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"But you don’t believe in love.” No. But I’m starting to believe in like.
Shut up, brain.
“I believe in love,” I said, “I just don’t think it’s worth the risk. Like when you’re dating someone, you’re either going to end up marrying that person or having your heart broken. It’s a fifty-fifty chance. And even if you do marry them, there’s another fifty percent chance you’ll end up divorced. At what point do people realize the odds are always stacked against them?”
“Isn’t that what makes it so special when you find the right person? The fact that you two were able to beat the odds?”
“Sure, but there’s still so many downsides to falling in love. Reading, however,” I said, pointing toward my glorious bookshelf, “gives you all the fun without the pain. A great alternative.
Our relationship was supposed to be fake. We had a clear contract that began and ended at school. But she’d given me more than that. She’d given me her weekends and her weeknights. She’d let me into her home. The girl literally ran over to my house because I needed her. And the dinner with her mom—putting me before herself like that? How could you not like someone with a heart so big?
Life didn’t have to fit into a four-sided box that was neat and tidy. It was okay if the box had three sides or the fourth one was hanging on with duct tape. It was okay if the corners were dented and if there was a big red FRAGILE sticker on top.
It was all okay.