from the moment her mark had appeared, clara had concealed it from the world. it became as much part of her routine as getting dressed each morning. for the first few weeks after it first surfaced, she held her breath, kept expecting her soulmate to just miraculously land in her lap. once she memorized the damn thing, she hid it, hoping it would allow her some kind of an advantage when she did meet whoever she was supposed to be bound to for life.Â
the mark only proved a nuisance when the young woman finally decided to get laid. one after the other, men failed to provide her with any kind of relief and she never thought to blame her mark. specially when she stumbled upon hasan all those weeks ago. their little hook up system was simple but flawless: one of them texted, one of the provoked the other, the other delivered. whether it was at her place, his, or anywhere in between. it hadnât occured to clara that anything had changed within her, not until she was tying her hair as hasan texted her back assuring her he hadnât forgotten their arrangement for the evening, and suddenly she realized, on her mirrorâs reflection that her mark had changed colours. âshit-â the knock on her door didnât allow for an existential crises, so she simply reached for the first scrunchy she could find and snapped it onto her wrist before hasan could catch a glimpse. âhi, hey,â she breathed once she opened the door, suddenly breathless. @hcdcsbcbydcllâ










