Note: We've got a fair bit of drama here... maybe too much to be honest. But I don't have time to change it, since I spent the day writing chapter eight, so you get this. 

Jay hadn't been sleeping very well. All he could think about was her. His parents wouldn't let him leave on his own since the storm, and he was dying to know how she was. Why couldn't he get her out of his thoughts? She was only a friend–she had saved him from the storm, yes, but he had felt this way about her long before that. He just needed to talk to her. Maybe he could figure out his feelings then.

His parents made him send a little basket and a note with the mailman to thank her–he was hardly allowed out of their sight these days. He imagined her reading it. Would she be offended that he hadn't brought it himself? What if she hated him?

Of course she won't hate me, he told himself. Why was he so worried about her disapproval? He often did silly things around his friends, and never worried about that. But with her, it was so different. He cared so much about what she thought of him. He almost thought she was too good for him. She was so pretty after all, and of course she was the thread-mage. What did she even want with him? Maybe it was good that he had stopped being able to see her. Maybe she was glad.

It was only in the dead of night, when he was alone and unoccupied, he sometimes let the most scandalous thought of all slip into his mind. That maybe he was in love with the thread-mage after all. That couldn't be, of course, but he didn't see what else could be wrong with him. The way he felt about her . . . the closest thing he could compare that feeling to was peoples' description of how they felt upon meeting their soulmates.

Their soulmates. He sighed, wondering if he even had one at all. All that time he'd spent with her, and she'd never been able to tell him his soulmate, or even if his thread was broken at all. He knew she felt sorry–whenever she told him again what she had before, she had a strange look on her face. Sad, yes, pitying, but also deeply guilty, as if it was somehow her fault that she couldn't tell him.

It wasn't her fault, though. It wasn't as if she was lying to him. What was there to lie about? He was just a very strange, rare case like she said.

But, what if–

Suddenly, the strangest, craziest idea came into his mind. What if she had been lying to him the entire time? What if she was his soulmate?

She had certainly looked panicked the first time she read his thread. She was used to giving people bad news–what reason would she have to be so alarmed? He had always thought she just felt sorry for him, but now he realized it had been different than that. It went way beyond the regret of telling him he'd have to wait a few years to have his string read. It was more than that. She had realized he was her soulmate, and hadn't known what to do. And who could blame her? Everyone knew the thread-mage must remain withdrawn from society.

He knew he had to talk to her. He had to see if he was right. But his parents wouldn't let him go. Not when they were awake. His only choice was to go now, and be back before they were up.

It was a little past midnight. He dressed quickly and tiptoed through the house, going out the back way so as not to go past his parents' room. He wove through the small trees and piles of junk and lumber in the backyard, making his way out to the dirt road.

He followed the familiar path across town, more quickly than usual. Everything looked different at night, and it was much colder than he had expected. He could see his breath in the air. But that didn't stop him.

When he arrived, he realized the flaw in his plan. He had no idea what to do now. She was probably asleep, and who knew where she was in the enormous house. How would he wake her?

He started by going to the usual door, and knocking. He waited, then knocked again more loudly, then waited longer. No reply. But that was the business side of the house. He needed to go around to the other side, where the mage's personal quarters were. After spending the night in the personal part of the house, he knew the approximate place her bedroom was in. So he chose the door nearest to it, and rapped hard with his frozen knuckles. He waited, losing hope. Maybe she wouldn't come. Of course she wouldn't. She must be asleep, after all.

Then he heard running footsteps, and the door opened quickly. Nya was wearing a long, white, wrapped gown, and her feet were bare. Her brown eyes were wide.

"What is it? Is there another storm? Is something wrong?" She asked, breathless.

"No. Well, sort of. I just . . . think I figured something out, and I want to talk to you."

"Okay." She said cautiously. "I'd been wondering when you'd come. I certainly didn't expect it to be at this hour."

"I know, I'm sorry to wake you. But my parents won't let me leave on my own after the storm. They've suddenly become super overprotective."

"Sounds like my brother." She said, "And it's alright. I haven't been sleeping very well, anyway. Come in."

He followed her inside. She was beautiful in her nightdress–almost angelic looking. The gown was also sleeveless, and showed her pale arms. I shouldn't be thinking about that right now, he reminded himself.

She led him into the formal sitting room, and they sat awkwardly on opposite ends of the red velvet sofa.

"So, what do you have to tell me that's so important you couldn't wait a few hours until morning?" She asked.

"I . . ." He fidgeted, trying to think how to say it. He should have thought of this before knocking on her door in the middle of the night, but now it was too late.

"You said you figured something out?" She prompted. He wondered if she guessed what he was going to say.

"Yes." His face was strangely hot for no reason. "I just . . . I was wondering . . . I mean, I know you told me lots of times that you can't tell who my thread is tied to, but . . . I think maybe you were lying. I think . . . you're my soulmate."

She was quiet, and he didn't know if she was going to burst out laughing at his theory, try to deny it, or tell him that he was right. She was silent for so long he almost wondered if she had gone into shock. Or maybe she would just refuse to say anything about it. But no, she had to say something.

"Yes, that's right." She said finally. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I just thought it would be easier. I hoped you'd never figure it out," She sighed, not in an annoyed way, but in a regretful one. "But now that you have, I must ask you–do you love me?"

She said it so emotionlessly, so casually, that he didn't know what to say.

"It's alright if you do," She said when he didn't answer. "I thought you might, since you just kept coming back to visit me, for no reason."

"The reason is that you're a good person, and you haven't got any friends." He objected. But he couldn't lie to her. He sighed. "But . . . I do, I think. I can't help it. That's how I figured the whole thing out."

She nodded, carefully expressionless. "I assumed so. And . . . I don't know what to do. You know I have obligations, but . . . I think I love you too." The last part she said so quietly he could hardly hear her. "We could be together, but only in secret. People already whisper about us. And it would be selfish of me. I can't give you happiness. I can't give you anything. But I still love you."

"I love you too! I do," He said. He could hardly believe it, but of course she loved him. She was his soulmate, she couldn't help it. But he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, "But it's forbidden!"

"You think I don't know?" She snapped, suddenly fierce. "My predecessors would scorn me. So would everyone in town. So . . ." She paused, as if forcing herself to say what she thought she should. "I can't. I can't do that to either of us. And we shouldn't see each other any longer. It wouldn't be fair."

"But–couldn't we leave? We could run away, and never look back." Even as he said it, he knew they couldn't do that. Neither of them could leave.

"No." She said firmly. "I have my duties, and my vows. That would be forbidden and treacherous, and negligent of me besides. My purpose is to be the thread-mage, and train the next one when she comes along. I should never have let us grow close in the first place. I think you should go. And don't find your way back again if you know what's best for both of us." He thought her voice sounded a little funny, sort of choked, but maybe he was imagining it.

He wanted to say something, to beg her not to do this, but his eyes were stinging and he had a strange lump in his chest, and he knew that if he tried to argue he might start to cry. And that was the last thing he wanted to do in front of this very pretty girl, who had just told him that she loved him.

So instead, he nodded, and feeling the tears coming, he ran out into the night, looking back only once to see the white clad girl standing in the doorway. He was too far away to see the expression on her face, but when she saw him turning to see if she was there, she turned away herself and fled into the house.