Reed considered this, absently running his fingers through Sarah's hair. "So you're saying poetry and physics are kind of the same thing?"
"I'm saying they're both ways of finding beauty in the world," Sarah replied. "You do it through equations and experiments. Neruda does it through metaphors and imagery. Different languages, same goal."
"Huh. That actually makes sense," Reed admitted, surprised by the insight.
"See? You're not as hopeless as you think," Sarah said, grinning down at him. "Though I still can't believe you tried to analyze a love poem like it was homework."
"In my defense," Reed said, "love poems are way harder than physics. At least electrons follow rules."
Sarah laughed and collapsed against his chest, both of them dissolving into giggles at the absurdity of comparing love poetry to particle physics. Reed wrapped his arms around her, marveling at how natural this felt, how easy it was to be completely himself with someone who found his quirks endearing rather than alienating.
They had been dating for about six weeks when Sarah suggested going to see Back to the Future Part III, which had just opened in theaters. Reed had enjoyed the first two films, finding the time travel concepts fascinating despite their scientific impossibilities, and he was excited to share the experience with Sarah.
"I love how you get that little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you're thinking about the physics," Sarah said as they walked toward the theater, her arm linked through his. "I can practically see you working out whether flux capacitors could actually exist."
"The time travel stuff is totally impossible," Reed replied with a grin, "but the movies are fun. Besides, anything that gets people excited about science is pretty cool, even if it's made-up science."
They bought popcorn and settled into their seats as the previews began. Sarah leaned against Reed's shoulder, enjoying his quiet commentary about the trailers' various scientific impossibilities. Everything was perfect as the main feature started.
The opening scene showed the end of Part II, with the DeLorean struck by lightning and Marty stranded in 1955. Reed was following along easily, even enjoying Doc Brown's scientific explanations to Marty about what had happened to the time machine. The 1950s setting was charming, and Reed found himself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of the franchise.
Then came the moment that changed everything.
On screen, Marty climbed into the lightning-damaged DeLorean at the drive-in theater, determined to rescue Doc from 1885. The time machine powered up with its familiar whirring sound, the flux capacitor glowing brighter and brighter. Reed watched with mild interest as Marty accelerated toward the movie screen, the speedometer climbing toward 88 miles per hour.
"Come on," Marty muttered on screen, pushing the DeLorean faster.
The time circuits activated. Reality began to shimmer around the DeLorean as it approached the temporal threshold. The air itself seemed to catch fire as the car punched through the fabric of spacetime. There was a brilliant blue-white flash, a sound like reality tearing apart, and suddenly Marty was in 1885, the car spinning out of control as cavalry soldiers and Native Americans scattered around him.
Reed's blood turned to ice.
The blue-white light. The sound of space and time ripping open. The way reality had simply... changed in an instant.
His hands began to shake uncontrollably as memories he'd buried for seven years came flooding back with devastating clarity.
"Daddy, wait!" Ten-year-old Reed bursting through the laboratory door. "Don't leave me!"
His father turning in the time machine's seat, his face etched with desperate love and impossible determination. "Reed! You shouldn't be here! It's not safe!"
The exotic matter containment suddenly fluctuating wildly, sending ripples of temporal distortion throughout the laboratory. Warning lights flashing red as the carefully calibrated systems pushed beyond their design limits.
"I have to complete the sequence now, or the whole system will collapse," Nathaniel shouting over the growing noise. "Reed, get behind the blast shield!"
"Daddy, no!"
"This time, Evelyn," his father whispering to himself as he pressed the final activation control. "This time I'll save you."
Reed's breathing became rapid and shallow. The movie theater around him seemed to fade as the memories took hold with visceral intensity.
The final activation sending a massive pulse of energy through the house, shaking the foundation and shattering windows throughout the neighborhood. The blue-white light becoming so intense that Reed had to shield his eyes, and when it finally faded, his father was gone.
The laboratory standing empty except for scorched equipment and the acrid smell of ozone that would linger for days. The beautiful time machine reduced to twisted metal and smoking components. Nathaniel Richards simply vanished, leaving behind no trace except the devastated remains of his final experiment and a ten-year-old son who now understood that love and genius weren't enough to cheat death.
"Reed?" Sarah's voice seemed to come from very far away. "Reed, what's wrong?"
But Reed couldn't answer. He was lost in the memory of standing in that empty laboratory, calling for his father until his voice went hoarse, searching through the wreckage for any sign that Nathaniel might still be alive somewhere. The rational part of his ten-year-old mind had understood that his father was gone, but his heart had refused to accept it.
Gary arriving hours later to find Reed sitting on the floor beside the destroyed time machine, still waiting for his father to come back. "Damn fool," Gary had muttered, looking at the wreckage. "I told him all this science nonsense would get him killed someday."
"He's not dead," Reed had insisted, though his voice was already hollow with growing certainty. "He just went back in time. He'll figure out how to come home."
But weeks had passed, then months, then years, and Nathaniel Richards had never returned. The boy who had once believed his father could solve any problem had learned that some problems were bigger than even the most brilliant minds could handle.
On the movie screen, Marty was getting his bearings in the Old West, but Reed was no longer watching. He was reliving the worst moment of his life with perfect, horrible clarity. The suppressed memories were pouring out like water from a broken dam, bringing with them all the grief and terror and desperate longing he'd spent years trying to forget.
"I need to get out," Reed said suddenly, his voice tight with panic and barely suppressed sobs. He stood abruptly, his legs unsteady, pushing past the other moviegoers in their row with mumbled apologies.
Sarah was right behind him, her hand on his back as they stumbled toward the exit. Other moviegoers shot them annoyed looks for disrupting the film, but Reed barely noticed. He was drowning in memories of blue-white light and the sound of his father's voice saying goodbye.
The lobby felt impossibly bright after the darkness of the theater. Reed collapsed into one of the cushioned chairs, his whole body shaking as seven years of carefully suppressed trauma came crashing down on him all at once.
"Reed, talk to me," Sarah said, kneeling beside his chair, her voice full of concern. "What happened in there?"
Reed tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. How could he explain that a simple movie scene had unlocked memories he'd convinced himself were just nightmares? How could he tell her that watching fictional time travel had brought back the very real moment when time travel had destroyed his family?
"The light," he finally managed to whisper. "The blue light when the DeLorean traveled through time. It looked exactly like..." His voice broke. "It looked exactly like what I saw when my father disappeared."
Sarah followed him out to the theater lobby without a word, her hand gentle on his back as he stumbled toward one of the cushioned chairs. Other moviegoers shot them annoyed looks for disrupting the film, but Reed barely noticed. He was drowning in memories of blue-white light and the sound of his father's voice saying goodbye.
"Hey," Sarah said softly, kneeling beside his chair as Reed tried to control his shaking hands. "It's okay. You don't have to explain anything if you don't want to. We can just sit here."
Reed looked at her through the haze of his panic attack, seeing nothing but genuine care and concern in her expression. Something about her presence, her willingness to leave the movie without question, made him feel safe in a way he hadn't experienced in years.
But how could he explain this? How could he tell her the truth without sounding completely insane?
"I..." Reed started, then stopped, his hands shaking as he gripped the armrests of the chair. "Sarah, what I'm about to tell you is going to sound crazy. Like, really crazy. And I'll understand if you think I've lost my mind or if you want to leave."
Sarah's brow furrowed with concern. "Reed, you're scaring me. What happened?"
Reed took a shuddering breath, knowing that once he said the words, there would be no taking them back. "My father died in a time travel experiment," he said quietly, the words feeling impossible on his tongue. "He built an actual working time machine and it killed him."
The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. Reed watched Sarah's face, waiting for the skeptical look, the gentle suggestion that maybe he needed professional help, the slow retreat of someone who'd just realized they were dating a lunatic.
Instead, Sarah's eyes widened with shock and compassion. "Oh, Reed. I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
"You... you believe me?" Reed asked, his voice barely a whisper. "You don't think I'm making this up or having some kind of breakdown?"
"Of course I believe you," Sarah said, though Reed could see her processing the enormity of what he'd just told her. "I mean, it's incredible, but you're not the kind of person who makes things up. And the way you reacted to that scene... God, Reed, you must have been terrified."
Reed felt something crack open in his chest, a dam of isolation and secrecy that had been holding back years of pain. "Most people don't know the truth," he said, his voice still shaky. "Everyone thinks it was just a laboratory accident. Some kind of electrical fire or explosion. But I was there. I saw what really happened."
Sarah settled into the chair beside him, taking his hand in both of hers without hesitation. The lobby was nearly empty now, just a few late moviegoers hurrying past them toward other theaters. "Do you want to tell me about it? You don't have to, but... I'm here if you want to talk."
For the next hour, sitting in that quiet theater lobby, Reed told Sarah the story he'd never shared with anyone. He talked about his father's obsession with saving his mother, the beautiful and terrible machine they'd built together, the moment when everything went wrong and Nathaniel Richards vanished into the timestream.
"I tried to stop him," Reed said, his voice breaking as he reached the climax of the story. "I ran into the laboratory and begged him not to leave me. But he was so determined to save Mom, to fix what couldn't be fixed. He told me he loved me and then he just... disappeared."
"The explosion shook the whole neighborhood," Reed continued, the words coming easier now. "Windows broke three blocks away. When the light finally faded, the time machine was just twisted metal and smoke, and my father was gone. The neighbors came running, found me standing in the wreckage, and nobody believed me when I tried to explain what had really happened."
Sarah listened without interruption, her hand never leaving his, occasionally wiping away tears that she didn't seem to realize were falling. When Reed finished describing the aftermath, the investigators who dismissed his story, Gary's arrival and cruel dismissal of his father's work, they sat in silence for several minutes while he collected himself.
"God, Reed," Sarah finally said, her voice thick with emotion. "Watching that blue light on screen... it must have been like living through it all over again."
Reed nodded, surprised by how much better he felt after sharing the burden he'd carried alone for so long. "I've never told anyone the real story before. Gary would just use it as proof that my father was crazy. And Ben... I mean, he'd probably believe me, but who wants to sound like a lunatic?"
"You don't sound like a lunatic," Sarah said firmly. "You sound like someone who watched his father achieve something incredible and tragic at the same time. I mean, time travel... Einstein's equations suggest it might actually be possible under the right conditions."
Reed felt something loosen in his chest, a knot of shame and secrecy that had been there so long he'd forgotten what it felt like to breathe without it. "After Dad disappeared, I had to go live with my Uncle Gary in Springfield. He hated everything about our family, thought we were stuck-up academics who looked down on regular people."
"Is that where you learned to work on cars?" Sarah asked, making connections Reed hadn't expected her to notice.
"Gary made me spend every weekend in his garage," Reed explained with a rueful laugh. "Said I needed to learn practical skills instead of wasting time on theoretical nonsense. He was trying to humiliate me, but honestly? I kind of enjoyed it. There's something satisfying about fixing things with your hands."
Sarah smiled at this. "I love that about you. You can explain quantum mechanics and rebuild an engine. It's like you're bilingual in smart."
"My cousins made it bearable," Reed continued, his voice warming. "Enid, Danny, and Hope. They thought my science knowledge was cool instead of weird. And Aunt Mary tried to protect me from Gary's worst moods."
"What about before all that?" Sarah asked gently. "When your parents were alive?"
Reed's expression transformed as he thought about his early childhood, and Sarah could see some of that wonder returning to his eyes. "Those were the happiest years of my life. Cambridge is my hometown, you know? We lived in this beautiful house, and my parents treated me like a partner in discovery instead of just a kid. We built rockets together, conducted experiments, stayed up late looking at stars through telescopes we made ourselves."
As he talked about his parents, Reed's voice grew stronger, more animated. The panic was fading, replaced by the warmth of precious memories. "I was the happiest boy in the world back then. My father was a Nobel Prize winner, my mother was this brilliant researcher, we had a comfortable life... but that's not what made me feel so lucky. It was having two parents who absolutely adored me, who made every single day feel like magic. Every morning was a new adventure, every question I asked was treated like the most important thing in the world."
"That sounds magical," Sarah said softly, watching Reed's face light up as he remembered.
"It was," Reed agreed, that familiar spark of enthusiasm returning to his voice. "My mom would teach me about biology by showing me how plants responded to different things. My dad would explain physics by actually building stuff to demonstrate it. They never acted like I was too young to get it, you know? They just... treated me like I mattered."
"They sound incredible," Sarah said softly.
"They were," Reed said, his voice thick with emotion but stronger now. "And losing them... first Mom to cancer, then Dad to his own desperation... it just broke me. I completely shut down after that. Stopped trusting people, stopped believing anything good could last."
Sarah squeezed his hand tighter. "But you're opening up again. With Ben, with me. That takes guts, Reed."
"It's terrifying," Reed admitted. "Every time I start caring about someone, part of me just waits for them to disappear. That's why I was so nervous about us. Not because I didn't like you, but because I liked you way too much."
"I'm not going anywhere," Sarah said, though they both knew that wasn't completely true with graduation coming up.
"I know," Reed replied. "And even if this doesn't last forever, I'm really glad I told you. I'm glad someone finally knows the truth."
Sarah leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. "Thank you for trusting me with it. Your dad sounds like he was an amazing man who loved you and your mom so much that he was willing to risk everything to try and save her."
"Yeah," Reed said quietly, feeling something warm settle in his chest. "That's exactly who he was."
After they had sat together for a while longer, Sarah gently suggested they go back in to catch the end of the movie. "Only if you want to," she added quickly. "We can totally leave if you'd rather."
But Reed found that sharing his story with Sarah had somehow robbed the memories of their power to hurt him. They returned to their seats just as the movie was reaching its climax, with Doc and Marty's plan to use the locomotive to push the DeLorean to 88 miles per hour.
Reed watched with calm interest as the locomotive successfully pushed the DeLorean to 88 miles per hour, sending Marty safely back to 1985. When the train reached the edge of the ravine and plummeted into the canyon below, Reed held his breath. But the story wasn't over yet. Back in 1985, the DeLorean materialized on the railroad tracks, slowing down as Marty scrambled to get out just in time before a modern freight train obliterated the time machine in a spectacular collision. There was something cathartic about seeing the fictional time machine meet its end this way, destroyed not by malfunction or accident, but after completing its final mission. Unlike his father's machine, this destruction had served a purpose and brought the hero safely home.
The movie's ending filled Reed with unexpected emotion. Doc Brown appeared in his own time machine, a spectacular steam-powered locomotive from 1885, accompanied by his wife Clara and their two sons, Jules and Verne. The family had found happiness together across time, proving that love could triumph even over the most impossible circumstances.
Reed found himself smiling at Doc's joy, at the proof that brilliant scientists could find love and family without sacrificing their passion for discovery. When Doc handed Marty the photograph from their time in 1885, Reed felt something shift inside his chest.
"It means your future hasn't been written yet. No one's has," Doc said, his voice carrying the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "Your future is whatever you make it. So make it a good one, both of you."
Those words hit Reed like a revelation. His father's future had been defined by grief and desperation, by the need to undo the past rather than build something new. But Reed didn't have to follow that same path. He could choose to honor his parents' memory by moving forward, by making discoveries that would help people rather than trying to cheat death itself.
As the credits rolled and they walked out of the theater together, Reed felt different somehow. Lighter. The panic attack had forced him to confront memories he'd spent years avoiding, but sharing them with Sarah had transformed them from sources of shame into part of his story.
"Thank you," he said to Sarah as they walked home hand in hand through the Cambridge evening.
"For what?"
"For listening. For believing me. For not running away when you found out how complicated my life has been."
"Reed Richards," Sarah said with a smile that made his heart race, "your life isn't complicated. It's extraordinary. And I feel lucky to be part of it, even for a little while."
That night, as they lay together in Sarah's apartment, Reed realized that he had found something he'd thought was lost forever: the ability to trust someone completely with his heart, his fears, and his dreams. Whatever happened between them, Sarah had given him back a piece of himself that Gary's cruelty had nearly destroyed.
But even as their relationship deepened through shared experiences and growing intimacy, the fundamental challenges they faced became harder to ignore. Sarah had revealed her own struggles with being taken seriously as a woman in mathematics during one of their late-night conversations.
"People assume I'm just playing around with numbers until I find a husband," Sarah had told him one night as they worked together on their respective assignments. "They can't imagine that I might actually have something important to contribute to the field."
"That's their loss," Reed had replied immediately. "Your insights into statistical analysis are brilliant. The way you approached that probability problem last week showed genuine mathematical creativity."
Sarah had looked up from her textbook with surprise. "You really think so?"
"I know so," Reed said with conviction. "Intelligence isn't determined by gender. Some of the most important scientific discoveries have been made by women who had to fight for recognition. Marie Curie, Lise Meitner, Rosalind Franklin. You're following in an honorable tradition."
Moments like these had deepened their connection, but they had also highlighted how Sarah was preparing for a professional world that Reed was still years away from entering. She was three years older than Reed, getting ready for graduation and the adult world of career and responsibility. Reed was still finding his footing in college, years away from completing his education.
The reality of their situation had become increasingly hard to ignore as spring progressed toward Sarah's graduation. They had both tried to avoid talking about the approaching deadline, focusing instead on enjoying their time together. But as April turned to May, the elephant in the room became impossible to overlook.
The conversation that changed everything happened on a warm evening in early May, as they walked hand in hand through the campus gardens. The spring flowers were in full bloom, and other couples strolled along the pathways enjoying the perfect weather. It should have been a romantic setting, but Reed could sense tension in Sarah's posture that suggested difficult topics ahead.
"Reed," Sarah said finally, stopping beside a fountain where the sound of flowing water would give them some privacy. "We need to talk about what happens after graduation."
Reed had been dreading this moment for weeks, but he nodded and sat beside her on a nearby bench. "I know. I've been thinking about it too."
"I got the fellowship," Sarah said quietly. "Stanford offered me a full graduate scholarship with a research assistantship. It's everything I've been working toward."
Reed felt his stomach drop, though he tried to keep his face neutral. "That's amazing, Sarah. You totally deserve it. When do you start?"
"July first," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "I'll need to be in California by the end of June to get settled."
They sat in silence for a long moment, both of them processing what this meant. Reed stared at the fountain, watching the play of light on the water while his mind raced through potential solutions and their inevitable problems.
"We could try long distance," Reed said finally, though even he could hear how unconvincing he sounded.
Sarah turned to face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "For how long? You've got three more years here, and I'll be in graduate school for at least four, maybe five with dissertation work. That's a really long time to maintain a relationship across the country."
"People do it," Reed said, but even as he spoke, he could hear how desperate he sounded.
"Reed," Sarah said gently, taking his hands in hers. "I care about you more than I've ever cared about anyone. These past few months have been incredible. You've changed how I see the world, how I think about science, how I understand what it means to share your life with someone."
"But?" Reed prompted, dreading what came next.
"But we're at completely different stages of our lives," Sarah continued, her voice starting to break. "I'm twenty years old, about to start graduate school. You're seventeen, just finishing your first year of college. The age difference doesn't matter now, but it's going to matter more when I'm trying to establish my career and you're still figuring out who you want to become."
Reed felt something crack inside his chest. This was it. The first person who had ever really seen him, who had made him feel normal and wanted and understood, was leaving him. And there was nothing he could do about it.
"So what, we just... give up?" Reed asked, his voice coming out smaller than he intended. "I mean, I know the timing sucks, but..."
He trailed off, seeing the look on Sarah's face. She'd already made up her mind. This wasn't a discussion; it was a goodbye.
"I love you," Reed said quietly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. It felt like the most important thing he'd ever said and the most pointless at the same time.
Sarah's tears finally spilled over. "I love you too. God, Reed, that's what makes this so hard."
They held each other beside the fountain as the sun set behind the campus buildings, both of them crying for what they were about to lose. Other students passed by, lost in their own spring evening activities, unaware of the heartbreak playing out on the bench beside the garden path.
"I keep thinking maybe we could make it work somehow," Sarah said through her tears, her voice muffled against Reed's shoulder. "Maybe if we're meant to be together, we'll find our way back to each other when the timing's better."
Reed held her tighter, part of him wanting desperately to believe that, even though he knew better. "Sarah, we both know that's probably not going to happen. By the time I graduate, you'll be finishing your PhD. We'll be completely different people."
"I know," she whispered. "But I had to say it."
They sat there for a long time, just holding each other, neither wanting to be the first to let go. Finally, Sarah pulled back to look at him directly, her eyes red from crying.
"Reed, I need you to promise me something. Don't let this make you afraid to connect with people. Don't let losing me convince you that caring about someone isn't worth the risk."
Reed was quiet for a moment, thinking about everything he'd lost before. "I can't promise that," he said honestly. "Losing people hurts too much. My parents, now you. Maybe it's easier to just focus on work, on science. At least equations don't leave."
"Reed," Sarah said, her voice gentle but firm. "Look at me. The fact that this hurts so much proves how meaningful it was. If you could care this deeply for me after knowing me for only a few months, imagine how much love you're capable of when you find someone you can actually build a life with."
Reed wanted to argue that he didn't want to love anyone else, that Sarah was perfect and irreplaceable. But looking into her eyes, seeing how much she cared about his future even as they said goodbye, he understood that she was trying to give him something important.
"You've taught me that I don't have to be afraid of connecting with people," Reed admitted. "Before you, I honestly thought my brain made me too weird for anyone to really want to be around."
"Your brain is what makes you incredible," Sarah replied, reaching up to touch his face. "Someday you're going to find people who get that, who understand that being brilliant doesn't make you less human. And when you do find them, don't push them away because you're scared of getting hurt again."
"What if I can't find anyone like you?" Reed asked, the question coming out more vulnerable than he intended.
"You will," Sarah said with certainty. "But even if you don't, even if you find someone completely different, that'll be okay too. The point is to keep your heart open."
They spent the next three weeks trying to make every moment count while simultaneously preparing for the inevitable separation. It was strange and painful, knowing exactly when their relationship would end. Some days they pretended everything was normal, going on dates and studying together like they always had. Other days the approaching deadline hung over everything they did.
Reed threw himself into end-of-semester projects and exams, using academic work to distract himself from the countdown in his head. Sarah finalized her graduation preparations and made arrangements for her move to California, sometimes crying when she thought Reed wasn't looking.
The graduation ceremony was held on a bright Saturday morning at the end of May, with proud families filling the outdoor amphitheater to celebrate their children's achievements. Reed sat with Ben and some of their friends from the football team, scanning the sea of black caps and gowns for Sarah's familiar face.
When her name was called and she walked across the stage to receive her diploma, Reed felt his chest tighten with an overwhelming mixture of pride and loss. She had worked incredibly hard to reach this moment, and he was genuinely happy for her success. But watching her take this step into her future also made it real in a way that all their conversations hadn't.
This was really happening. She was really leaving.