Today was the day- your eighteenth birthday. The day you can begin writing to your soulmate, and depending on their age, the day you can expect a response.
You woke up at the butt-crack of dawn out of pure exhilaration, ready to find out who it is you are destined to spend the rest of your life with.
You grabbed a pen and started planning out what to write.
"Hello" would be too formal.
"Hi" seems too short.
You opted for "Hey" written on your wrist. Then you waited a few seconds.
It was early, anyway. It wasn't really like you should expect an answer right now. So, you got out of bed and got ready for the day. You came downstairs to a wonderful smell wafting through the area.
You looked at your wrist again. Still nothing.
"Happy Birthday, honey!" called your parents, eagerly awaiting your descent from upstairs. It was a tradition of yours to have pancakes for breakfast on birthdays, and you wouldn't miss it for the world.
Once you had eaten and chatted like usual, your mother placed her hands on the table. "So..."
You knew what she was going to ask.
"Any word?"
You looked down at your wrist, the "Hey" starting to fade. You shook your head.
"Aw, well, it's okay. Maybe he's younger than you!"
You shrugged. "It's fine. It's early, too."
Your parents nodded their heads.
You grabbed your stuff and headed out the door not to long after that, and stopped periodically throughout your walk to your car to check if there had been any response. Still nothing.
You drove to the cafe, as was your routine on any morning. You came in and ordered the same thing every day, so much so that the workers knew you and exactly what you wanted.
When you walked in, your drink was being placed on the counter by your favorite barista, the short, grumpy young man who had never so much as flashed a smile toward anyone. He was your favorite because he was easy to tease, but you weren't in the mood today.
"Good morning." You mumbled, digging in your pocket for some change. "I see your name has changed today.... John."
He always wore a different name tag each day, never wanting anyone to know his real name. In a way, it was a bit endearing.
"Morning." He muttered. "Usual?"
"You know it."
"Already made." He tapped the top of the lid, and pushed the cup across the counter. "It's on the house today."
You dropped your jaw. "Really??"
"A little birdie told me it was your eighteenth birthday today." He said, nodding his head over to a table of familiar faces. Your friends had ratted you out!
"Well thank you, my good sir. Sorry, I mean John."
"One of these days," He folded his arms. "I'll tell you my real name."
"I can't wait." You said. "Is it one that you've used already?"
"Maybe."
"Well, you have a nice day then, mystery man."
He nodded.
You walked away, and as you did so, you felt a little refreshed by the conversation.
