The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

The truth, Adam, is that your friend, your collaborator, a
person you clearly love and are close to, is horrid and
despicable. He told me things that might be truths, or maybe
lies—I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything
anymore, and I would love to ask you, so badly. But I’m
terrified that he might be right, and that you won’t believe me.
And I’m even more terrified that you will believe me, and that
what I tell you will force you to give up something that is very
important to you: your friendship and your work with him. I’m
terrified of everything, as you can see. So, instead of telling
you that truth, I will tell you another truth. A truth that, I think,
will be best for you. A truth that will take me out of the
equation, but will make its result better. Because I’m starting
to wonder if this is what being in love is. Being okay with
ripping yourself to shreds, so the other person can stay whole.
She inhaled deeply. “The truth is, we did great. And it’s
time we call it quits.”
She could tell from how his lips parted, from his
disoriented eyes searching hers, that he wasn’t yet parsing
what she’d said. “I don’t think we’ll need to explicitly tell
anyone,” she continued. “People won’t see us together, and
after a while they’ll think that . . . that it didn’t work out. That
we broke up. And maybe you . . .” This was the hardest part.
But he deserved to hear it. He’d told her the same, after all,
when he’d believed her in love with Jeremy. “I wish you all
the best, Adam. At Harvard, and . . . with your real girlfriend.
Whoever you may choose. I cannot imagine anyone not
reciprocating your feelings.”
She could pinpoint the exact moment it dawned on him.
She could tease apart the feelings struggling in his face—the
surprise, the confusion, a hint of stubbornness, a split second
of vulnerability that all melted in a blank, empty expression.
Then she could see his throat work.