Timer on My Wrist

Timer on My Wrist

By Abdul Muhammad

When I was born, my parents said the first thing they did wasn’t check if I had ten fingers and ten toes—it was to look at the timer on my wrist.

Everyone does it.

Most babies have timers that stretch across decades, glowing softly on their skin like a silent promise. Mine was short—just 22 years.

Mom said she cried with relief.

Dad said he panicked.

Either way, everyone who saw my wrist whispered the same thing: She’ll meet her person young.

I grew up with my countdown in mind, though I tried to pretend I didn’t care. Friends had timers stretching far beyond ours, and we used to joke about who would meet their soulmate first. When my timer dropped below one year, the joking stopped.

By the time it hit a week, I could hardly sleep.

The morning of my aunt Layla’s funeral, the timer read 00:00:15:27.

Fifteen hours.

I stared at it in the bathroom mirror, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth, heart doing double-time. Today was the day. I’d meet my soulmate while wearing a black dress.

It was a strange thing, waiting to meet someone in the middle of grief.

The funeral was packed. Aunt Layla had been the kind of woman everyone loved—loud, generous, full of life. Now she was gone, and her absence rang in the air like a struck bell.

I sat in the second row, staring at the casket, but every few seconds my eyes darted to the glowing numbers. 00:00:02:13.

Two hours.

I scanned the room like a detective, wondering if I could spot him before the timer hit zero. Was it the guy in the navy suit near the door? The one with the curly hair who looked a little too young to be here alone? Or the stranger near the coffee table, standing stiffly, as though he’d wandered in by mistake?

00:00:00:52.

I nearly stopped breathing.

It happened at the gravesite.

Everyone stood in a loose circle as the final words were said. I held Mom’s hand, trying not to cry. That’s when I felt it—my wrist warming.

The timer was gone.

It blinked once, then dissolved into my skin, leaving me staring at bare flesh for the first time in my life.

And then I saw him.

He stood across the circle, tall and slightly rumpled, as though he had gotten dressed in a hurry. His tie was crooked, his shoes dusty. His hands were jammed into his pockets, but his eyes—his eyes were fixed on me.

The kind of fixed where you just know he saw his timer disappear too.

For a second, no one else existed.

Not the mourners, not the priest, not the open earth.

Just the two of us, staring like idiots at each other over a fresh grave.

After the burial, people mingled, offering condolences and quiet hugs. My heart was still pounding as I walked over to him.

“Hi,” I said. My voice cracked.

He smiled, slow and almost shy. “Hi.”

“I guess we’re… you know.” I gestured vaguely at my wrist.

“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m Daniel.”

I told him my name. For a moment, we just stood there, two strangers bound by something bigger than both of us.

“I feel like I should say something profound,” he said finally, “but all I can think about is how weird this is.”

I laughed, a little too loudly, drawing glances from a few relatives. “Yeah. Really weird.”

We walked together to the edge of the cemetery, away from the crowd.

“Were you close to her?” Daniel asked softly.

“Aunt Layla? Yeah. She was the kind of person who believed in fate. She always said everything happens for a reason.”

He nodded. “Guess she’d be happy about this, then.”

I blinked back tears. “Probably. She’d say we were meant to meet here. Today.”

We didn’t exchange numbers right away. There was something strangely comforting about not rushing it, about just standing there, letting the reality sink in.

The sky was grey but soft, the kind of grey that makes everything quiet.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said gently.

“Thanks.”

“And I’m… glad I met you.”

That made me smile despite everything. “Yeah. Me too.”

When we finally parted, I glanced one last time at the grave, then at Daniel.

For the first time all week, the weight on my chest felt lighter.

Aunt Layla would have loved this.

That night, as I lay in bed, I caught myself staring at my bare wrist again, half-expecting the numbers to reappear.

They didn’t.

Instead, I thought of Daniel’s crooked tie, the way his eyes softened when he smiled.

The timer might be gone, but something new had started ticking inside me.

And I think Aunt Layla was right—everything really does happen for a reason.