Prolouge

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Everyone was born with it, whether you liked it or not. That was just how life worked. We were all born with some sort of writing on our wrist, it can be either our left or right. Most of the time, people would get nice, cute phrases permanently marked on their skin.

I, however, was different.

An insult was on my wrist. Yes, an insult. I don't know why, but it's been on my wrist ever since I was born. Ever since I learned to read, I grew to hate it – to hate me. My parents were worried. Why was my soulmate mean to me? That question could never be answered until I meet her, or him.

This certain remark would eventually bring shame to my family. People always gave me and my family dirty looks. Sometimes, we would even get insulted. My family hated me for it. I don't see how it's my fault, though. Shouldn't it be my soulmate's fault and not mine? Well, life isn't fair.

Nothing's fair.

I became a laughing stock to my school. Trying to cope, I hid my wrist with jackets. I was jealous of other people. Why did I have this horrendous phrase on me, while everyone else had kind words?

This insult slowly brought down my self esteem. Day by day, it was like I was sinking lower and lower into a dark hole. It was scary. I was scared.

No one wanted to try to make me feel better, in fear of getting made fun of. I had no one to turn to.

However, that changed when I met a girl.

My name is Evan, and I'm a failure.

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