"Do you, Christopher Blake Allister, want to break the soul string connecting you to your universe-approved?" I asked. 

We stood in the courtyard, all preparations already made for the Cutting. I wore the special glasses meant for the Cutting ceremony, that supposedly enabled my sight towards the soul string clearly. I didn't need them to see the string, but they were a part of the elaborate disguise we put to make it look like we were dependent on special tools. We seemed more believable and less of a threat when we worked with things that were tangible for our clients.

The glasses were technically used by us as children, to learn how to focus and not look at the world like a ball of yarn. They zeroed in on the string we decided to pay attention to, and made the rest negligibly faint.

The glass scissors were kept on the small pedestal at the north-end of the massive fountain we stood in front of. The scissors, too, were unnecessary. Mama Hale had used various tools, ranging from sharpened stones to knives and longswords.

The Cutting itself could be done anywhere, with anything. I had seen pictures of some great grand-uncle using his teeth to cut in the middle of a barnyard. As long as you could see the string, as long as it was tangible; no other factors amounted much.

Christopher inhaled sharply, "Yes."

I turned to face Misha, who stood in the sun holding hands with her soulmate. The white dress glowed as it reflected the sunlight. "Do you, Misha Carolyn Smith, want to break the soul string connecting you to your universe-approved?"

"Yes," her voice was soft, the sadness in it-unmistakable. 

"Then I, Evangeline Hale, do pronounce your soul connection broken forever."

I asked them to hold on tightly to each other once, and then take a few steps back maintaining the pressure on their own hands. As they did so, the string connecting them stretched taut.

Every soul string was specific to its pair. The texture, the design, the colour. It all varied from soulmates to soulmates. 

The string made one round around your wrist, tied in a knot, and extended the rest towards your meant-to-be. Every time a connection was forged, the different colours and textures from different people's string merged to form one beautiful union. 

And every time it was snapped cut, the beauty was destroyed. 

I hated those moments.

Picking up the glass scissors, I remembered all those times I had snapped the bonds. This was my thirty-fifth Cutting. Still a newbie by all means, but I was slowly getting used to the experience. The scissors felt cool in my hands, as if made of ice instead.

Snip.

The sound reverberated across the courtyard. A few of the employees in the building stopped by to watch us, not all of them gifted with the sight. The sound of the string breaking was one of the only proofs of its existence to the ones who couldn't see it. My earpiece crackled to life and I knew Stella had been watching. 

"It's over then?" Christopher was the first to break the reverent silence that had followed. His voice stimulated the rest to resume their work, and the hustle of the building continued around us. 

His voice was gruff, full of relief.

I nodded, not trusting myself to be able to speak.

Misha let out a small squeal, almost falling over. Her plus one caught her, and held on, hugging her closely to her chest.

Without meaning to, I took a look at their wrists, and sure enough, Misha's string was extending towards the girl in the pink dress. Her rough lavender string with shapes of yellow lemon slices fused with the new string of red having small green chillis.

Misha sobbed into her chest, heaving and dabbing at her eyes. The girl in pink looked up at the rest of us, glaringly at Christopher in particular, before her eyes locked with me. 

I could feel the question on the tip of her tongue, and I simply nodded.

Yes. It's her.

It felt like a boulder had been lifted off her shoulders. She gave me a small, knowing smile, and went back to consoling Misha, cooing soothingly into her ears. 

Christopher cleared his throat behind me, "I don't suppose you could tell me where my new soulmate is?"

I passed him a skeptical look. "Do you really want to find out?" 

"Yes, I-look, I- I just need that, right now," he replied, flustered, making me realise that the differences between them had stemmed from the fact that Misha believed her true soulmate was meant to be someone else. She had been with the girl in the pink for a while, and Christopher knew all about it.

I remembered the first day the two of them had come in to ensure that they were, in fact, soulmates, like the matchmakers had claimed. One look at them and I had seen the truth. They had left the session entirely deflated.

"If that is what you need," I replied slowly, "You can register at the Soul Search department. They will help narrow your area of search, and they will forward your case to the Matchmaking department to put the plan for your meeting in motion. I must warn you, these things take time, but it will let you feel like you're doing something substantial."

He nodded back, "That's all I need."

I removed my glasses and stared at his wrist. I could still see the string, but the specifics of the texture and design was gone. I could feel the strings of other people walking through the courtyard extending far away.

His extended at a much higher angle, indicating that his destined was much father away from our current position that most of the others.

I kept that information to myself.

I let him scheme his plan of action for his future and started walking back into the building. 

"Miss Hale!" A voice called out to me, and I slowed down in my tracks, turning. 

Christopher's plus one, that man of mystery, jogged up to me.

"Can we talk?"