Prompt: Everyone is born knowing a song only they and their soulmate know. One night, after you go to bed, you hear someone break into your house. They’re humming your song.
I ease my way out of bed, careful to avoid the creaky spot in the floor. I take a moment to compose myself and steady my breathing. I’ve prepared for this. I knew this day would come. I keep to the walls and make my way out into the hallway. My would-be assassin isn’t exactly quiet; it sounds like she’s… humming?
I freeze. I know this song.
My heart sinks. It’s her. It must be. My brain suddenly stops working.
How do I kill her? How could I possibly kill her?
I swear under my breath. I was supposed to be better than this. Stronger than this. And now this random woman is about to kill me because I believe in soulmates. God, that’s embarrassing.
The girl starts to hum louder. At first, I’m almost offended. This is the hitman they send after me? One who can’t even keep her mouth shut? After a moment, a thought occurs to me: does she want to be found? Or is she… waiting for a signal?
I steel my nerves and, already regretting my decision, begin to hum along.
We hum together for a few seconds, then she stops and walks into the centre of the living room. Her hands are raised so that her gun isn’t pointed at me.
“Maria?” she calls cautiously.
I clear my throat and move so she can see me. I’m going to die. I’m such an idiot. Why am I doing this.
But then she smiles, and it’s so full of relief that I actually feel guilty.
“Wow,” she breathes, and I’m not sure what to say.
Then she fires her gun.
I drop to the ground, expecting to be hit, but her bullets fly nowhere near me. Two hit the living room window and a third shatters the mirror hanging on the wall. Immediately, she holsters her weapon, then turns away from me. To my amazement, she bends down and tips my couch over before glancing at me.
“I assume you have a bag packed?” she asks.
Numbly, I nod, and she nods back.
“Good. Get it.”
I rush back to my room and grab my bag from the foot of my bed. When I return, she’s already halfway out the door.
“Are you coming?”
“Wait,” I say, breathless. “Who are you? Why didn’t you kill me?”
She looks over her shoulder, her delicate features illuminated in the moonlight and her black hair glistening. “I’m Monica,” she replies. “And apparently, we’re destined to be together.”