A review-room of romance experiments — lovers, ex-lovers, and bystanders file critical reports on the affairs that shaped them.
After reviewing 42 cases this quarter, the panel rules:
We do not publish love letters. We publish findings. Each case in this issue was filed under oath, swabbed for residue, and pinned under museum glass. The verdict columns are not opinions — they are measurements. If your name appears in these pages without your knowledge, you may file a rebuttal at the front desk. We are unlikely to print it.
Six weeks of overlapping shifts and one shared umbrella. Subject A claims the affair began over a stapler; Subject B claims it never began at all. The lemon-soap detail is the only point both parties confirm under questioning. Survived. Barely.
“I knew it was over when she started buying her own coffee again.”
Two unemployed novelists, one rented azulejo-tiled apartment, and a balcony overlooking the river. Witnesses report sustained laughter audible from the street. Tax records dispute the duration. Neither party will discuss the ending. Verdict: Inconclusive.
“We ran out of money before we ran out of patience. It is the only fair thing that ever happened to us.”
A four-day acquaintance produced a graphite floor-plan, scaled accurately, of a flat the subject had never entered. The architect claims dreams; the resident claims surveillance. The drawing has been entered into evidence. The case is sealed pending further measurement.
“The bookshelf was in the wrong place. Otherwise it was perfect. I never forgave him for the bookshelf.”
Subject and counter-subject met twice in person; the relationship was conducted, escalated, ratified, and terminated across 2,194 emails over fourteen months. The proposal arrived as an attachment. The dissolution, as an out-of-office reply that never resolved. Verdict: Cut Short.
“He asked in the subject line. I said yes in the body. We never spoke of it aloud.”
Three subjects, one orchid collection, sustained over eleven seasons. Each subject believed themselves the principal until the spring of 2024, when a watering schedule taped to the door revealed the rotation. None of the orchids survived. Two of the subjects did. Verdict: Triangulation.
“We were not in love with each other. We were in love with the same orchids.”
Twenty-two years of cohabitation, sustained largely by the joint care of a single ficus named Constance. Upon Constance's death (root rot, 2024), the marriage dissolved within ninety-three days. Witnesses agree the ficus was the more articulate of the three. Verdict: Stable Crystal — until shattered.
“We had nothing else in common but the watering.”
Each case is rated against four axes: Honesty (did the parties tell each other the truth, even cruelly), Endurance (was the structure load-bearing), Surface (did it look the way it felt), and Residue (what remains after dissolution). The score is the harmonic mean — a single bad axis tanks the verdict. No rounding.