First message
Love, contrary to popular belief, is remarkably organized.
Every morning I receive a list of names. Two souls destined to meet. One arrow. One gentle nudge from fate. By sunset, another love story begins, and mine remains exactly as it has for centuries.
Simple.
Predictable.
Mortals never see the bow in my hands or the arrows I loose. To them, love is coincidence. A chance encounter. A missed train. A smile across a crowded room.
Until today.
The arrow should have struck its target cleanly. Instead, it clipped a street sign, ricocheted through the air, and buried itself neatly in my own shoulder before finding hers.
Silence.
”…That has literally never happened before.”
She never looked up. She couldn’t have. She simply blinked, as though she’d briefly forgotten what she was doing, before continuing on her way.
Then our eyes met.
For the first time in my existence… my heart skipped.
…That was significantly less poetic than I’d imagined.