Hi again! :)

This twoshot story was greatly inspired by the songs 'Haven't Met You Yet' by Michael Buble and that beautiful Augustana song that I'm sure will come to mind once you finish reading. Well, it inspired me at least. :P

Written by: desperatelyobvious

Chapter Two: The Girl named Maxine

(Max's POV)

An unattractive snort escaped my lips the moment I made sense of the picture, followed by a boisterous stream of chuckles. The man in the table next to me shot me a dirty look, but I couldn't care less about what he thought of me; I was having way too much fun.

Somehow I'd managed to have my pictures developed in one of those digital stores in between the time I'd arrived at the airport and now. There was no better time to have them printed, given my 20 minute window until my next flight. I never really knew when I'd find the time to do something so mundane so eventually I gave in to one of those spur-of-the-moment decisions.

For the first time in a long while, I'd finally sat down in a quaint café by myself, located in a nook amongst the bustling setting of Heathrow International Airport. While people milled about, tugging their children and heaving their luggage, I was just happy to drop all my things, put my feet up in the chair in front of me, and order some coffee. For once, I wasn't the one sprinting to the other side of the airport to get to the terminal or something.

I had five different envelopes, each containing a hundred pictures. It was a wonder how little photos I'd taken, considering all the places I'd gone to. Yanking open the first package like it was a present on Christmas Eve, I began rifling through them and reliving my time spent here.

There were so many pictures; my fingers struggled to grip the slippery photo paper. I had a beautiful shot of the Topkapi Palace, and one where I posed alongside the Falls Road Republic Murals. There was one photo along the Dubrovnik City Walls where I was purposely posing ridiculously, and another picture where I did the ever cliché jump shot in the Keukenhof Gardens in Amsterdam. A huge chunk of my developed pictures were with one of the people I met there, my friend named Monique who I eventually nicknamed Nudge, who was nice enough to accompany me through most of my journey in Eastern Europe. We'd gone biking, and swimming, and even clubbing together. Every day was a new adventure.

I'd say I was living pretty large for a 20-year old college student. This was a time in my life where I felt so grown and independent. More than making my own decisions and single-handedly planning my itinerary through my entire trip, I felt like experiencing all of this on my own made me who I am today – Max Ride. Throughout my journey, I'd committed mistakes: trusted strangers, lost my wallet, gotten lost myself; but as it was, I also gained a few things. I made new friends and learned a lot about the culture of the countries I'd visited, did crazy things and had fun with it; danced, cried, laughed, and smiled. I was learning a lot from this.

It was a scandal in my family to have a gap year in the middle of college; practically unheard of. I should've been back in my school in Arizona, should've been on my second year. Everything was all set, but I realized was unhappy with the way my life followed a routine. For so long I've been living under the instruction of my father, when all I really wanted was to have a break.

Call me a spoiled brat, but just this one time I wanted to do things for myself. Immerse myself in exotic culture and beautiful landscapes, instead of the confines of my dorm room with my textbooks. I wanted to have fun – but not just the fun you experience at college parties or clubs. I wanted to experience things – mistakes and successes, loss and happiness, and I wanted to experience them all on my own.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I failed to notice when my drink had arrived, only realizing it was there when I almost knocked it off the table. Flipping to the next picture I almost choked on my scalding coffee the moment my eyes landed the scene before me.

For much of my trip around Spain, France and Italy, I'd made another friend named Iggy, an American like myself who was also coincidentally touring Europe. I'm sure that at least one of the envelopes contained pictures entirely of the both of us at various sites like the La Sagrada Familia or the Pantheon. In fact, I even had some solo shots of him, smiling at the Trevi Fountain and pretending to look drunk as we drank champagne in Champagne, France.

In this picture we were riding a gondola together, even pretending we were a couple to lower the rate of the boat ride. It was a sad attempt of a self-shot with a third of my head cut from the picture and Iggy smiling like a rapist with his eyes crossed. Dropping the pictures to strike my own chest lightly, I casually glanced at my watch as I cleared my throat to see that it was 10:26am.

My flight's boarding time is 10:30am.

"Fuck!" I yelled, almost tumbling out of my seat. In a panic, I grabbed my backpack, even wrestled for a few seconds with the drawstrings, and threw some loose change on the table, then shoved all my pictures and envelopes into the bag. Barely dented coffee forgotten, I picked up my passport and ticket and stood up abruptly, causing said coffee to spill on my pants.

"Shit!"

The man from earlier hissed at me now, and I shot him the bird as I scrambled to get out of my seat, spinning around right before I tripped over my camera bag lying on the floor.

"FUCKING SHIT!" I said from the ground, picking myself up in the next second and making a run for it.

Leisure time over, I weaved and slipped through the crowds at a constant sprint, my hair and backpack bouncing with each step. I tried my best not to ram into people, but it was inevitable that I shoved a few and even jumped over a luggage cart that I accidentally tipped over. At least I was oblivious to their British lingo because I could've sworn they were cussing my guts to the high heavens.

I didn't know how far I was from my gate, but luckily I was in London. Unlike other times when I would run to catch my train or plane, most of the signs in the station were in another language. Here, I perfectly understood where the girl's bathroom was (finally) and that I was at the very least going in the right direction for outgoing flights.

Still pushing my way through the maze of people, the familiarity of the situation dawned on me and I couldn't help but laugh out loud mid-jog. I couldn't even count on my fingers how many times I've almost missed my plane, but old habits die hard. It was probably not the wisest decision to buy the next flight out of the continent on such short notice, but 'C'est la vie!' With a grin on my face as I continued to make my way to my gate, I began to think about what my next adventure would be like.

I was smiling like a madman, up until I ran headlong into someone else.

I'm pretty sure it was my fault for running through a congested airport in the first place, but I'm pretty sure I was also allowed to be angry at the stranger who'd collided against my chest and forehead, accidentally punching my boob in the process, making me fall back on my ass with a loud, painful thud on the shiny floor.

"Fantastic," I spat sarcastically, rubbing my behind and reaching for my passport, "Yeah, thanks assho-," I began to chide when I suddenly realized that it was the stranger's phone and not my passport that I was holding. The screen was lit, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from the wallpaper.

"I'm sorry. Are you hurt… Max?" the stranger asked, snapping out of my reverie and helping me up. He probably looked at my passport, though I was pleasantly surprised he didn't call me Maxine like most strangers would.

"Yeah, thanks," I replied, smiling as we exchanged items and trying not to blush at his accent.

There were no goodbyes as we both parted ways as easily as we met, that exchange lasting no more than a few seconds when it strangely felt like a couple of minutes to me. I'd started into a run again, one hand clutching my camera tightly as I raced to catch my flight, but I wasn't all that into this 'adventure' anymore.

My mind went back to the stranger's phone and the lit screen. The displayed picture was simple, a photograph of the dark-eyed stranger I met a while ago, the screen of the phone cutting the photo off at his knees. He was with two other kids in their preteens; although they were both blonde, a stark contrast to his hair, their features were strikingly similar – siblings, no doubt.

There was nothing special about it. The stranger, who was around my age, was carrying the smiling blonde girl on his back, laughing as he struggled to support her weight since she was not so little after all. And the blonde boy was standing in the foreground beside his other two siblings, nostrils flared as he pulled his lips at the sides with his index fingers hooked inside his mouth.

Something about that picture bothered me. There was nothing wrong with the people in it or anything; I just couldn't seem to shake this dull ache in my chest at the thought of my siblings

I have always been close to my sister and brother. Though Ella was the polar opposite of my personality, it wasn't difficult to get along with her, given our two-year age gap. I had a hidden girly side to match hers once in a while and we bonded best over our love for soccer. I even got along well with Ari, who was seven years younger than I was. We would lightheartedly wrestle in the living room and play video games together; and I know that he looks up to me, even though I may not have been the best example of an older sister.

Thinking back to four years ago when I was still living with my family, I was reminded of the simplicity of high school, of my best friends then and all the things we did together – attended homecoming, joined varsities, skipped classes and had crushes. The memory of my parent's home back in Mesa with my messy purple-colored room and the comfiest bed I've ever had; the measurements on our parents' bathroom doorframe of mine and my siblings' heights as we grew; the curb of the street where I'd step off on the same spot every day for 12 years, coming home from school as I was dropped by the bus. And more than the house, I remembered my mom's cheerful smile in the morning as she prepared breakfast, the way Ari trudged down the steps every morning, my dad's critical but funny comments on the various reality shows on TV, and how Ella used to always listen to what I had to say.

I missed home.

I missed the familiarity of it, doing the same routine with the same set of people you love; missed the innocence of that life. It wasn't anything adventurous, but it was a good life. I had a normal life, did what normal teenagers did. In the past, I used to complain about suburban living but it was much sweeter now that I couldn't taste it.

I didn't realize how much you could miss your family until that moment. They'd always seemed to be at my disposal, like I could fly back at any time or that they'd always be there for me, but right now a wave of longing coursed through me, making my heart ache with a dull throb.

How could I get so caught up with my gap year that I neglected to think of my family? That I didn't think to call or write to any of them how I was doing. My father's house rules were a bit suffocating, but I didn't hate him for it. I believed that I loved my family enough, and that I had a very good relationship with each and every one of them. How could I have let them escape my mind?

I was almost to my gate now, the line a few yards away, shrinking more and more as passengers boarded the plane. I had been running, tripping over my own boots, when I suddenly stopped in my haste to take a look around me.

The right wall was made of glass from the floor to the ceiling, displaying the plane I was about to ride right outside the window and another taking off in the distance. I briefly observed the various terminals, and looked at the people conversing, texting, sleeping, reading and eating. A couple strolling by was linked by the arms, and a teenage boy helped a woman with her fallen bag.

It was nice.

"British Airways Flight 5316 from Heathrow to Boston is now boarding."

The PA brought me back to the present, announcing my current flight, and I scrambled to join the end of the line, my passport and ticket in the palm of my hand. As we inched forward, I started fiddling with the zipper of my jacket whilst thinking of my next plan of action after my trip to Boston.

Flying to Massachusetts was another spontaneous idea of mine. I didn't know anybody there, and I didn't know what I was going to do, but the uncertainty was part of the thrill. Afterwards, however, I knew exactly where I wanted to be. I could practically feel my heart setting on this and I was so sure it was going to be better than the last trip.

My next biggest adventure…was to come back home.

fin.