Soul mates.
The thing about the soul mate tattoos was not the fact it was a tattoo. It was the fact the tattoo only gave you the name of the person that was your soul mate. No further information, just a name. And well, there could be thousands of people with that name. There could also be thousands of people with your name tattooed on their wrist.
Sometimes, you ran into someone who had your name tattooed on their wrist. But when you found out his or her name was not the one on your wrist, you had to keep looking, to keep searching for your soul mate.
It was said that some people had died without finding their soul mates. Some married a person that was not their soul mate, simply because they both couldn’t find theirs and they didn’t want to be alone the rest of their lives.
There were people who did not even bother searching for their soul mates. They just wore a bracelet or a watch over the tattoo and pretended it wasn’t there. Harry never understood those people. You had a soul mate walking on this Earth, someone who was most likely looking for you, and you just ignored the idea of soul mates all together?
Harry liked the soul mate tattoos. He felt so proud when he had finally gotten one when he was fifteen. Fifteen was rather late for someone to get their tattoo. Anne had told her son she had gotten hers when she was eleven. Gemma had gotten hers when she was thirteen.
Harry was pretty sure he would never forget the morning his tattoo had appeared. He had woken up, sighed and took a glance at the insides of his wrists again. Normally, they were blank, perfectly normal and tattoo-less. But this time, a black name in a curvy handwriting was situated on his wrist. Harry had screamed so loudly he was pretty sure the neighbours three blocks away had heard him.
“Mum, mum, I’ve got it! I’ve got my soul mate tattoo!” Almost tripping, he had stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen where Anne was making pancakes for breakfast.
“Well, what does it say, honey?” Harry glanced at his wrist again, looking at it as if it was the most precious diamond he had ever seen.
“Louis.” Louis. Louis. Harry liked the way the name sounded on his tongue. He let it roll around, vibrate against his vocal chords. “It sounds French, doesn’t it? Louis.”
“Yes honey”, Anne said, gently grabbing her son by the shoulder, “but I think it’s a boy.” Harry stared up at her with big, innocent green eyes. It was silent in the kitchen of the Styles’ residence.
“Is that a bad thing, Mum? My soul mate being a boy?”
Anne thought for a moment, before answering: “No, sweetheart. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just very rare, ’s all.”
Harry smiled. “I like being unique.” And that was the end of that.
It was true what Anne said though. Harry did some research on it later. There was a five percent chance your soul mate was the same gender. Something Harry thought wasn’t fair. There should be a fifty percent chance your soul mate was the same gender. No more discrimination.
Harry was very keen on finding his soul mate as soon as possible. The sooner he found him, the more time they had together. Now he was just hoping Louis would think the same. He had asked his friends if they knew a Louis at school, but no one knew someone named like that. One of them had said he knew a Louise, that maybe the tattoo had made a small spelling mistake.
But Harry was absolutely sure his soul mate was named Louis, not Louise. So he continued his search.
As time passed, he never once ran into someone called Louis. Harry was now nineteen, still fairly young. But he was still determined to find his soul mate as soon as possible. Sometimes he wondered if Louis was looking for him as well. If, maybe, he had run into a lot of young men called Harry, hoping they were the Harry he was looking for.
