Origin of Love

In Helena's world, a soul mate is chosen and a connection made, meaning there is contact from the moment they are destined to be, but neither know who the other is until they actually meet, how will Helena handle meeting her soul mate?

Promt from tumblr user let-gavin-free + princess-tuna

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1. The Origin of Love

Everyone has a soul mate. Even you, yeah, you reading this… they’re out there somewhere. In my reality we don’t know who they are, just that the drawings or writing on their skin appears on ours, only for a few hours. We can write anything; the only thing that the law prevents us from saying is our names. I’m an artist, regularly drawing sketches on my arms of the things I see, but my soul mate is a writer, writing short stories on his thighs and forearms in exchange for my sketches. I hope that one day I’ll sketch a scene and he will be there to find me.

It was 9pm when I got my first message of the day, on my wrist. ‘Hello.’ In a messy handwriting, clear enough to read but nowhere near a cursive style.

‘Hey, how was your day?’ I wrote back, my hand trembling waiting for his reply.

‘Same old, I didn’t get any of your sketches today, I missed them.’ I smiled,

“What are you smiling at?” my mother asked, she looked at me over her glasses, and noticed the transcript on my arm “ah, I’ll leave you to it”, she took my sisters hand and dragged her out of the room, she was yet to learn about her soul mate and we all wait anxiously for her to realise what is going on. My mother and my father were soul mates, they met when she was making notes of a musical composition and he played it on one of those public pianos, they were in a train station, they tell the story every year on the anniversary of their meeting.

‘I had a pretty intense day at work today, I’m sorry, I had to paint on paper instead of sketching on myself,’

‘You never need to apologise to me, I understand.’ I began doodling on my thigh, waiting for a sarcastic comment to appear on my wrist but nothing came. The next thing I know, the pen is sliding out of my hand as I begin to fall asleep, only to be woken by my mother telling me to go to bed, I write a goodnight on my wrist before heading up the stairs. I read over our conversation just as I’m falling to sleep, ‘goodnight my angel.’ appears at the bottom of the conversation. I fall asleep with a smile on my face, dreaming of the day I’ll meet him.

 

*  *  *

 

“Helena! Breakfast is ready!” my father shouted up the stairs, waking me from my slumber.

“Coming!” I sat up on the edge of my bed and noticed the lines that indicated there would be a story or a poem today. I could feel the light touch of the pen on his-, my leg as he drew the lines from his knee all the way up his thigh. I had a day off from work so I was able to sketch for him. After my fathers incredible pancakes, I headed back upstairs to get dressed. I now had half a poem on my leg, though it was an agreement that I wouldn’t read them until he said I could, the same goes for my sketches. I got dressed ready to head out into the town, I needed to get some art supplies so I grabbed my pen and put it in my bag.

“Oh Helena, can you grab me some more manuscript from the music shop? I’m running out and I really need to get this composition finished before Monday.” My mother smiled at me and pushed £5 into my hand; I nodded and continued after kissing her cheek and waving goodbye to my father through the window.

While I was driving I felt the well-known feeling of his pen on my wrist, ‘My poem is done, I hope you can take the time to read it, I have it on paper like all of my others for when we meet.’ I finally pulled into the car park, found a space and was finally able to read it. The lines were beginning to fade so I had to be quick about reading it.

 

I will love you
as long as the sun
burns in the sky,
as long as the moon
shines its light
into the dark night,
until the raging
blue oceans become
calm and run dry.
I will love you until
the end of time.

 

With a tear in my eye a pick up my pen and write back to him, ‘that’s such a lovely poem! I’m sat in my car trying not to cry, I hope that you’re pursuing this as a career my sweet.’ I shook off the feeling left from his poem and his pen, and headed out into the town. I got everything I needed, pens, paint, paper, my mothers manuscript, and sat down in the park. I had a Starbucks, a clean slate on my arm and some interesting views to sketch. I began by sketching out the lake, the trees, picnic tables and the people sat at them. All the small details on the leaves and the benches, he always loved seeing the details of what I was seeing. ‘I’m done’ I put the pen down and snapped a picture of my arm, just as a message flashed up on my hand. ‘I know where you are’

 

*  *  *

 

“Mum I don’t know what to do, its only like I do every time I sketch for him…” I was on the phone to my mum, panicking and seeing lots of panicked writing appear where the poem was before. “He has just told me the name of the park I am in. Mother I think were about to meet and I don’t know what to do. Okay. I’ll see you later.” ‘I’m scared, and I’m still here, in Jepson Park, are you coming here?’

‘I want to. You know this is important for both of us.’

‘How will I know its you?’

‘You just will, my angel.’

I sat clutching my take away latte, looking at the sandwich I had ordered when I sat down, now too nervous to eat. I kept glancing around me and at my arm, when I noticed a boy doing the same. I put my cup down, picked up my pen, and wrote on my hand, ‘I think I can see you.’ The boy I was looking at previously looked down at his hand, which he then held up close to his face, he was close enough for me to see the ink on his hands and arms, but not close enough for my to distinguish a whole conversation or sketch. I noticed that I had a clear view of his thumb, so on my own I sketched out a thick outline of a heart, which instantly appeared on his thumb. I let out a deep breath, and wrote under my previous message ‘I can see you, you’re under the big tree from my sketch. I’m sitting at the table closest to the wall, alone, with a sandwich and a coffee. There’s a seat free for you’ I saw his eyes dart across the park searching for me, before his gaze landed on me. I saw him whisper to himself, my angel, and I knew it was him. He was everything I ever thought he was, tall, dark hair and bright blue eyes. He came walking over to me and sat down opposite, we stared at each other, taking in everything about each other that we had been thinking of for so long, waiting for this moment.

“You’re everything I ever dreamed you would be,” he whispered, grasping my hand softly. I felt the tears that had been welling up in my eyes roll down my cheeks. His voice was soft and warm, soothing and gentle, just like I had imagined.

“So are you” I managed to choke out some words through the tears. “My name is Helena Johnston”

“Riley Middlebrooke” 

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