Soulmate Clock: After Zero
(inspired by the "soulmate clock" concept that's been floating around Tumblr, and the short stories people have subsequently written about it.)
It’s been years since my soulmate clock hit “0.” I remember exactly where I was, too. The middle of a grocery store, thumbing uselessly through bags of brown sugar and spices, patiently yet stupidly waiting for that Hollywood moment when my shoulder would receive that tap indicating he’d arrived for me at last.
I spun as if thinking he’d be waiting to surprise me from behind with a clever smirk, flashing his depleted timer to match mine. The wait was over and the magic was ready to at last flourish in a frenzy of words, touches and kisses. But all I got was an old crone and her husband staring at me oddly.
"Excuse me, could I… please get some of that sugar there? You’ve been looking at it for the past ten minutes…"
And that was that. The clock was a dud.
I have a habit of wearing long sleeve shirts now, because I’d rather not be looking at the flashing row of zeroes, mockingly staring me back in the eye. My friends think I’m crazy, especially during the summer seasons when it’s obvious that I’m sweating through the unnecessary layer of clothing. But none of it mattered to me. I wanted no reminder of it at all. Surrounding me were all my friends and loved ones, inexplicably finding their soulmates right to the moment their clocks hit zero, and yet I was the only idiot I knew whose clock was after zero, and yet there was nobody standing next to me to validate it.
Can you believe I’ve even tried going to supposed repair shops that try to fix or tweak these things? I was desperate enough to be scammed out of money to try and get mine fixed, only to have them all tell me in the end that mine was “just broken.”
Just broken. Okay. I can accept that, I guess.
I was sitting in a coffee shop one day in the middle of June, sipping an iced coffee and reading the paper when a figure approached me. I looked up and saw a man. The tall, dark and handsome type. But my cynicism quickly overlooked all of that and all I did was raise my eyebrow in a twitch of curiosity.
"Can I help you?" I asked, monotone. He smirked back.
"No, not really. It’s just… aren’t you hot?"
I sighed in quiet frustration. It was a somewhat normal occurrence now for people to ask this of me because of my obviously over-dressed attire for the weather. I should’ve been used to it by now, but it still annoyed me.
"No. I’m fine." I replied flatly.
"Oh… alright. Mind if I sit with you?"
I reeled back a little, alarmed at his sudden interest to want to talk. Part of me wanted him to just leave me be. But the other part of me couldn’t resist his outward charm, and the fact that he had the nerve to simply walk up and ask to sit with me. So I bit.
A month goes by, I returned regularly to this coffee shop. And sure enough, right as rain, he was there either waiting for me or arriving just a few minutes late, insisting on joining me. I was resistant at first, but I gradually warmed up to him. He was charming, he was sweet, he was cordial. He had the courage to break me down bit by bit, and I guess part of me liked that and that’s why I kept letting it happen.
I happened to glance at his wrist one day when he wasn’t paying attention. His clock appeared. And I couldn’t help reading what it said:
He was going to meet his soulmate in a little over a month. Good for him, I guess. But I never asked him about it. Nor did we ever speak about the clocks. Nor did he even wonder why I always dressed the way I did. We talked about a lot, but those were subjects that never once came up. Maybe he thought I cut myself and had scars to cover up, and he was too embarrassed to ask? Regardless, he just… always wanted to talk.
Before I knew it, we’d moved beyond the coffee shop, and into each other’s homes. Sometimes at his apartment, sometimes at mine. Usually, I had trust issues bringing strangers into my home, but something about him made me feel comfortable with allowing it. And again, all he ever wanted to do was talk. No sex, no scam, no games. Just two… friends, I guess, we were at this point.
"Do you always second-guess yourself?"
He asked me this out of the blue one evening while we drank coffee in his kitchen. And naturally, I was a little puzzled.
"Well…" He thumbed idly at his mug, "You always seem so sure of yourself. So confident. And yet, it also always seems like you start or end all your sentences with ‘I guess.’ I’m a little curious as to why."
It never even occurred to me that I said it so much to a point that it was something worth pointing out as a strange quirk. It was just always something I said, albeit subconsciously.
"I guess…" Whoops. Did it again.
"… as confident as I might seem, I’ve always had my doubts."
My hands rubbed uncomfortably against each other. My thumb grazed over my sleeve, where I knew that right underneath it was my failed soulmate clock. Yes, I had my doubts. I might always have them. I had a fizzled out piece of technology lifelessly embedded on my wrist as proof. Life would always keep me guessing. Human nature, right?
It was about two in the morning that same night when I at last decided it was late and was ready to go home.
"Time for me to head out, I guess…" I bit my tongue as those words escaped my mouth again, but he just chuckled. I pushed away my empty coffee mug, and he just smiled and nodded as he stood up, ready to walk me to the door.
It was strange, but he was so much more different than anyone I’d met before. His kindness, his generosity, his openness, his caring and loving nature without expecting a thing in return. Nothing but wanting to talk. It was like talking to someone I’d known all my life. If I didn’t know any better, it almost felt like I was falling for him. But his clock was still running. And he was going to meet his own soulmate soon. And mine had already run out. Much as I wanted to reach out to him, I couldn’t interfere with that.
I reached for the doorknob, about to open it, when he gently grabbed my hand. My heart throbbed once, and I spun around as if thinking he was going to pull some stupid stunt. And he did. Stupid idiot.
He pulled me in for one long, tender kiss.
I allowed myself to fall into it for only a moment, but I quickly pulled away in retaliation. The hand that was grasping mine was now reversed, and I defensively gripped his wrist. I caught sight of his clock then, and realized there were only 10 seconds left on it.
I heard a faint, warped beep, and for a second, I thought it was coming from his clock. But I turned my wrist and yanked down the long sleeve covering the clock I hadn’t even dared to look at for a long time, and was shocked at what I saw: the numbers appeared glitched, and for a while, was unreadable. But he soon took my hand back in his. Before I knew it… my clock was reset again. Only this time, it didn’t read days, hours and minutes. Only seconds. Seven seconds.
I glanced at his. Seven seconds. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
One long beep. And my timer reached “0” again. Only this time, there was a timer next to mine that reached “0” at the exact same moment.
He kissed me again, but I didn’t fight back this time. And as tears welled at my eyes, years of hardened anger and callousness shattering, it was at that moment I understood.
He was my soulmate… I guess.
No. No guessing this time. I’d never felt so sure about something before in my life. I knew he was.
My clock was never broken.
It just needed a little extra time.
