Find Me

Counting Seconds

This was it. This was the day.

Eyes darted to the inside of her forearm where the numbers glowed, and a smile pulled at her lips. There they were, ticking down the remaining hours to the moment she would meet the person that people called a soulmate — the one person on this green, little planet that people said she would have an instant connection to.

02:13:49.

She heard it from stories first, how it felt when the timer finally stopped ticking and the vastly different ways people met their soulmates. Some said they had stopped exactly in front of another person who had stopped walking as they did, both looking each other in the eyes the moment their timers counted down to 00:00:00. Others had it differently; be it accidentally bumping into one another or that one story she heard as a child from an aunt that their timer had stopped the second she hailed and entered a taxi.

It happened in the most unexpected ways and places, that was for sure. People knew when it would happen but how or where, no one really had a clue.

She couldn't stop herself from glancing down once again at the timer on her arm, watching as the numbers changed every second as excitement coursed through her veins. For nights on end, she was unable to get proper sleep, frequently staying up late to watch the numbers grow smaller as they glowed in the darkness of her room. It was almost like an obsession but in their world, it was not uncommon. And as a result of staying up late, her eyes had grown puffy, evident as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror. But unlike on usual days, it didn't bother her. She could look like she hadn't bathed for days and could have cut off all her hair and her soulmate wouldn't care. She knew, because she wouldn't either.

With a content sigh leaving her lips, she prepared her arms for the work they would have to do with fixing her hair.

     — ❦

It was afternoon and the sun had decided to tuck itself away behind the clouds that day, leaving the pavement free for her to walk without an umbrella. It was as if the day grew kinder than usual for the moment she had been waiting for her whole life. Although she knew she wouldn't be the only one; everyday, hundreds of others met their other halves as well, and for today, she would be one of those lucky ones.

A gentle breeze came to kiss the exposed skin of her arms, blowing her hair into a few tangles just after she spent a good thirty minutes pulling out the strands from knots. But she didn't let such a trivial thing bother her. Instead, she closed her eyes stretched out her arms, like a swan letting the wind spread its wings, ready to find the one it would sing its swan song for.

Because if I were to sing one last song, it would only be for you and your ears to hear.

Suddenly, her world lost its balance. Literally.

She fell, and she fell hard and landed on her behind on the rough pavement.

"Oh jeez, I'm so sorry! My God, I'm sor—"

Her mind couldn't process the words coming from the other person at all. All her focus was directed at the mass of pink staining her white tank top, ice soaking through the fabric and chilling her skin. By her side was the bomber jacket she had, grasped in her hand just seconds ago, lying on the pavement with its black fabric soaked as well.

She could barely contain the anger simmering beneath the surface. She began to saw red as she got up to her feet to deliver a scolding to the stuttering idiot in front of her, his hand clutching an empty plastic cup.

"You jackass! Are you even watching where you're going? This get-up took me two damn hours!"

Blue eyes bore into her brown ones as the stranger's brows arched in bewilderment. "Two hours and all you have on is a white top, jeans, and some black jacket?"

"I'm sorry, who are you?" She almost choked at her words at the intensity they were spilling out of her mouth. The way the man opposite her managed to reply so calmly in contrast to her ire wasn't helping either — it only made her want to fight him more. "The fashion police?"

"I'm your soulmate."

Her train of thought came to a jarring stop as her features formed into a blank expression, mirroring the one on the face of the stranger opposite her. There was a sound roaring in her ears, perhaps her heartbeat, setting every fiber of her being on fire. She felt heat rush to the apples of her cheeks as she continued to stare at the dark stranger before her, her thoughts fathoming one conclusion.

Not a stranger. My soulmate.

Her eyes darted to the timer on her forearm, the numbers seeming to tease her as they glowed against her skin.

00:00:00.

In front of her, the stranger rolled up the sleeve of his coat to reveal the same numbers marking his skin.

A million places and million ways, and each and every possibility had crossed her mind before this moment came. But fate was wicked, they told her, working in ways that no one really knew or expected. And what a fool she had been to believe that fate would spare her from its mischief.

Here she was, standing opposite her soulmate just after he had spilled his beverage on her; her shirt soaked wet, jacket just as wet on the pavement, hair in tangles, and face red with anger. Or, at least she thought it was anger making her blush.

And yet, when her gaze switched back to him, she saw no revulsion in his eyes. Only amusement . . . and tenderness. Just after she called him a jackass.

Her eyes drank him back in return as she struggled to find her voice and the words to say when she blurted it out.

It was the first thing that came to her mind. "Hell no. You like strawberry shakes. You're not my soulmate."

He had the audacity to smile and chuckle at her words. And while she could not stop the boiling blood in her veins, there was one more thing she couldn't stop — the way she felt her heartstrings tug when she heard the sound that escaped his lips. It was music to her ears, and the moment she heard it, she knew she would do almost anything just to hear it again.

"No, you're right. You can't be my soulmate," he replied. "You have a horrible sense of fashion."

"I only look horrible because you ruined my look, you ass."

She knew infatuation, she knew obsession. But she had yet to know love. And she found herself wondering if love felt like punching your soulmate in the face. If love felt like wanting to stop every moment with them. If love made her every thought incoherent and clear at the same time.

If the answers were yes, then she was more than willing to ride on the roller coaster that life was about to take her on.

"It took me twenty-three years, seven months, and sixteen days to meet you and you spill your strawberry shake on me when we do? You haven't even said sorry yet."

"What should I be sorry for? For ruining your shirt or for liking strawberry shakes?"

The words she said next weren't the ones she was planning to reply with. But the moment they escaped from her lips, they felt like the right ones to say.

"For making me wait so long."

     — ❦

Inspired by a prompt from Tumblr user silentpeaches.