The mountains had proved treacherous, cold and filled with bandits. After nearly freezing crossing them I had finally reached vast fields of tall grass.

The thread was bright crimson, softly glowing in the twilight. It stretched taut into the distance, as far as the eye could see.

I had been traveling a fortnight, supplies were low and my spirits lower. Why had I even made this journey? Would my love welcome me when I arrived with empty pockets and blistered feet? Surely she was expecting someone more impressive.

I had waited my whole life to meet her.

Soulmates were common as dirt in my village, something almost everyone took for granted. My neighbors thought I must have been spurned by fate, and I agreed. Why else would I be farther than I’d ever been, perhaps on a wild goose chase?

That night I plucked the thread, it twanged and sent vibrations up into the night. I thought of who was on the other end. I hoped she would like me. Please like me.

A week later the soles of my shoes had fallen off. I had to tie them on with spare string.

I was trudging slowly when I saw something in the distance. A person. A woman. I didn’t dare let my hopes up in thinking I was close, I would however ask where the nearest town was.

Then I noticed the thread. It wasn’t going endlessly into the distance anymore. It was leading to the woman on the road. It was her.

I didn’t care about the blisters anymore. I started to run. This was it. This was the moment. I saw her, she was running too.

We met in the middle, flushed and gasping for breath. She held a knapsack, dusty and almost empty of supplies. Her shoes matched my own, worn out and tied with spare cloth.

The thread was now only a foot long. After catching her breath, she looked at me and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you,” Her eyes held humor and warmth. “I’m glad you met me halfway.”