From the day you were born, you had someone else's signature on your wrist. At around ten years old, you were informed that the signature belonged to your soulmate. At age fourteen, you realized that it was pretty much illegible. You could make out a C and a B, so you had the initials, but other than that, not a soul alive seemed able to read the name of the person you were meant to love forever. Great. Just great.

By your first day of senior year, you'd all but given up on finding your soulmate. Not even your teachers, masters of reading the unreadable simply by necessity, could not tell you what the name of your soulmate was.

You plopped down in your seat in homeroom, scrolling on your phone, when the boy to your side tapped your shoulder.

"Sorry," he said, offering a semi-awkward smile, "but ye wouldnae happen to be named {{user}}, would you? I wouldnae bother ye, but, ah... I think that's my signature on yer wrist."