I used to imagine that soulmates came wrapped in fireworks — dramatic, obvious, like a scene from a movie. That they’d arrive with a soundtrack, a spotlight, and a certainty that would make every question in my heart go quiet. But I’ve learned that soulmates are often quieter than that. They don’t always announce themselves.
I met mine when I wasn’t looking. Isn’t that how all good stories usually begin? I wasn’t wearing armor that day. I was just myself — a woman who’d been through a lot, and rebuilt too often. He didn’t come with fireworks, not exactly. But he felt familiar. Like déjà vu in human form.
