Valentine's Day arrives wrapped in red ribbons and rose petals, a kind gentle reminder to say the things we often forget to say out loud. Shops glow with chocolates and cards, and love suddenly seems louder, brighter, almost scheduled. And yes, it's v sweet, beautiful even but love was never meant to live only on a date circled in ink. Love is in the quiet cup of tea made without asking, in the message that says "Did you reach safely?", in the way we remember how someone likes their coffee or notice when they are tired without them saying a word. It is in ordinary Tuesdays, in random walks, in laughter that comes without planning. Real affection doesn't wait for permission from a calendar, it grows in the unnoticed spaces, in the small, stubborn acts of care we repeat again and again. Flowers given for no reason carry a deeper fragrance, words spoken on an unremarkable day linger longer, and kindness offered without occasion feels truer. So perhaps the most meaningful kind of love is the one that doesn't just wait for february, but blooms patiently through all the ordinary days of the year.