The first string was violet, as many were. A co-worker I rarely spoke to, apart from telling her coffee orders. I refused to be excited because I refused to be brave. Then one day, she knocked three coffees off the machine that she was in the middle of making. Hot coffee poured onto her hands, the floor became a hazard, and she burst into tears in front of all the customers. The only other girl on shift that day, I took her to the staff room, and comforted her while she told me the details of a long-term friendship breakdown. I did not tell her then,that we were tethered, but she became a friend anyway.
It was her twenty-third birthday dinner where I met a girl who had a strand of indigo hanging limply at her waist. We were sat next to each other, so I almost missed it, but when I caught it, my heart soared. I grabbed it and pulled it back down into place, steadying it with the logic that this girl and I did not know each other. We exchanged small talk, Instagrams, and then never spoke again.
While scrolling through her account that night, I saw a line of blue so bright, so high quality in contrast to the photo’s blurry aesthetic, that it had to be real. I tapped the tag on theboy’s face and was overwhelmed by the amount of blue his account held. I had seen this before in indigo and violet—strands hooked from the waist of photo subjects—but never blue, never through my phone. For a likely pathetic reason, I felt hopeful, like I was making progress. Blue through the phone, what a new and exciting discovery. I decided to follow him.
We met in person while I was at work. I recognised his face from the photos, but he did not know me at all. He must have felt strange seeing my bright smile, but not as strange as his friend beside him. The friend wore a brown corduroy jacket which passed his hips, so when I saw the thread of green leaking out from beneath, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I realised then that I was searching for the strings. My eyes had gotten keen since seeing the blue all over a strangers’ Instagram account. I wanted this.
They ordered their coffees to have in, so I got to deliver them myself. When I reached them, I decided to be brave, because why not? We were all living in the same world, all had hearts that beat out of our chest at the thought of this same possibility running through my very head. I told him.
You’re green, was all I said. He beamed at me. Is that so?
He came back at the end of my shift, and we sat together, scrolling through his
Instagram following list for any yellow. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a social media guy, so after 187 people we were finished, and left with no new leads.
It’s a shame, he said. I nodded in agreement. No, I mean, it’s a shame that it wasn’t me.
I’m sorry to admit I felt that disappointment, too. I couldn’t believe the kindness of this handsome stranger, coming all the way back just so I could find you. I told him I hoped you were even kinder. We exchanged numbers, agreeing to be friends.
It was the following year when my now-not-new friend texted me, asking me to drop him a bagel. He worked in the same city, not too far from the café, and I was almost finished work for the day. I packaged a salmon and cream cheese bagel, plus a cappuccino, because his kindness had taught me a lot over the last few months. When I arrived at his office, the receptionist made me wait as they called him down. The elevators opened, and I stood to deliver my gift, but it wasn’t my friend who walked out. Instead, a group of people in neutral suits filed out, filling the foyer with chatter and laughter. They were packed so tightly together that I almost missed it, the yellow string hanging taut at a hip I could not place a face
I had stopped looking, to be completely honest. I was a little heartbroken that my friend was not more, and needed time to heal, while also keeping absolutely no distance from him.
But the string was a surge of electricity. It brought me back to life, reminded me that there was more to living than dropping off lunch to a friend who would one day find his own soul mate and treat her as well as he treated me. I waited for him to come down, and he shared his lunch break with me in the foyer while I waited for the single yellow string at my own hip to loosen. That’s how I knew they were near, and when the group returned, I jumped out of my seat. I had made it this far, I needed to be brave until the end.
Excuse me, I called out. One or two looked my way, both women, but they were all I needed. The rest of the group walked on without them, not even seeming to notice their absence, and that’s when I saw the other end of it. Attached to a woman who wore an impatient smile.
It’s yellow, I stated. She nodded slowly, understanding, but also not caring. I’ve never seen a yellow string before. Do you mind if—
Sorry, she interrupted, with no attempt to sound genuine. I have to get back to work.
I stepped back, let her go. There was nothing else I could do. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream in frustration. I was so close. The other woman lingered, offered me an apologetic smile. She had no string, she was useless to me, but I smiled back, anyway.
It was over, I was defeated. I had put myself out there despite my fears, and it backfired. I spent many nights crying in bed. Many work breaks crying in the staff room. This time, my co-worker and friend comforted me. Then, at the end of the year, my new friend invited me to his work Christmas party. I knew it was his attempt to get me to see her, the lady who ignored me, but as I had gotten older, I had also had less excuses to go out, so I went. But I was not speaking to her again. I was done with my quest.
Until I saw him. Her husband, standing by the food table, orange pouring out from his hip, streaming across the makeshift dance floor, and rising back up to me. One strand away. I was one strand away from finding you. And if these last two years had taught me anything, it was that being brave sometimes made me look foolish, it sometimes brought me shame, but it also led me to closer to you.
I marched across that dancefloor, heart beating rapidly. I could have just walked around the floor like a normal person, but I could hardly think straight, so instead I dodged dancers left and right, until finally, finally, I reached him.
Excuse me. I tapped his shoulder. He spun around, mouth full of cob loaf, eyes wide like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and then, There’s a string of orange tying me to you, and I don’t know if you care, or could even help if you did, but I’m so close to finding my soulmate, so please, give me something. Give me anything.
He blinked back at me, swallowed the cob loaf, cleared his throat.
Swing by my office next week. My boss is a young lad like yourself. Plenty of money, too. He gave a wink. I blushed at the thought of me being fated to wealth. I had never cared much for money, was still trying to figure my life out, but a corporate man with some cash to spend on me surely wouldn’t hurt.
But you know what actually didn’t hurt? Walking into an unfamiliar building the following week, the receptionist being out, getting lost on my way to the elevators, the receptionist returning, the receptionist seeing me wandering confusedly, the receptionist calling to me, turning around thinking the receptionist was trying to redirect me, a slither of red, a roman candle, my eyes meeting the receptionist’s. My eyes meeting yours.