I'm Claire, and I live in a world where soulmates exist.

I recently transferred to a new school. It wasn’t planned. My mom suddenly decided to move so she and my stepdad could live together. I didn’t argue. I just packed my things and followed.

The new school felt unfamiliar. The hallways were loud, the faces were new, and the air smelled different. I didn’t know where to sit, who to talk to, or how to act. So I stayed quiet. Observed. Tried not to be noticed.

And then I met him.

Michael.

I didn’t notice him at first. Not even the small throb on my pinky finger. I was too busy scribbling cats in my notebook, pretending I wasn’t nervous.

Then came the nominating of class officers.

Only then did he catch my eye.

He was fair-skinned, had curly buzzed hair, monolid eyes, tall, handsome—yet awkward—and smart. I scanned everything about him, trying not to stare. But what caught me the most wasn’t his face.

It was the red string.

Tied to his pinky finger. Glowing faintly.

Oh no.

That could only mean one thing.

Michael was my soulmate.

I looked down at my own hand. The string was there too. I hadn’t noticed it before. Not until now. It pulsed lightly, like it had just woken up.

In our world, only one in two could see the string. That’s how it worked.

So if I could see his... that meant he couldn’t see mine.

That day, my mind couldn’t focus. Not on the lesson, not on the teacher’s voice, not even on my notebook cats. All I could think about was the string. The way it glowed. The way it tugged gently whenever he moved.

Was this real?

Was he really mine?

I didn’t know what to do with that thought. So I kept quiet. Kept watching. Kept wondering.

The next day, our teacher rearranged the seating.

I was disappointed and relieved when Michael wasn’t seated beside me. That’s usually how it goes in short stories, right? Soulmates sit next to each other. Sparks fly. Eyes meet.

Instead, he was behind me.

Close enough to feel his presence. Not close enough to speak.

At some point, I wondered if the scientists were truly right about the red string. If fate really worked like that. If soulmates were even real.

But the string was still there.

Still glowing.

Still tied to him.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

-

Uh... Thank you for reading the first chapter of Only One Can See.

I'm just going to spat bullsht below since it says it needs 500 words

HI I don't know what to say to you I just want to know what's going on with you and I will be there for you and your family and your family and your family and family and family and family and family and family and family and family and family and family and

And I, thank you.

-Claire

We weren’t close. Not yet.

I didn’t know how to approach him. I didn’t even know if I should. But when the groupings came, I took the chance.

I joined the group performance—shockingly—only so I could talk to him. I wasn’t the type to volunteer for things like that. But I did. Just to be near him. Just to hear his voice when I asked about the answers.

And he didn’t disappoint.

Our group performance was about plants and humans. We had to show how they were similar or different—through reporting, acting, or debating.

I was glad I was placed in that group. Because we chose debating.

I like debating. I really do. But the nervousness that comes after the decision is hell.

I tried to calm myself down. I wasn’t used to public speaking. Whenever my teacher called on me to read or answer, my heart would race like I’d just run a marathon. My hands would shake. My throat would tighten.

So I asked if I could back out. Quietly. Hoping no one would notice.

But he did.

Michael.

He looked at me and said, “It’s fine. You can do it.”

Then he handed me his water bottle. Told me to breathe slowly. To count to four. To let my shoulders drop.

I did. I followed. And I think it worked.

During the debate, I didn’t feel nervous. Not really. I spoke. I laughed. I even made our teacher laugh.

Afterward, my classmates said I carried the team. That my speech made the whole thing fun.

I didn’t think so.

Everyone in my group was good. They didn’t show nervousness. They weren’t stiff or serious. They made it light. Playful. Like we were just talking, not performing.

And in the end, we got the highest score.

I looked at Michael.

He was smiling.

Not at me. Just in general. But it still made the string on my finger pulse.

Softly.

Like it was proud of me.

I didn’t say anything to him after that. Just packed my things slowly, hoping he’d say something first.

He didn’t.

But that was okay.

Because for the first time since I transferred, I felt like I belonged. Even just a little.

I opened my notebook and drew another cat. This one had a red string tied to its paw.

I stared at it for a while.

Then I wrote beside it:

“He told me to breathe. And I did.”

Maybe that was the start of something.

Or maybe it was just a moment.

But either way, it mattered.

And I think I’ll remember it.

-

Hiiiii--I can't really extend it because it'll ruin the plot.

I'm already done with this story, just publishing it hehe

Lemme just reach 500 words....

I have no clue where it came back but I'm sure it was the best way for me and my family.

- Claire

I lingered in the classroom after the performance.

Most of my group had already left, their voices trailing down the hallway. I pretended to fix my bag, even though it was already zipped. Pretended to wait for someone, even though no one was coming.

But really, I was just hoping he’d say something.

Michael.

He was still there, talking to one of the boys, laughing softly. He looked lighter than usual. Like something had lifted off his shoulders.

I watched from the corner of my eye, trying not to make it obvious.

The string on my finger glowed faintly. Like it was proud of me. I didn’t know strings could do that.

He walked past me, and for a second, I thought he’d keep going.

But then—

“You were really good,” he said.

I looked up. “Thanks.”

“You didn’t look nervous at all.”

I shrugged. “I was. I just forgot to panic.”

He laughed. Not loud. Just a soft chuckle, like he understood.

Then he said, “You made the teacher laugh. That’s rare.”

I smiled. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“I know. That’s why it worked.”

I didn’t know what to say after that. So I just nodded.

He didn’t leave right away. Just stood there, like he was waiting for something.

Then he said, “You’re new, right?”

I nodded. “Transferred last month.”

“Do you like it here?”

I looked around the classroom. The chairs were crooked. The windows were dusty. The air smelled like chalk and sweat.

But I said, “It’s okay.”

He tilted his head. “Just okay?”

I looked at him. “I don’t know yet.”

He smiled again. “Fair.”

Then he left.

And I stood there, staring at the door he walked through.

The string pulsed once.

Like it was saying, “That was something.”

Later that night, I opened my notebook again.

I drew another cat. This one was curled up, eyes closed, with a red string tied to its paw. I stared at it for a while, then wrote beside it:

“Almost conversations feel like almost confessions.”

I don’t know why I wrote that.

Maybe because I wanted to say more. Maybe because I wanted him to say more.

But we didn’t.

And that’s okay.

I think.

The next day, I saw him in the hallway. He didn’t see me. Or maybe he did and didn’t know what to say.

I didn’t say anything either.

But the string tugged gently.

Like it was reminding me.

We’re tied.

Even if he doesn’t know it yet.

-I really hope someone's going to read this.

I'll delete this app after since I just really like publishing and then vanishing.

I've deleted so many stories because no one was viewing it.

So I'm not going to expect for this one, I don't like that.

Btw, STILL A BIG THANKS IF YOU'RE READING THIS!

I really appreciate it.