10:45 p.m.

I looked at my phone screen, pulling it out of my hoodie's pocket.

Sighing, I got off the bench and started to walk to the exit of the local park.

I had decided to take a walk to clear my head...No….to see if I could spot anyone with the red thread.

But just my luck, there was no one around at this time. Only me and your usual drunk, a man in a suit with his tie tied to his head, who was passed out on the bench next to mine. He was too out of it to acknowledge my existence.

Should I walk him up? I thought to myself as I stopped by the bench he was laying on. But decided not to since who knows what he will do if he is not sobered up.

As I walked out of the park, I really started to doubt that I would ever see the thread again. It's gone. A rush of anxiety washed over me knowing that I won’t be able to see the threads again.

I don’t know why but I kind of liked knowing who was going to end up with who. And in a way, it felt that maybe it would be funny if one day I happen to run into someone, they might have a red thread connected to their pinky. That I would follow like with my eyes, and it just happens that it connects with me.

Hahaha.

I chuckled half-heartedly at my own silliness. “Damn, I think like a child” I mumbled as I lowered my head; looking down at the concrete sidewalk, which was illuminated by the little rusty orange glow of the street lamp a distance away.

A week later

I was on the school roof, my usual spot. My arms crossed on the ledge as I slumped over, just blanking out when I heard a sweet voice say my name “Baek~”,  from behind me. Not turning around, the said individual engulfed me in a back hug. They nuzzled up to me, burying their face in the center of my back.

“I haven’t seen you in so long~,” the muffled voice said.

“That’s because you are always busy with your choir group, ” I said as I moved my hands from their resting position and brought them to hold the small wrists of the person I once loved. I loosened the grip they had on me and turned to face them. I was brought face to face with a small girl about 5'2, who was now sporting short blond hair.

Noticing I was looking at her hair, she touched the ends of some of the strands and said “I decided to cut it and dye my hair. Do you like it?” She said in a small voice trying to divert from my gaze, trying to look cute.

“Everything looks nice on you. I really like it, but I preferred your old hairstyle more” I said smiling at her and she smiled back.

“Want to go home with me?” She said I looked her in awe. Why is she asking me to go home with her, we haven’t spoken to one another in 8 months.  

Grabbing m