I always thought I’d meet my soulmate at a coffee shop. Experience the whole shebang of curious lingering gazes, soft smiles, flushed cheeks, and that awkward stutter when you finally introduce yourself. 

It deserves a two out of ten on IMDB for the most cliche romance plot but hey- I’m quite fond of it.

That fantasy has officially gone down the drain because I’ve finally met my (ugh, I hate this word) soulmate. Am I a bit salty we met in the drabbest places to ever exist? Yes, very much so. Of all places, we find each other on a dusty rooftop with cracked concrete.

“Congratulations! You found your soulmate!” My phone sings in an animated voice. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, shifting in my seat.

My soulmate- Park Chanyeol- exhales a loud sigh. It was easy sneaking away from the group. Everyone else was too immersed in Hana and Sehun’s successful love story, they didn’t notice my world caving in on me. 

I almost threw myself off the damn rooftop. But then I remembered I can’t die. Haechan, that , would enjoy it too much if I’m gone. 

Now I sit in an empty classroom, face to face with the guy an algorithm designed by Japanese scientists deems my soulmate. (yes, it’s italicized because I hate the word) 

It’s awkward, to say the least, and the silence is suffocating.

Chanyeol scratches the back of his neck and finally, he speaks. “I don’t even know your name,” he blurts.

I lean in a fraction of an inch closer, folding my hands on the desk. “It’s Lee Haewon.”

He nods slowly, dark eyes wandering around the room, refusing to meet mine. “Cool. I’m- uh, Park-.”

“Park Chanyeol,” I drawl, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “I know your name. Everyone knows your name. Every girl who goes here wants you to back her 

against a wall and her midair.”

Chanyeol blanches and I roll my chapped lips. Oopsie daisies.  

I apologize for my crude words. “Sorry. Too graphic?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, combing back his brown hair.

“A bit.”

“I have no filter,” I announce, and Chanyeol shrugs it off. We fall back into a moment of silence and I so graciously end it by allowing my mouth to work its magic.

I start to ramble. “How is this going to work? Am I allowed to other people?”

Chanyeol’s eyes widen and I continue. “We’re not together, it’s not cheating, but we’re-.” I pause to make air quotations. “Soulmates. Yuck. Sorry, not yuck like ew, I’m just not sold on the idea of my soul being connected- oh you know what, forget it. What are we supposed to do with this information and-.”

“Haewon,” Chanyeol cuts me off, reaching over the table to pinch my lips shut. My forehead puckers and he scoffs under his breath. “Soulmates.”

He’s not a believer.

“It’s just a stupid app,” he sighs wearily and I raise an eyebrow. “We don’t have to believe it.”

I blink at him and he leans back against the chair, arms folding on his chest. “I suggest we report it to the app creators that they made a mistake. Because this-.” Chanyeol motions to the space between us. “It’s not going to work out.”

I suppress a frown. Such confidence rings in his no-nonsense tone. A mistake, he claims. I’m pretty sure the Japanese don’t make many mistakes when it comes to science but hey- whatever, I guess. If he thinks we’re a mistake then, be my guest. Not like I care. 

I inhale sharply. Okay, maybe I do care a teeny tiny bit. C’mon, we’re supposedly soulmates and he calls us a mistake? That stings. 

“Look, I-.” Chanyeol in air through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge and finally, for the first time, meets my gaze. 

His eyes are pretty. Stars dance in his pupils.

“I have a girlfriend,” he reveals and those stars turn to ash. “She goes to another school district. We’ve been together since sophomore year.”

“Together for three years?” I huff. “Wow, the must be good,” I muse, masking my unease with uncouth thoughts. 

“Is everything ual with you?” Chanyeol makes a face at me and I shrug. 

He clicks his tongue. “I’m not opposed to getting to know you, Haewon,” he says politely as if I’m a business client and we’re talking numbers. My frown twitches into a forced tight-lipped smile. “I just don’t believe in-.” He waves a hand over his phone screen. “Whatever this app is.”

“Same,” I reply a bit too quickly, picking on a hangnail. “We can hang outfrom time to time. Keep it casual, chill, whatever.”

“Yeah,” Chanyeol breathes, and goddamnit, here comes another awkward pause. 

This time, I combat it with my favorite language. Sarcasm.

“Shame, I was already planning our wedding.” I pause for dramatic effect. “I was looking forward to marrying you, beanpole.”

Chanyeol furrows his brows. “What did you just call me?”

“It was going to be a destination wedding in the Bahamas, Mr. Stilts,” I go on, pitching my voice up and wailing. 

“Mr. Stilts?” Chanyeol echoes.

“There was going to be a chocolate fountain, an ice cream bar, and photos at the beach with the sunset in the background!” I gasp dramatically, then pout. “Way to ruin my dream, daddy long legs.”

“Daddy, what?” Chanyeol barks out a laugh. 

“Long legs,” I clarify, “Because you’re tall.”

“Ha. Ha.” He playfully rolls his eyes. “You’re funny, chipmunk.”

“Chipmunk?” I squeak.

“Yeah, because you’re short.”

Touché. 

Wait for it. It’s simmering, simmering, boiling, and- I’m not that short! 

I inhale sharply. “I will gouge your eyes out.”

“Can you even reach my face?” Chanyeol scoffs.

The audacity!

A growl rips from my throat and Chanyeol chuckles boyishly, broad shoulders trembling.

I stick my tongue out at him and he reaches over to flick my forehead. 

We’re interrupted by a ringtone, our eyes falling to our phones. Chanyeol grabs his phone before it vibrates off the table.

“That’s my girl,” he tells me, an endearing smile slithering up his damn handsome face. 

My chest tightens the way Haechan used to squeeze his juice boxes. 

“Cool,” I blurt, and Chanyeol gets on his feet, answering the call.

Walking backward, he waves goodbye and offers me a soft smile. 

I don’t return the gesture, keeping my expression placid. 

“Soulmate app? No, baby, I didn’t download it.” I hear him lie as he exits the room, leaving me, his soulmate, alone.

The Soulmate app is all everyone is chattering about. It’s hot gossip, the trend of the decade. 

It’s a miracle to some, a nuisance to others. 

“It’s ridiculous,” Lee Jeno grumbles under his breath, slamming his locker door shut. “This app is an unnecessary distraction.”

He fights the crowd of students with their eyes glued to their phone screens. Haechan stumbles after him, struggling to match his pace.

“It’s boosting morale. I haven’t seen people this excited since Flappy Bird dropped,” Haechan points out, and Jeno scoffs, entering their classroom.

He fails to see the bright side of it. Lee Jeno thinks love is a mere social pressure people feel obligated to obtain to fit in.

On the other hand, Choi Hana thinks love is the reason humans live and breathe. What’s not to love about love, is her motto and by golly, she loves everything about her love.

“A ninety-two.” Hana beams, showing her friends her test paper. 

Mark lets out a relieved sigh when he sees his score printed in red ink. “A solid eighty. Not bad, yo!”

Jaemin flaunts his 78 like it’s a perfect score. He couldn’t care less about grades. To him, success is arbitrary.

“Smart girl,” Oh Sehun coos, dropping a kiss on Hana’s forehead. Her cheeks flush and she leans into his open arms.

Sitting in the back of the room, Jang-mi fights the urge to gag. She’s not a grump who hates the idea of romance- she’s not Lee Jeno for Christ’s sake- but she admits that seeing others blissfully in love, makes her feel green. 

Hana is one lucky, lucky, girl. 

The shadow that looms over her desk steals her attention. Jang-mi smiles meekly at her homeroom teacher. Ms.Kwon frowns and Jang-mi knows she ed up. 

Twiddling her thumbs at the school office, she nervously stares at her knees.

Ms.Kwon smacks her test paper on the desk, the 58 bold in red marker.

“Only a month of school and you’re failing, Jang-mi,” she sighs. 

“I’m aware,” Jang-mi murmurs. 

Ms. Kwon adjusts her glasses. “Tell me how to help you, Jang-mi.”

“Give me the ability to slow time or teleport,” she quips and Ms.Kwon exhales a loud sigh. 

“Jang-mi, this is serious,” the middle-aged woman stresses.

I know! Jang-mi wants to yell. She wants to grab her by the shoulders and scream in her face that she knows. It isn’t even her fault she’s failing. Okay, yes it’s her fault, but only about 60%. 

“School policy states I must assign every failing or struggling student with a peer tutor,” Ms. Kwan declares. “If your grades don’t improve in a couple of weeks, we’ll have to contact your parents.”

“Parent,” Jang-mi mutters under her breath. No S. She has only one. A mother, and good luck trying to contact her. 

“Report to the library straight after school,” Ms. Kwon concludes and Jang-mi returns to class with slumped shoulders.

Even though she very passionately opposes the idea of being tutored, Jang-mi obediently heads to the library when the end-of-day bell rings. 

Wrinkling her nose at the smell of printer paper and books, she skids to an abrupt stop by the study table. 

“You’ve got to be ing kidding me,” Jang-mi hisses. 

Lee Jeno glances up from his book, and he immediately wishes he could strangle himself with the peer tutor lanyard around his neck. Jang-mi makes a scene of stomping her feet and falling onto a chair. 

“I’m not happy about this either but we’re both forced to be here, so let’s get along,” Jeno drawls, and Jang-mi huffs. 

“Fine.”

Jeno s his backpack and pulls out a clear folder. Meticulously pulling out a stack of paper, he states. “You’re an astonishingly terrible student.”

Jang-mi makes a face at him. “I’m not terrible.”

“Your grade average in every subject is below forty percent,” Jeno scoffs.

He smacks her progress check on the table. Jang-mi refuses to look at it, hollowing in her cheeks to swallow the shame. She shifts her eyes to the marked test laying on top of Jeno’s textbook.

“How did you score a 102?” She blurts, and Jeno trails her gaze to his proud accomplishment.