meant to be

You used to wonder why your mother made you cover your soul-mark. It seemed ridiculous! Why wouldn't you want the world to know who your other half was? The moment you learned what the letters on your wrist meant – the name of your one, true love – you wanted to scream out his name from the rooftops. And wouldn't this mean you would find him faster? But your mother explained that many people never found their soulmates and usually fell in love with someone else.

Keeping your soulmate's name a secret made it easier for you and your non-soulmate partner to cope and live happily. Your mark, she told you, was a very private thing, and that you should never feel pressured to show someone, nor should you pressure anyone to show you theirs. In fact, some people even chose to remove their soul-mark, and therefore, cut off their connection with their soulmate; for many, it was easier to love someone who wasn't their perfect match if they got rid of the bond such a match would come with. Apparently, though, the procedure was quite painful for both parties. When you were old enough, you read up about it on the internet, where people described it as one of the most horrible hurts they had ever experienced – especially for those who were not aware their soulmate was removing his or her mark – likening it to the feeling of having a limb ripped off, without any anesthesia or painkillers.

You swore to yourself that you would never get rid of your mark; you would never, ever want to do that to your soulmate (or anyone, at that), even if you didn't end up finding him – though you tried not to think about not finding him. But, to appease your mother and society, you wore the thick bracelets that everyone else wore when you were out in public. In the safety of your room, however, you would stare at his name, tracing his letters and praying that someday, you would be able to show him your wrist with his name on it, and he would show you his wrist with your name on it, and you would smile shyly at each other and pledge your life to each other and live happily ever after. That was the hope, anyways.

Now you were twenty-two years old, and you were staring at your soulmate as he asked you if you thought it would be a good idea for him to remove his soul-mark. Of course, he wasn't heartless. He couldn't be – he was your soulmate after all. He simply didn't know that you were his soulmate, or that he was yours, because you, in a moment of utter foolishness, had made a split-second decision that ruined your life. Two years before, you, freshly out of high school, with your young face bright and your mind vulnerable, had been unceremoniously dumped on your new college campus by your parents. It was the start of your new life!

As your mother's car left you, turning around the road's bend, you felt a surge of giddiness rise in you. Sure, you were nervous, and a bit sad that a huge part of who you had been was gone, but you had mourned your childhood weeks ago, with all your high school friends during the seemingly endless graduation parties you attended. Today, though, was a fresh start. Today, you thought, taking in a deep breath and turning to face your dorm, was your rebirth. You kind of liked that word. Rebirth. It felt fitting. And with that word at the forefront of your mind, you physically ran into who would be your first real friend in college. After some awkward laughter, she introduced herself to you as Dina Garcia, and then she asked you your name. A simple question, really. You should have just said your name – your name that you had answered to your whole life, and your name that was on the wrist of your soulmate. But, with your veins buzzing and your head swimming with excitement, you wanted to make the rebirth you felt inside tangible, and so you proclaimed that your name was Elizabeth – which was not your name at all. It was your middle name. Your name was Cecelia Elizabeth Jones, or just CeCe Jones, as it would appear on most legal documents and your soulmate's wrist. But now your name was Elizabeth Jones to Dina, and then to everyone you would meet in college. You never thought to tell them that you were just going by your middle name. It wouldn't matter – not really, until it did matter and then it was too, too late.