The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

It didn’t go perfectly, either. She stumbled on the word
“channelrhodopsin” twice, and by some weird trick of the
projector her staining looked more like a black blob than a
slice. “It looks different on my computer,” Olive told the
audience with a strained smile. “Just trust me on this one.”
People chuckled, and she relaxed marginally, grateful that
she’d spent hours upon hours memorizing everything she was
supposed to say. The room was not as full as she’d feared, and
there were a handful of people—likely working on similar
projects at other institutions—who took notes and listened
raptly to her every word. It should have been overwhelming
and anxiety inducing, but about halfway through she realized
that it made her oddly giddy, knowing that someone else was
passionate about the same research questions that had taken up
most of the past two years of her life.
In the second row, Malcolm faked a fascinated expression,
while Anh, Jeremy, and a bunch of other grads from Stanford
nodded enthusiastically whenever Olive happened to look in
their direction. Tom alternated between staring intensely at her
and checking his phone with a bored expression—fair, since
he’d already read her report. The session was running late, and
the moderator ended up giving her time for only one question
—an easy one. At the end, two of the other panelists—wellknown
cancer researchers whom Olive had to restrain herself
not to fangirl over—shook her hand and asked her several
questions about her work. She was simultaneously flustered
and overjoyed.
“You were so amazing,” Anh told her when it was over,
pushing up to hug her. “Also, you look hot and professional,
and while you were talking, I had a vision of your future in
academia.”
Olive wrapped her arms around Anh. “What vision?”