay,” She whispered against her hair.
Max swore she'll make sure they were gonna be okay in her timeline.
Amanda was last and Max already knew that was going to be the hardest goodbye of all.
She found Amanda sitting on the edge of their bed, turning Max’s camera over carefully in her hands.
Amanda looked up when she entered the room, immediately softening the second their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke at first because there was nothing left to say that didn’t hurt.
Max crossed the room slowly before stopping in front of her. “I don’t want to leave,” she whispered.
Amanda’s face crumpled instantly.
“I know. I—”
“No, I mean it.” Max’s voice shook violently now. “I don’t care about timelines or consequences or whatever happens anymore. I just—” Her breathing hitched painfully. “I just want to stay with you.”
Amanda looked like she wanted to cry and smile at the same time. “Oh, Max…”
“I love you.” The confession came out broken. Desperate. Like Max was trying to force the universe itself to hear it before it took Amanda away from her.
Amanda’s eyes formed tears immediately. “I love you too,” she whispered back. That should’ve made Max feel better. Instead it made everything worse.
“Then ask me to stay,” Max pleaded softly. “Please.”
Amanda shut her eyes tightly for a second like the request physically hurt. When she looked back at Max again, tears were already slipping down her face.
“You have to go.”
Max shook her head instantly. “Amanda—”
“You have to.” Amanda’s voice cracked. “And I hate that that’s true, but it is.”
Max felt panic claw up her throat immediately. “No, we can figure something else out—”
“Max.” Amanda grabbed her hands tightly. “Look at me.”
Max did and the sheer heartbreak on Amanda’s face nearly destroyed whatever strength she had left.
“I want you to stay more than anything,” Amanda admitted shakily. “Do you understand that? If this was just about me, I’d ask you to stay in a heartbeat.”
Max’s eyes burned.
“But this timeline is hurting you.” Amanda squeezed her hands tighter. “It’s getting worse every day and nobody knows what happens if it fully collapses around you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.” The words came out sharper than intended. Amanda immediately softened afterward, thumb brushing gently across Max’s knuckles.
“I love you too much to let this place destroy you.”
Max’s composure shattered completely after that.
Amanda pulled her into her arms immediately as Max broke down against her shoulder, sobbing hard enough it hurt.
“I thought I had more time,” Max choked out.
“I know.”
“I thought maybe this one could stay.”
Amanda started crying harder at that. God, that sound alone was unbearable. After a long while, she finally pulled back just enough to hold Max’s face carefully between her hands. “Promise me something,” she whispered.
“Anything.”
Amanda’s expression crumpled. “Find me again.”
Max stopped breathing for a second.
“I don’t care how impossible it is anymore.” Amanda laughed weakly through tears. “Just… find me again.”
Max nodded immediately.
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Amanda kissed her then. Slow and trembling and heartbreakingly desperate, like both of them were trying to memorize the feeling before the universe ripped it away. When they finally separated, Amanda rested her forehead against Max’s, tears slipping down her face as she laughed weakly. “Even if the universe keeps separating us, I’ll never regret loving you, Max.” Her voice cracked softly. “My dumbass would probably fall in love with you over and over again anyway.”
Then she kissed her one last time.
“I love you, Max Caulfield. So find me again, okay? And try not to ghost me before our first date next time.”
The jump felt different this time. There was no violent pull tearing her apart molecule by molecule, no suffocating sensation of drowning inside collapsing realities. Just warmth washing over her, followed by silence so complete it almost scared her.
Max nearly stumbled when her feet hit the familiar dorm floor. Eighteen again. Eighteen and painfully young after everything she had lived through. Outside her window, Arcadia Bay rested peacefully beneath soft afternoon light. No storms looming over the horizon. No cracks splitting reality apart. No migraines clawing through her skull hard enough to make her collapse. Just quiet. The kind of quiet she had spent years searching for.
The next few days passed almost normally. Victoria’s insults sounded familiar again. Warren rambled nervously beside her at lunch. Kate smiled softly whenever they crossed paths in the hallway. Chloe texted her constantly like the universe had never once tried to tear them apart. And Max moved through all of it carefully, pretending to be the normal version of herself again. She laughed when she was supposed to laugh, answered questions in class, sat through lectures like she wasn’t carrying entire lifetimes inside her chest.
But every night, once she was finally alone inside her dorm room, she grieved. She grieved the life she lost. The friends she would never see again. The inside jokes and late nights and little routines that had once felt permanent.
And Amanda—
God, Amanda.
The love of her life reduced to memories she carried alone, in a universe where nobody else even knew she existed.
Sometimes she still reached for her phone before remembering Amanda’s number didn’t exist here. Sometimes she turned around expecting to hear Safi’s voice or Moses’ laugh before reality settled back in like a knife between her ribs.
Coming home didn’t feel comforting. It felt like surviving something catastrophic alone. Still, Max knew almost immediately this was her original timeline. There were no cracks hiding beneath conversations, no strange wrongness lingering beneath reality like it was preparing to split apart at any second. For the first time in years, the world around her felt still.
Even her journals confirmed it. They were empty. Every page she flipped through stared back blankly at her. Years of timelines, notes, names, deaths, and memories—gone like they had never existed at all. Max panicked the first time she saw it, frantically turning pages faster and faster until she reached the very end. The last page wasn’t empty.
There, written in different handwritings, were the final things they left her behind.
Moses telling her to stop isolating herself. Safi threatening to kick her ass across timelines if she gave up on happiness again. Chloe reminding her that she deserved to keep living. And most importantly, Amanda reminding her how much she loves her.
Max cried so hard that night she nearly made herself sick. It was one final cruel kindness from the universe before it abandoned her completely. Proof that they had existed. Proof that she hadn’t imagined any of it.
And maybe the strangest part of all was realizing she couldn’t rewind anymore. No nosebleeds. No power humming beneath her skin waiting to be used.
Max tested it for weeks afterward in secret, growing more desperate each time she tried. She focused until headaches formed behind her eyes, until frustration made her hands shake violently, but nothing ever happened.
The universe had finally let her go.
No more timelines to fix. No more disasters to survive.
For the first time since she was eighteen years old back then, Max Caulfield was just normal. And so she lived. Not just enduring another timeline, but actually living in it with no fear of leaving it. Slowly, cautiously at first, like she was waiting for the universe to change its mind and rip everything away from her again. But as weeks turned into months and months into years, Max realized something terrifyingly simple, nothing was breaking anymore. No cracks in reality. No timelines bleeding into each other. No sudden shifts in memory that left her gasping for stability.
So now, she just wanted to keep the promise she made to the people she left behind in Lakeport. She will live this life, even when every part of her wanted to desperately search for Amanda immediately, Max stayed patient. She wanted to find them when she was ready, when she had fully become this version of herself first. Because this time there were no rewinds waiting to save her from mistakes. No second chances hidden beneath her fingertips.
This life would only happen once now then it's over. Still, that didn’t stop her from stalking them online sometimes. Just enough to know they existed somewhere out there.
Sometimes she searched Moses’ name and online alias out of curiosity and smiled whenever she found articles or forum posts buried under niche science communities. Safi was easier to find. Loud personalities always were. Max once spent nearly an entire night laughing quietly to herself while watching an interview Safi gave during some student journalism event.
Amanda was harder. Not because she was impossible to find, but because looking hurt too much. Still, sometimes Max would cave. A social media profile. A tagged photo at some concert. A blurry picture someone else posted where Amanda stood smiling in the background completely unaware that somewhere across the country, Max was staring at the screen like her entire heart still belonged to her. But Max waited instead of reaching out.
In other news, Rachel Amber was alive here. Even years later, that fact still stunned Max sometimes.
Rachel and Chloe had stayed together through all of high school, which meant Max spent an embarrassing amount of time thirdwheeling them both. Rachel loved dragging Max into things against her will, especially once she realized how easy it was to make her flustered.
Chloe never stopped finding it funny either.
“Hippie is thirdwheeling us again,” Chloe would tease while throwing an arm around Rachel, both of them looking unbearably smug whenever Max pointed a camera at them. And she let them. God, she let them constantly. Because seeing Chloe alive and happy without tragedy looming over her shoulder still felt unreal enough that Max photographed her every chance she got. Rachel became her model half the time too, entirely too comfortable in front of cameras, while Chloe complained dramatically every time Max tried directing her.
The three of them built something soft together over the years.
Rachel and Chloe supported her through everything—gallery submissions, contests, sleepless nights editing photos at three in the morning. They celebrated every success like it belonged to all three of them.
And sometimes, during quiet moments when Max sat surrounded by photographs and unfinished dreams and people she loved still alive beside her, she couldn’t help but think this timeline felt too good to be true.
Like the universe had finally looked at everything it put her through and decided to apologize in the only way it knew how. By finally letting her be happy.
Years passed before Max finally returned to Lakeport.
Not because she forgot, but because she wanted to arrive there as herself this time. Not as someone lost between timelines or desperately clinging to ghosts. She wanted to build a life first. A real one. Something stable enough that meeting them again wouldn’t feel like reopening a wound. So she worked for it, she poured herself into photography with a kind of quiet determination that surprised even her sometimes. Gallery features turned into larger exhibits. Small recognition slowly became something bigger.
And then one morning, the email arrived. An invitation from Yasmin Fayyad herself asking Max Caulfield to become Caledon University’s artist in residence for the year.
Max stared at the screen so long her coffee went cold beside her. Her heart skipped so hard it genuinely hurt.
Because this, this had been the goal. Not the awards. Not the exhibitions. Not the magazine features with her face awkwardly printed beside headlines she never knew how to respond to. Those things had always felt distant, like accomplishments belonging to alternate versions of herself. But Caledon? Lakeport? This was what she had quietly been building towards the entire time. It felt more important than every award she had ever won combined.
So she accepted and then she drove.
The road stretched endlessly ahead of her while familiar music played softly through the speakers, the late afternoon sun painting gold across the dashboard. Max kept one hand on the wheel while the other rested near her phone, smiling every time it buzzed with another text.
Rachel:
pls remember ur famous now and cannot die in a random forest townChloe:
text us when you get there hippie!!
and don’t forget to eat istg
Max laughed quietly to herself at the red light.
Rachel and Chloe were still together after all these years, still constantly traveling from city to city. Rachel had become both a theatre actress and a social media influencer at the same time, while Chloe managed for Drugstore Makeup, spent half her life appearing in Rachel’s videos looking deeply unimpressed, and still occasionally talked about maybe going to university someday to pursue Chemistry.
When the welcome sign for Lakeport finally appeared, Max actually had to tighten her grip on the steering wheel to steady herself. The town looked exactly how she remembered it. Caledon University itself looked the same too, towering and intimidating and beautiful all at once. Students moved through campus carrying coffees and backpacks while conversations blended together into soft background noise.
For a terrifying second, Max almost turned around.
Because what if meeting them again felt wrong now?
Max barely remembered the walk towards Yasmin’s office. Her nerves only worsened once she got there.
“Maxine Caulfield,” Yasmin greeted warmly the second she stepped inside. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”
And there it was.
Nice to meet you.
The phrase almost hurt. Still, Max smiled politely and shook her hand. “Thank you for inviting me.”
The conversation blurred together after that. Something about schedules, residency expectations, upcoming events. Max answered everything, trying very hard not to think about the fact she had once sat inside this exact office talking to Yasmin like they had known each other for years.
Then the office door suddenly opened.
“Mom, you forgot your—”
Max froze.
Safi stopped mid-sentence the second she noticed her.
For one impossible second, Max felt like the timeline folded in on itself all over again.
“Oh,” Safi blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.”
Yasmin smiled fondly. “Maxine, this is my daughter, Safiya.”
Max’s throat tightened so hard it hurt, because Safi looked at her like a complete stranger. And she had to physically stop herself from saying I missed you. Instead she forced herself to smile.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Safi grinned easily, holding out her hand. “Likewise. Mom’s been talking about you nonstop, by the way.”
Max laughed softly as they shook hands. The second Safi touched her hand, something inside Max ached so deeply she almost lost composure right there.
But Safi didn’t notice. How could she? To her, this was their first meeting.
Safi stayed in the office longer than intended, jumping into conversations effortlessly while Yasmin looked increasingly amused by how quickly the two of them fell into easy banter. It felt natural, like no amount of timelines could erase whatever strange gravitational pull existed between them.
Then Moses arrived too. “Wait, you’re Max Caulfield?” He asked almost immediately after being introduced. “The Max Caulfield?”
Max nearly laughed at how familiar his tone sounded. “Depends,” she smiled weakly. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, but Safi definitely stalked your photography account for like three hours last night.”
“Traitor,” Safi gasped.
“You literally called her work life-changing.”
“Okay so? Because it is.”
And there it was again. That immediate warmth between all of them like the universe had wired their souls together no matter the timeline. For a little while, she let herself forget they didn’t remember her.
Then Safi casually mentioned grabbing drinks at the Snapping Turtle later and Max’s heart stopped.
Amanda.
Thankfully, Safi and Moses were too busy arguing over something to notice the way her fingers tightened slightly around her coffee cup.
For years, Max had carefully avoided looking too deeply into Amanda’s life. Small glimpses had already hurt enough. A tagged photo here. A blurry video there. Proof that Amanda existed somewhere in the world without Max beside her. And now suddenly she was here. Possibly minutes away from seeing her again for the first time in years.
“You okay?” Moses asked suddenly.
Max blinked quickly. “Hm?”
“You kinda spaced out there.” Safi pointed out. “Anyway,” she continued, “you should come tonight.”
Max looked up carefully. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. Turtle trip. Mandatory Caledon initiation.”
“She made that up,” Moses clarified.
Safi ignored him completely. “Come on, Max. Unless famous photographers are too cool for local bars now.”
Max almost said no. Because seeing Amanda again felt dangerous in a completely different way now. Back then, loving Amanda had happened in the middle of collapsing timelines and impossible circumstances. There had always been an expiration date hanging over them whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not. But this? There were no rewinds waiting beneath her fingertips anymore. No alternate realities softening the consequences if this went badly.
If she met Amanda now, this was it. One chance, no rewinds, no do-overs waiting for her if she fumbled it. And maybe that terrified Max more than timeline hopping ever did. And still, “I’ll come,” she heard herself say.
Safi grinned instantly. “Knew you had taste.”
The rest of the afternoon blurred together after that. By the time evening arrived, Max almost turned around three separate times walking towards the Snapping Turtle.
The bar exterior looked exactly the same. Music drifted faintly through the walls while voices and laughter spilled out every time someone opened the door. Max stood frozen outside for a second too long before Safi suddenly appeared beside her.
“You look terrified,” Safi noted immediately.
Max laughed weakly. “I’m just tired from driving.”
“Sure,” Safi said, clearly unconvinced. Then she grabbed Max by the wrist and dragged her inside before she could rethink this entire decision.
And inside the bar, behind the counter, was Amanda.
Max stopped breathing. Amanda looked the same as she remembered, silver rings glinting beneath dim bar lights as she laughed at something a customer said. Then she looked up and their eyes met.
The entire world seemed to go painfully still around Max after that.
Because Amanda didn’t recognize her. Of course she didn’t. To her, Max Caulfield was just another stranger walking into the bar. But Max remembered everything—the late nights, the kisses, and the promises whispered against trembling mouths before timelines tore them apart.
Amanda tilted her head slightly. Then she smiled. Unaware that she had once been the center of Max’s entire universe. “What can I get you?” she asked.
Max had spent years convincing herself she was ready for this. That enough time had passed. That she could handle seeing Amanda again like a normal person. Instead she felt eighteen all over again, standing there awkwardly while her entire chest betrayed her.
Max looked at her for maybe a second too long before answering.
“Whatever you think fits me.”
Amanda grinned at that. “Dangerous choice.”
“This is Max, by the way,” Safi said, sliding onto one of the barstools. “Caledon’s new artist in residence!”
Conversation flowed easily between all of them while drinks appeared one after another across the counter. Safi and Moses dragged Max into stories and arguments and stupid jokes until eventually Amanda started lingering nearby longer than necessary, joining conversations whenever the bar quieted down enough for her to breathe.
For once, Max let herself stop overthinking. She let things happen until hours passed before she even realized how late it had gotten.
Max smiled to herself quietly before standing. “I should probably head back,” she said.
Safi groaned dramatically. “Booo, but whatever, you do have to unpack your things."
Amanda laughed softly. “I’ll walk you out,” she offered.
Max’s heartbeat immediately betrayed her again, but she didn't turn down the offer.
Outside, the cold Lakeport air wrapped around them quietly. For a second neither of them spoke.
Then Amanda smiled. She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, rocking lightly on her shoes. “Guess I’ll probably see you around now, huh? Caledon’s kinda impossible to escape.”
“I hope so.” The words slipped out before Max could stop them.
Amanda blinked, then smiled again, her face warm.
“Goodnight, Max.”
“Goodnight, Amanda.”
Max somehow made it back to the Hellerton without falling apart. Barely. The second the house door shut behind her, she leaned against it and exhaled shakily, heart still pounding too hard. Then slowly, almost instinctively, she reached for her journal.
Most of it was still empty. Blank pages untouched by timelines now. But the final page remained.
Max stared at the words for a long time before her eyes burned. Then she laughed softly to herself, voice cracking just a little as she whispered,
“I kept my promise.”