Finished: 23rd August 2019

Wendy lives in a world where her soulmate’s name is written on her, with their own handwriting. Just one problem, she can't ing read it.

“So like, why can’t it be some generic font, yeah? It’ll make life easier for all of us, but noooo, universe just loves to make it harder for us to find our other half. Hell, there’s not even a last name to help us.” Wendy droned on, not even bothering to check if her customer, a sleepy university student was still listening.

She was, but barely because what the hell, she was in the grocery store at 2AM to avoid socialization. Just her luck to encounter an enthusiastic, rose-tinted cheeks of a cashier, who ran 80 miles per hour. She nodded every now and then, just to be polite but since when did scanning 5 items took so damn long?

"Don't get me wrong, the whole personalization is cute and all, but really, what will you if your soulmate is like, illiterate? Or maybe they have piss poor handwriting that is barely legible."

Wendy shook her head dramatically, and the person in front of her wondered if she should just snatch the items in front of Wendy and scanned them herself, saving both of their time (mostly her own). When the thought crossed her mind, she shook her head slightly, chastising herself for even considering it but Wendy seemed to take it as a disagreement of sorts.

"I know! It's hard to believe, right? But some people do have horrible handwriting, it's hard to decipher even if all they have to do is write their own damn name! Look at this!"

Desperate to prove her point, Wendy pulled down her vest and undo a button of her button up, causing her customer to sputter in embarrassment. She really should not have come here at 2AM, alone, when there was no other cashiers or customers around. But it was too late. Wendy had already revealed her collarbone, jabbing at the scribble tattooed close to her shoulder.

"Look! What kind of name is this? Ice cream? Is that even a real name? There's not even a last name to help me look for this person; I'll never be able to find them!"

The customer who moments ago was pleading desperately (in her mind) for someone to walk in and save her, suddenly straightened up and squinted her eyes at the written name, even leaning closer to Wendy, which made the cashier extremely nervous, suddenly realizing that she did the Thing™ she always did whenever she got all worked up again: acting stupid.

It did not help that her customer this time was insanely pretty so Wendy felt like showing her a lot more than she already did (which was probably a crime, so she really shouldn't.)

The stranger let out a huff, tickling Wendy's collarbone and despite her attempt to control herself the cashier shivered slightly.

“It says Irene.”

Wendy was spacing out of the world by then, so it was natural for her to miss the woman’s words the first time around. She blinked, confused as the customer’s face turned irritated. Obviously, she no longer had any patience for Wendy’s antics.

“Pardon?”

“Irene. This says Irene. And…” Attractive stranger trailed off, hesitant to continue. “That’s my handwriting.”

“Oh.” Wendy said, feeling stupid.

“Oh, indeed.” Irene agreed, leaning away as she did.

A few more seconds passed in silence before Irene clutched her purse tighter to herself, taking tiny steps as she did so before eventually breaking into a jog.

“I change my mind; I’m not buying anything tonight. See you some other time, Wendell!”

Wendy's mouth fell agape. The stranger, her customer, Irene, would know her name. She wore a nametag and she was sure her own name, with her pretty, neat handwriting was written somewhere on Irene. How dare she! The audacity! It was an honest mistake in Wendy's part; it's not her fault Irene had indecipherable writing!