The Photograph

Sunday passed in a blur of domesticity. Jax made pancakes (burnt them, Maya laughed). They raked leaves. They watched a movie.

Jax found himself falling into the rhythm of it. He forgot about the penthouse. He forgot about the tour dates. He felt... anchored.

He was walking down the hallway to the laundry room when he stopped.

There was a gallery wall of photos. Leo as a baby. A trip to the beach. A Christmas morning.

And in the center, a wedding photo.

Jax leaned in.

It was a small ceremony. Just them, on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Maya wore a simple white dress. Jax wore a suit, but his tie was loose, his hair windblown. They looked deliriously happy.

He looked at the date stamped on the bottom of the frame.

*June 12, 2027.*

Jax did the math.

The present day—his real present day—was January 2026.

That date was less than a year and a half away.

"We look young there," Maya said, coming up beside him with a laundry basket.

Jax pointed at the photo. "How did it happen?"

Maya frowned, confused. "The wedding? You remember. The officiant was late, and it started raining, and—"

"No," Jax interrupted. "How did *we* happen? Me and you. The idol and the housekeeper."

Maya set the basket down. She leaned against the wall, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"You really are feeling nostalgic today," she said.

"Humor me."

"Okay," she shrugged. "It was the morning after that awful party. The one where someone broke the glass table."

Jax froze. That was *now*. That was the morning he had just woken up from.

"I was cleaning up," Maya continued. "And you woke up. You looked... different. Sad. You stopped me from sweeping. You asked me to stay for breakfast."

Jax’s heart hammered against his ribs.

"I made you waffles," Maya said, her eyes distant with the memory. "Terrible, soggy waffles. But you ate them. And you asked me about my life. You actually listened. You told me you hated the penthouse. You told me you wanted to run away."

She reached out and touched his hand.

"That was the first time I saw you, Jax. Not the star. Just the man. We started talking. And you stopped throwing parties. You started coming home early. And then... well, you know the rest."

Jax stared at the photo.

*You asked me to stay for breakfast.*

That was the key. That was the turning point.

In his timeline, he had told her she was boring. He had passed out. He hadn't asked her to stay.

If he went back... he had to ask her. If he didn't, this future—this cottage, Leo, the lavender shampoo—would vanish. It would be erased.

"I have to fix the sink," Jax whispered, his voice trembling.

"You already fixed the sink, babe," Maya laughed. "Are you okay? You’re pale."

"I love you," Jax said. He grabbed her shoulders, staring into her eyes with a desperate intensity. "I need you to know that. I love you, Maya. More than anything. More than the music. More than the fame."

Maya’s smile faded into concern. She reached up to cup his face.

"I know, Jax. I love you too. You tell me every day."

"I need to remember," Jax choked out. "I need to remember how this feels."

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