17:04:11:02

Seventeen years, four months, eleven hours, two seconds. Three seconds. Four seconds… 

Blame-shifter. Finger-pointer. Buck-passer. They all mean the same thing. Ironically, if you were to call someone out on being a blame-shifter (finger-pointer, buck-passer, etc.), they would, well, shift the blame. Choi Yoojung is an expert on finger pointing; she will always find a way to put the blame on someone else- or rather, something else. And that something else happens to be none other than the universe. Convenient.

Yoojung is always too absorbed in something else to delight in the perks of life. She keeps herself busy, has no time for recreation (recreation being romance, though to Yoojung, it’s a hassle more than anything) and certainly, she pays no attention to the blinking red numbers that she sees at every corner. It counts. 17 years, 4 months, 11 hours, 7 seconds, eight, nine…

Perhaps that’s why Yoojung finds romance a waste of time because ironically, everyone’s love life is defined by time. People have spent lifetimes arguing that time is a man-made construct and yet no one ever brings up those familiar unexplainable red numbers that count up and appear for everyone (and invisible to everyone else).

Maybe a century or two ago, the numbers appeared differently, but in this day and age, it had evolved (somehow) and modernized with the rest of the world, attentive (somehow) to the development of society (the universe is strange, isn’t it? It watches). It appears digital now and Yoojung huffs; couldn’t the universe have shown the time in a way that didn’t remind her of the alarm clock she hated for waking her up every morning?

Yoojung rushes through the crowded hallways of her high school, squeezing through the masses as she glances at her watch. She’s late for class. In the corner of her eye, her soulmate time continues to count up. It has never bothered her so much than right now, serving as a constant reminder that time keeps ticking and if she was to take any fewer steps per second, she’d be late for the fourth time that week. That’s four more times than she can afford. Why does the universe hate her? After all, time is not really real, it’s an illusion like weight and linear distances, some well-instructed theory made up to explain the red numbers, it’s all just a construct of–

Yoojung nearly falls backwards when she bumps into someone. While she manages to catch herself from tumbling, the books she was clutching in her arms are sacrificed. 

She sighs and bends down immediately to pick up her books. The person she bumped into, noticing Yoojung’s vexation, bends down to help her, offering hushed apologies on their way up. The encounter is brief and in less than two seconds, Yoojung is back to running through the hallways. She cannot be late again.

* * *

17:04:13:10

Head resting on clenched fists, Yoojung’s lips protrude in annoyance as she stares into space in the school library.

Good news is that she made it on time for class. Bad news is that her teacher was absent and her presentation was pushed back again. To make matters worse, the substitute had assigned a mountain of homework on concepts the class barely understand (something about hypergeometric…normal approxi–…? Math is not Yoojung’s subject).

Yoojung wants to open a window and scream at the sky to ask the universe what she has done wrong to deserve such injustice in her young inexperienced seventeen years of life.

Then she catches a glance at her time. Seventeen years, four months, thirteen hours, ten seconds.

Ten. A pause and Yoojung blinks.

Still ten. She blinks again.

Still ten.

She looks around the library; it’s nearly empty (as always and Yoojung wonders when the library became such a ghost town) and the few students there are all occupied with something else.

Yoojung spins her head towards the time again. Still at ten. Much to her bewilderment, she comes to the realization that it has stopped. Her mind runs blank before she finally accepts that this only means one thing: she has met her soulmate.

Yoojung wants to laugh, really she does. If she wasn’t so surprised, she’d burst into obnoxious–maybe nervous, definitely over the top–laughter at the absurdity and ask the universe if this is a joke. It has to be. After all, she’s only seventeen (dancing queen, young, and sometimes sweet).

But instead, she finds herself staring at the time. She rubs her eyes, shakes her head, hits herself lightly across the face. She stares at her watch to verify that time everywhere hasn’t stopped, checks another clock for more verification, then another, and then eight minutes has passed and Yoojung still can’t believe it. She really has met her soulmate.

Apparently. That’s what she’s always been told anyways; that your time stops counting and freezes the moment you meet your soulmate for the first time. Yoojung, of course, has always been skeptical, but now that it has actually happened, she isn’t sure what to do.

Then her mind starts running.

Who is it? Yoojung has absolutely no clue. She begins recollecting her day. Not much has happened, she concludes, it’s only around lunch time, but Yoojung had already seen a considerable amount of faces for the past few hours. Besides, she’s never really paid much attention to her surroundings before so how is she supposed to know which faces were ones she saw for the first time today? 

Then she wonders what the definition of “meet for the first time” is.

If two people who are soulmates are in the same room, will their time stop? Is there a certain radius? Is being in their presence enough? Do they have to look into each other’s eyes? Do they have to make physical contact somehow? Can it happen over the phone? (Yoojung thinks about how many phone calls she has made today). (It’s zero). These are the real unanswered questions of the universe. Or at least, in this universe. People have shared their experiences, but all the first-meeting stories are different, so who or which does one believe?

Yoojung believes none. Or rather...believed none, past tense, because right now, she’s not really sure what to do. Usually, people get excited or, in some instances, scared when their time stops. They think about the prospect of romance and their fated match, but Yoojung is still too stunned to even realize that she has just met her soulmate sometime within the past six hours (because the last time Yoojung remembers her time still counting was that morning while getting ready for school).

The only thing she’s sure about is that it must be a girl (the perks of going to an all-girls school). (Unless it’s one of the male teachers? Oh god no, Yoojung pleads.)

And when she finally gets past the fact that yes, her time really has stopped and that no, she’s not going crazy, she reverts back to her old ways as she curses the universe.

She ponders… Alright, cool, you set everyone up on earth with another person who’s supposed to be the love of their life or whatever and to let us know about it, you give us a timer for when we meet them—gee, thanks. But you don’t tell us who it is? You’ve already gone this far and yet you make us search for them ourselves? No sign? No face of my soulmate when I close my eyes? No name on my wrist? No cupid coming down to tell me? Nothing at all?

Yoojung mentally waves her arms in distress and concludes that this is yet another thing to add to her list of the universe’s flaws.

* * *

17:04:13:10

Sohye arrives at the library to keep Yoojung company and the latter catches a glimpse of her frozen time as she looks up at Sohye. She had been avoiding it until now.

“Hey Yoojung,” greets Sohye as she makes herself comfortable across the table.

Yoojung contemplates if she should talk to Sohye about her time, but she’s hesitant. The other girl is…peculiar (she thinks humans evolved from penguins) and unorthodox (she pours milk first and then puts cereal in little by little) (“it’s so the cereal doesn’t get soggy!”) and definitely too inquisitive for her own good. She’s the kind to poke her nose into matters that should not concern her.

But Yoojung is itching to ask someone, anyone because the universe just refuses to answer her pleas. So she asks Sohye, as casually as she can, “…If you met your soulmate, how would you know?”

Sohye blinks at her once before answering confidently. “Your time stops. Obviously.”

“Well, I knew that. But I mean…like, how would you know who your soulmate is?” Yoojung muses out loud. She tries her best to keep her eager curiosity on the down low, but her tone can’t resist from quickening up just a bit. “Like, what if you’re in a crowded room, and like, your time stops. How would you know who it is?”

Sohye shrugs before narrowing her eyes. “Why are you asking?”

Yoojung blinks at her, thinking of what to say, as Sohye’s eyeballs start to look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets.

“Holy moly, did you meet your soulmate?!” she exclaims, though it seemed more like a shout to Yoojung’s ears.

The smaller girl shakes her head vigorously as her nightmare unfolds in front of her eyes. She should have never brought up the topic; now she has to keep the invasive prying leviathan inside Sohye from escaping. “No! Sit down,” she says to Sohye, who had sprung up out of her seat in her usual theatrics, “we’re in a library…”

It takes a couple of minutes, but she manages to assure (lie to) Sohye that her time hasn’t stopped. Yoojung gives herself a mental pat in the back for controlling Sohye; she must be an incredible liar. The latter prods, “Why would you ask then?”

“I was just curious.”

“Liar. You’re never curious about this stuff,” replies Sohye.

To be fair, Yoojung thinks, Sohye is partly in the wrong. Yoojung isn’t completely lying–she really is curious and she hasn’t literally met her soulmate–she’s just keeping some information a secret. Withholding and lying are different things.

“I told you, I was just curious. Have you never thought about it?” Yoojung says with a sigh as Sohye looks back at her with uncertainty. “Just curious, Sohye. Believe me or not.”

“Fine, whatevz,” Sohye replies before pausing for a couple of seconds. “But I’m sure you’d just…know if you met them. Y’know? I mean, the universe has to give a sign somehow! Or at least a little push.”

“We don’t know that,” Yoojung quips as she rests her head on her palm and fiddles with the pencil in her hand. “Maybe the universe is a sadist and enjoys seeing people agonize over something like this.” She pauses before hitting her fist on the table and pointing at Sohye like a lightbulb has lit up above her head. “Or maybe our world is actually controlled by satan and this is all a lie and no one really has soulmates, the universe just likes to with us!”

“Whoa, language! And have some faith, will ya? Geez, you’re the kind of person who thinks people are born evil. A Xunzi sympathizer,” Sohye rolls her eyes at Yoojung. “What would be the point of this whole thing if people had no way of figuring out who it is? They’d spend their whole lives searching.”

“What a waste of time,” Yoojung mumbles.

“Not really,” Sohye murmurs in reply and Yoojung catches her absentmindedly staring at the table.

”What do you see?”

“Seventeen years, eight months, three hours, forty-eight seconds,” Sohye answers half-heartedly. “Forty-nine…fifty…fifty-one…fifty-two…”

“I get it, I get it,” Yoojung says with a dismissing wave of her hand. Sohye turns to her and asks her what she sees. “Seventeen years, four months, thirteen hours, ten seconds.” Yoojung pauses for a second. “Twelve. Fourteen. Sixteen,” she continues. It’s a lie, of course. She counts up by two so Sohye wouldn’t find it suspicious how she paused and hesitated for a whole second at what would’ve been the eleventh second if her time was still counting up. “Eighteen…” she stares at the frozen ten. “Twenty…”

“I get it,” Sohye says as she rests her head on the table, appearing defeated and seemingly bored of the whole conversation now. Yoojung halts her counting out loud, but she continues in her head.

* * *

Yoojung gets in line behind a particular towering girl in the cafeteria. She gets on her tiptoes, leans to the left and then to the right in an attempt to see the menu of drinks at the front, but the girl in front of her keeps shuffling on her feet, much to Yoojung’s chagrin. With a huff and a cross of her arms, Yoojung gives up– her only other choice is to lose her spot in the line anyways and she has already gotten this far. She cranes her neck to glare at the back of the girl’s head, half in irritation and half in envy.

Why did she have to be born so short? Yoojung considers herself to be one hundred and fifty-nine centimetres of disappointed disappointment, moodiness, and one hell of a good impression of Donald Duck and, on good days, Interpol to top it off.

(And apparently, Sohye is the peculiar one.)

Secondly, why has she stopped growing? Not that Yoojung measures her height at certain intervals of the year, but anyone with eyes and possesses a mediocre concept of growing could tell that the most she has probably grown in five years is a millimetre, maybe two. Yoojung just finds it unfair. She was growing well like the other kids, why stop at twelve years old?

It’s safe to say that she has believed since she was twelve that the universe has some sort of personal vendetta against her. It must.

Yoojung waits patiently. The girl in front of her turns to look at her for a moment, but Yoojung is too lost in her thoughts to notice and too occupied with cursing how things have turned out in the world before realizing that it’s finally her turn in line.

She walks up to the counter and laughs to find Somi operating the cash register. The younger girl scowls at Yoojung’s derisive laughter.

“Cafeteria duty? That’s new,” notes Yoojung as she looks at Somi in her get-up of a hairnet and apron. Yoojung finds amusement in how unnecessary it is since this section of the cafeteria only sells drinks and Somi doesn’t seem to be allowed in the kitchen anyways.

Somi sighs. “Yeah, it seems they figured out that detention wasn’t punishment enough so I was allocated to the cafeteria instead.”

“What did you do this time?” asks Yoojung.

“I put decks of cards on the ceiling fans in the conference room just before the teachers’ meeting,” says Somi as her scowl turns into a mischievous grin before she lets out another sigh. “Some snake must’ve seen me do it and ratted me out, though…”

Yoojung laughs at her friend. She’s appalled at how someone can already get in trouble so often only a month into the school year, but then she remembers that this is Jeon Somi she’s talking about. Delinquency surges through that girl’s veins (and Yoojung prefers to be a bystander). “You’re an idiot, Som.”

Somi furrows her eyebrows in a fit of pique. “Ugh, just hurry up. What do you wanna drink?”

Yoojung purses her lips as her eyes scan the menu. “Orange juice,” she decides. She reaches into her pocket and holds out a couple of coins towards Somi, but the latter girl just hands her the bottle of juice without taking the money.

“Next!” Somi exclaims, looking past Yoojung to the person behind her.

“What, is this juice for free?” Yoojung asks with a scoff.

 “Actually, yes,” Somi answers, “the girl in front of you paid for your drink. Now go away.”

Yoojung blinks. “What?”

“The girl. In front of you. Paid. For. Your. Drink. Clear?” Somi replies, emphasizing the syllables.

“Who was it?”

“I literally just said, it was the girl in fr-“

“In front of me, I know! But who was it?”

“I don’t know her,” Somi answers. Her head scans the cafeteria before coming to an abrupt stop. “Over there. I think that’s her with the black hair.”

Yoojung looks to where Somi’s pointing and sees an unfamiliar girl sitting by herself by the overhead windows. Turning back to face Somi, Yoojung asks, “Why would she pay for me?”

Somi sighs. “I don’t know? Go ask her yourself. You’re holding up the line. Neeext!”

Yoojung glares at Somi before walking away from the counter. As she reluctantly marches over to the far end of the cafeteria towards the unfamiliar girl, change in one hand and a bottle of orange juice in the other, Yoojung wonders what the universe is up to this time.

* * *

17:04:13:10

Yoojung’s grip on the orange juice bottle tightens as she approaches the table. She ruminates over the fact that no one has really bought anything for her before, not even her own friends. Yoojung is never the kind to take someone else’s money (which she had practically and unintentionally just done) and if the stranger isn’t going to accept her coins or her orange juice, the least Yoojung could do is express her gratitude for the random act of kindness.

“Um, excuse me…” Yoojung interrupts the stranger, who looks up at her and gives her the warmest smile Yoojung has ever seen (from a stranger, anyways) and for a moment, she forgets what she was about to say. “Uh, did you, uh, pay for my drink? Like, are you the stranger that was…in front…of me…in line…” her voice fades as the stranger eyes the orange juice in Yoojung’s hand and nods before she could finish her sentence.

“Oh, well, thank you,” Yoojung replies. “You didn’t have to do that, really! So please, take it.” She holds out the bottle with two hands as a sign of respect, her arms outstretched as far as they could.

“Do people usually refuse gifts after it’s already been given?” the stranger chuckles. “I paid for it so you could drink it. It’s yours.”

Yoojung insists on returning the drink, but the other girl insists on not taking it. After figuring out that this is just a waste of her time and that there is no way the other girl will take the juice or the coins, Yoojung gives up and decides to just accept that someone actually did something nice for her (in what world can you find someone so stubborn like this? In this world, it’s Yoojung). However, as she gets ready to say her goodbyes, the stranger stops her.

“Do you want to eat lunch with me?” she asks. The sunlight was trickling in through the glass window, casting light over her.

The two girls stare at each other; one’s eyes sparkle with anticipation and the other is halfway between a raised eyebrow and a squint. The latter is Yoojung.

“We don’t really…know each other,” mumbles Yoojung.

“Not yet. I’m Kim Doyeon.”

“Choi Yoojung.”

“Now we know each other,” says Doyeon, who looks at the smaller girl expectantly, waiting for her to make her choice. There’s a twinkle in Doyeon’s eye and although Yoojung is hesitant, some undetectable force sways her and she finds herself sitting down at the table opposite the taller girl.

Like a literal push from the universe. Wait. Her eyes wander to the space above Doyeon’s head and she sees the red numbers on the wall. Oh right; the time. 17 years, 4 months, 13 hours, 10 seconds. Could it be…?

Doyeon notices her gaze. “The time. It’s frozen for you too, isn’t it?”

Yoojung looks at Doyeon. Can soulmates read each other’s minds? She can’t read Doyeon’s–or maybe she’s not trying hard enough. Yoojung isn’t really sure how this works.

Doyeon’s countenance of curiosity hasn’t changed since Yoojung appeared at the table and the latter wonders how someone could look so at ease all the time. She nods her head. “It stopped today.”

Doyeon breaks into a smile before saying, “Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

Yoojung gapes at her. She blinks as her eyes flicker from the time she sees above Doyeon’s head to Doyeon, then to the time, then to Doyeon.

“How can you be so sure we’re soulmates?” asks Yoojung.

Doyeon answers, a smile playing on her lips, “I bumped into you earlier, sorry about that by the way. My time stopped the moment it happened. I’ve been wondering about it ever since. Now I’m sure.”

* * *

Needless to say, Yoojung isn’t sure what to do. She has never really thought of this happening, never thought about the prospect of her time actually stopping and getting to actually meet her supposed soulmate that the universe has matched her up with. Safe to say, she’s still doubtful.

And besides, how could this girl be her soulmate of all people on earth? Doyeon is bright and tall (really tall) and pretty (very pretty) and the same age as her and she’s not an old man (thank god she’s not a man, Yoojung muses) and she paid for her orange juice (Yoojung got free juice!) and they had just met, but she smiles at Yoojung like she’s an old friend she hadn’t seen in years.

Meanwhile, Yoojung is just Yoojung. One hundred and fifty-nine centimetres of disappointed disappointment, moodiness, and one hell of a good impression of Donald Duck and, maybe today, Interpol to top it off. She almost wants to burst into laughter and scream at the sky, “what are you trying to pull, universe?!”

And as she looks at Doyeon looking at her, Yoojung marvels at her incredible luck.

* * *

“What does your time say?” Yoojung asks, breaking the seemingly boundless awkward silence between them–or perhaps it’s only awkward for Yoojung as Doyeon had resumed to eating her lunch like she hasn’t just met the supposed perfect match of her life.

“Seventeen years, three months, three hours, eighteen seconds,” Doyeon responds like she’s already got it memorized.

Yoojung waits for her, still in disbelief, as if Doyeon would continue counting–nineteen seconds, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…but Doyeon doesn’t. She stopped at eighteen and they are shrouded in silence yet again.

Finally, Yoojung lets out a scoff. “This is crazy…”

“What, are you disappointed?” Doyeon jokes with a chuckle. “I’m not. You’re cute.”

And Yoojung lets out another scoff to dismiss the feeling of warmth spreading in her cheeks, averting her eyes in hopes that Doyeon wouldn’t notice.

“Please, you’re just saying that because I’m your soulmate or whatever,” says Yoojung.

“That’s exactly why I said it.” Yoojung narrows her eyes and Doyeon continues, “why, you think I have some ulterior motive?”

“Yeah, like—like, you’re just trying to convince yourself…” Yoojung mutters. She had never thought of herself as anything special. ‘You’re cute’ isn’t even something she’d say to herself if she was standing in front of a mirror (she’d be too embarrassed) so she had a hard time believing it when it came out of someone else’s mouth, especially from someone like  Doyeon.

“Convince myself that you’re cute?” Doyeon says incredulously. “I don’t have to.” Yoojung blinks at her as Doyeon laughs. “I mean it, really, Yoojung.”

“Right, okay, whatever you say. Just say the truth.”

“The truth,” Doyeon counters.

“No, I mean stop lying. Just tell me honestly. We don’t have to waste our time. Whatever it is, say it,” Yoojung urges as she relaxes her shoulders and puts her elbows on the table.

She isn’t really sure what she wants to hear. Well, everything Doyeon is saying is nice and all and Yoojung definitely likes every bit of it (who wouldn’t?), but it’s almost as if everything seems too good to be true right now.

Doyeon mirrors her movements, except she goes the extra step and leans forward. "It," Doyeon says, her eyes boring into Yoojung in satisfied conviction.

Fueled by the urge to match the other’s confidence, Yoojung doesn’t flinch and stares at serendipity right in the eyes in a valiant attempt of challenge. “…You don’t have to feel like you have to like me just because I’m your supposed soulmate, you know.”

“I told you, I’m not forcing myself. Appreciate yourself a little, will ya?” Doyeon answers. She is slightly saddened by the fact that Yoojung doesn’t seem to believe her, but Doyeon is willing to do anything to prove herself. She had been waiting for this for years. “And you are my soulmate. I know it.”

Yoojung scrunches her nose and looks down at the table (in defeat, but she wouldn’t admit it). How can someone like Doyeon be her soulmate? Sohye’s earlier words ring in her mind (“I’m sure you’d just…know if you met them”) and while Doyeon confirms this from her side, Yoojung just can’t wrap her head around it yet.

Yoojung shakes her head. “Look, if this is some kind of joke, just say so right now.”

“So right now,” Doyeon reiterates. Yoojung pouts as her eyebrows meet at the middle. She figures Doyeon must be having too much fun right now and despite Yoojung’s visible chagrin, the taller girl keeps on looking at her with a playful grin on her pretty, pretty face.

Yoojung gets herself together. “Is Somi behind this? Quit humouring me. Just say the truth.”

“The truth.”

Yoojung purses her lips as Doyeon continues to smile at her, harmless and lighthearted. “Say I’m ugly.”

“I’m ugly,” Doyeon says. Yoojung breaks into a smirk like Doyeon had just knowingly walked into her trap, but the latter girl keeps her bubbly countenance.

“Say Yoojung is ugly,” Yoojung commands and waits for Doyeon’s response, but the taller girl just simply looks at her.

After a short moment, Doyeon’s reply is the least Yoojung expected. “No.”

Yoojung’s smirk flattens as she blinks, followed by a slight scoff. “Oh come on, you stop there? It was just getting fun for me.”

“I’m not going to say you’re ugly,” replies Doyeon.

“Why not?"

Doyeon lets out a laugh. It's sweet-sounding and dulcet and Yoojung tries hard not to melt. “What do you mean, ‘why not’? Because it’s a lie.”

Doyeon’s remark is brief and said with such ease and normalcy that it seems so insignificant, but it doesn’t take a high school degree to figure out that it was practically an indirect way of saying ‘You’re pretty’.

And Yoojung humiliatingly finds herself turning into the protagonist of a banal coming-of-age teenage romance novel; her heart fluttering just a tiny bit, her cheeks blushing to a light pink tint, and her words would come out in stutters and hesitation if they weren’t getting stuck at .

"Uh—but—earlier, you just said—admitted—to being ugly!” Yoojung blurts out, her hands retracting to her lap.

Doyeon smiles at her, raising an eyebrow. “You’re right, I did. Why, did you think that was a lie?"

Yoojung pauses before saying the first thought that had entered her mind. “Obviously. Anyone with eyes would think you're pretty.”

Doyeon’s smile turns into a sheepish idiotic grin at Yoojung’s words (she too is a teenage girl herself after all, though Yoojung may have forgotten because the entire thing—or maybe it’s just Doyeon—still seems kinda surreal to her). Yoojung finds herself involuntarily returning the smile.