This would kill him.

It didn’t matter how much he prepared; these next thirty minutes

were going to rip his heart out and pulverize it.

It was inevitable.

“We haven’t talked in a while.” She sounded equal parts accusing

and uncertain.

He didn’t blame her. If he were in her shoes, he would’ve given

up on himself a long time ago. She hadn’t, which made him love her

even more, but her loyalty made this conversation all the harder.

He rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands

together. He focused on the grain of the wood floors beneath his feet

until it swirled in front of his eyes.

“I’ve been busy.”

“With?”

“Classes. Bar plans. That sort of thing.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

His head snapped up at the sharpness in her voice. Looking at

her turned out to be a mistake.

His chest squeezed at the sight of her face and the hurt

swimming in those beautiful brown eyes. It’d been two weeks since

they were last alone together, but it may as well have been two

lifetimes.

His dread mixed with a strange exhilaration at being alone with

her again, and it took all of his willpower not to sweep her up in his

arms and never let go.

“Tell me the truth.” Her voice softened. “You can trust me.”It would be so easy to pretend everything was fine. To give her

the reassurances she wanted to hear and go back to the way things

were.

He did trust her—but the truth would shatter her.

So he did the only thing he could do: he lied.

“I’m sorry.” He wiped the emotion from his voice and funneled it

into the pit of despair swirling in his stomach. Could she hear it? The

panicked thump-thump-thump of his heart beating against his

ribcage, screaming at him to stop? “I didn’t want to do it like this, but

I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

Farrah’s face paled. His heart beat louder.

“What?”

He swallowed hard. “It was fun while it lasted, but the year is

almost over and I—I’m not interested anymore. I’m sorry.”

Liar.

“You’re lying.”

He flinched. She knew him well. Too well.

“I’m not.” He tried to sound nonchalant when all he wanted to do

was fall to his knees and beg her not to leave him.

“You are. You said you loved me.”

“I lied.”He couldn’t look her in the eyes.

Her sharp inhale twisted his heart into a painful knot.

“You’re full of shit.” Her voice quavered. “Look at you, you’re

shaking.”

He clenched his hands into fists and forced his body to still.

“Farrah.” This was it. His breath came out in short, shallow bursts. “I

got back with my ex-girlfriend over the holidays. I didn’t know how to

tell you. I love her, and I made a mistake here, with us. But I’m trying

to fix it.”

Her sob ripped through the air. Tears stung his eyes, but he

blinked them back.

“I’m sorry.” Such a stupid, inadequate thing to say. He didn’t know

why he said it.

“Stop saying that!”

He flinched at the venom in her voice. She clutched her necklace

with one hand, betrayal swirling in her eyes.

“It was all a lie then, this past year.”

He dropped his gaze again.

“Why? Why did you pretend you cared? Was it some sick joke?

You wanted to see whether I’d be gullible enough to fall for you?

Well, congratu-fucking-lations. You won. Blake Ryan, the champion.

Your father was right. You shouldn’t have quit. No one plays the

game better than you.”

So this was what dying felt like. The pain, frozen inside like a

lump of jagged black ice. The regret over words he couldn’t say and

promises he couldn’t keep. The loneliness as he slid into dark,

starless oblivion with no one left to save him.

“I’m sor—”

“If you say ‘I’m sorry’ one more time, I’ll go to the kitchen, come

back, and cut your balls off with a rusty knife. In fact, I may do that

anyway. You’re a fucking asshole. I’m sorry I wasted all this time on

you, and I’m sorrier for your girlfriend. She deserves better.”

God, he didn’t want her to leave hating him. He wanted, more

than anything, to tell her it was all a joke and that he was messing

with her. He wanted to grab her and breathe in that orange blossom

and vanilla scent that drove him crazy, to confess how head over

heels he was for her and to kiss her until they ran out of breath.

But he couldn’t. The first part would be a lie and the second…

well, that was something he could never do again.

Farrah walked to the door. She paused in the doorway to look

back at him. He expected her to hurl more venom at him—he

deserved it. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned away and closed the

door behind her with a soft “click” that echoed in the silence like a

gunshot.

His shoulders sagged. All the energy drained out of him.

It was over. There was no going back.

It was the right thing to do, and yet…

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. He

couldn’t get the image of her face out of his mind, the one that said

she thought so little of him she didn’t want to waste any more energy

yelling at him.

Because of her, he believed in love. The kind of knock-you-down,

once-in-a-lifetime-love he used to dismiss as a fantasy concocted by Hollywood to sell movies. It wasn’t a fantasy. It was real. He felt it to

his core.

If only they’d met sooner, or under different circumstances…

He’d always been a practical person, and there was no use

dwelling on what-ifs. Duty bound him to someone else, and sooner

or later, Farrah would move on and meet a guy who could give her

everything she deserved. Someone she would love, marry, and have

kids with…

The last intact piece of his heart shattered at the thought. The

shards pricked at his self-control until he could no longer hold back

the tears. Huge, silent sobs wracked his body for the first time since

he was seven, when he’d fallen out of a tree and broken his leg.

Only this time, the pain was a million times worse.

All their moments together flashed through his mind, and the boy

who’d once sworn he would never cry over a girl… cried.

He cried because he’d hurt her.

He cried because it kept his mind off the desperate loneliness

that weighed on his soul the moment she left.

Most of all, he cried for what they had, what they lost, and what

they could never be.

Eight months ago

“One classic milk tea and one honey oolong milk tea with tapioca.

Regular sugar, regular ice.”

Farrah Lin slid a twenty yuan note across the counter toward the

cashier, who smiled in recognition. Four days in Shanghai and

Farrah was already a regular at the bubble tea joint by campus. She

chose not to dwell on what that meant for her wallet and her

waistline.

While the staff prepared her order, Farrah examined the menu.

She knew nai cha (milk tea) and xi gua (watermelon). She

recognized a few other Chinese characters, but not enough to form a

coherent phrase.

“Here you go.” The cashier handed Farrah her drinks. “See you

tomorrow!”

Farrah blushed. “Thanks.”

Note to self: ask Olivia to make tomorrow’s run.

Farrah stepped out of the tiny shop and walked back to campus.

The sun began its descent and bathed the city in a warm golden

glow. Bicyclists and motorcyclists zipped by, battling with cars for

space on the narrow side street. The delicious smells wafting from

the restaurants Farrah passed mixed with the far-less-pleasant

scents of garbage and construction dust. Street vendors called out to

passersby, hawking everything from hats and scarves to books and

DVDs.

Farrah made the mistake of making eye contact with one such

vendor.“Mei nu!” Beautiful girl. It’d be flattering if Farrah didn’t know the

hard sell that accompanied such a greeting. “Come, come.” The

elderly vendor beckoned her over. “Where are you from?” she asked

in Mandarin.

Farrah hesitated before answering. “America.” Mei guo. She

dragged out the last syllable, unsure whether the admission would

hurt or help.

“Ah, America. ABC,” the vendor said knowingly. ABC: American-

Born Chinese. Farrah had heard that a lot lately. “I have some great

books in English.” The vendor brandished a copy of Eat, Pray, Love.

“Only twenty kuai!”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”

“How about this one?” The woman picked out a Dan Brown

novel. “I’ll give you a deal. Three books for fifty kuai!”

Farrah didn’t need new books, and fifty kuai (around $7 USD)

seemed pricey for cheap reprints of old novels. But the vendor

seemed like a nice old lady, and Farrah didn’t have the energy to

bargain with her.

She skimmed the English options and went straight for the

romance: Jane Austen, Nicholas Sparks, JoJo Moyes.Ok, Sparks and Moyes write love stories, not romance, but still.

Given the drought in Farrah’s dating life, she’d settle for any kind

of romantic relationship, even one that ended tragically. Well, maybe

not with death, but with a breakup or something. Anything that

proved the crazy head-over-heels love you found in books and

movies existed in real life.After a disappointing freshman year filled with mediocre dates

and fumbling stops at third base, Farrah was ready to give up on

reality and live in fantasyland full time.“I’ll take these.” She set her drinks on the ground so she could

pick up Pride & Prejudice (her personal favorite),