Groundhog Day

Newt had heard the stories, knew them like the back of his hand: everybody has a soulmate in this world, one person made just for them, blah, blah, blah. Their initials were inscribed on everybody's chest, just to the left of the sternum, directly over the heart. That he was fine with.
The problem for him, personally, lay within the other condition: that if you came within close proximity of your soulmate, but failed to meet them, you would have to relive the day until you succeeded. Which, in theory, seems like a good idea, but that's because most people didn't fuck up this badly.