In a universe where everyone is born with numbers on their wrists counting down to when they’ll meet their soulmate, send me 00:00:00 for my muses reaction to their numbers hitting zero when they meet yours.
Get up, get dressed, go to work.
Just another day for Clara.
Or that was what she had been expecting.
Instead, she slept through her alarm and was awoken by the sound of the numbers on her wrist beeping; she glanced up at the readout and shrieked in alarm.
15 minutes before I meet my soulmate.
She leaped from her bed and dashed into the bathroom, washing her face and combing her hair. No time for makeup this morning, either.
She dressed in her favorite dress and sweater and grabbed a banana, her keys already in her hand as she ran for the door.
She locked the door and raced down the hall, down the stairs to the front door and out into the parking lot. The bus stop was on the other side, a good three minute walk.
She raced across the parking lot to the bus stop, arriving just as it pulled up. That was when she saw him running across the street. A tall young man in a pinstripe suit and a long tan overcoat.
Heading right toward her.
They collided, tumbling into a heap of limbs and bodies outside of the departing bus. Clara didn’t want to listen to any apologies he might have; she was to busy memorizing the face of her soulmate.
"H-hello," she whispered. "I’m Clara. It’s nice to meet you."