Friends At First Sight

There is a name on my wrist.

Everyone has one. From the day they're born. And the person with that name? They're the one you're meant for. The one you're destined to spend your life with. A happy ending as soon as you meet them.

The time leading up to that, however, well, depends who you are.

For me, it sucked.

Most other people I'd met, they saw it as an adventure. And why wouldn't they? They fantasised about their soulmates. The time they'd spend together. The house they'd live in together. The kids they'd raise together.

But me? Nah. Not so much.

See, I have never, not once in my life, had so much as a crush. I have never wanted another human being to be anything more than a friend, even though the girls in my class had names doodled on their notebooks that sure as hell didn't match the ones on their arms.

And yet there I was, a name tattooed on my wrist in a scrawled sort of handwriting (apparently how my soulmate would write, and it looked like a spider had fallen into a bottle of ink) and my priorities fixed more on my work than seeking true love. I never fancied myself as some inane Disney movie protagonist.

I was a hard-working kid, which paid off. I got into a good grammar school, I finished my exams with straight A's after selling my social life just to study. I got into a good college and eventually an even better university. It was there that I met her.

I was working a part-time job at the till of a corner shop, just enough for my fees and bills and a little bit more so I could actually, y'know, not be a shut-in. The girl who had walked in was tough-looking, her dirty-blonde hair in a short, choppy ponytail and a sullen expression on her face. I felt the need to keep my eye on her. She looked like trouble. Maybe that makes me sound like a stereotyping asshole, but I caught her trying to steal a chocolate bar, so who's the real asshole here?

When I saw her slip it into the sleeve of her jacket, I immediately shot out of my chair and grabbed her arm. As I tried to say a stern "you paying for that?", I could only manage a "Y-". She had her wrist exposed and on it...

Was my name.

"What is it?" she grumbled, "I'll pay for the bloody chocolate. Oi. What're ya lookin' at me like that for?"

Lost for words, I simply dropped her hand and showed her my wrist. Apparently the words written on it struck a chord with her. Both of us just stared at each other for what could've been eternity, and in that eternity, I found myself noticing what I couldn't see from behind the counter. She had shiny, dark brown eyes, glowing with something like mischief even when the rest of her face was deadly serious. A smattering of freckles crossed her cheeks and a big birthmark the colour of dried blood and the shape of Norway spread across her neck, partly obscured by her jacket and a t-shirt for a band I'd never heard of.

Eventually she broke the silence. She had an Irish accent. "Wanna go for a walk once ya've finished your shift?"

"My, uh, my coworker owes me a favour. I'll ask him to do it so you don't have to sit around for ages. Wait just a second."

I went into the back room, told my coworker to fill in for me, and we did just that. She and I trudged through the streets, telling each other about ourselves. It started off with small talk. She told me about her band. I told her about my favourite books. She told me about her pet snake. I told her about my fear of heights. She told me about her Art degree. I told her about my Computer Science one. But of course, pointless banter couldn't last us forever and the inevitable subject was eventually brought up.

"Ya see," she said, as we wandered into a park, "and I'm only telling ya this because o' what's on yer wrist, I've never liked anyone before. Not like that, at least. And I thought maybe that was lucky. If I got into a relationship only to meet... you... well, y'know what happens. Heartbreak and all that shit. But at the same time, between you and me, I was strugglin'. Wonderin' if maybe I was broken. Ya know?"

I nodded in agreement, maybe a little too enthusiastically. I think I got whiplash. "I understand completely! I actually thought exactly the same thing, word for word. I thought I was the only one. But now... now we're supposed to be together, and, um... frankly I don't feel anything toward you. Romantically, that is. My mother told me it's always love at first sight when you meet... them. You feel it the second you see them. No offence, but I don't feel it."

"None taken. I don't either. At the same time, though, I gotta admit... ya seem like a pretty decent person."

"You too."

She smiled at me, her eyes twinkling even more. "Let's go for friends at first sight, yeah?"

I smiled back. "Yeah."

We exchanged numbers. We texted every few days. We met up every week. We met each other's families. She introduced me to her band. I listened to their music for hours. We moved in together. And to this day, ten years later, she and I are still best friends. We're married, though purely for convenience's sake, and live under the same roof, sharing a bunk bed, a dopey-looking Labrador, and a view of the whole city. We have our rocky moments, like any relationship, but I love her and she loves me, even if there isn't a speck of romance in sight. Yep, some people think it odd. But we don't care. Because she's my best friend. Because I'm hers. Because we're each other's best fucking friends forever and ever, we're each other's soulmates, and damn it, we love each other like crazy.