She exhaled, tilting her head against the edge of the tub, watching me. “I believe in love,” she said after a moment. “Just…not the kind people think they want.” I watched her fingers trail through the water, tracing invisible shapes, like she was still thinking it through. “People want love to be this big thing,” she said. “Some grand, all-consuming, meant-to-be kind of thing. The kind that comes with dramatic declarations and fate pulling two people together in impossible ways.”

I nodded slightly, letting her keep going.

“But I don’t think love is supposed to be some big thing. It’s not the big confessions in the rain, or the dramatic kisses in an airport before someone gets on a plane. It’s not supposed to be all these pre-planned, perfectly packaged moments. I think real love is quieter. Smaller.” She paused, staring up at the ceiling. “I think love is in the little things. Like… I don’t know. Like making sure the other person gets home safe. Like tying someone’s shoelaces when they’re too tired to do it themselves. Or knowing which songs to skip when you’re in a bad mood. Or always letting them have the last bite, even if you really want it. Love is pulling the blankets over someone in the middle of the night. Looking at them during the best part of a movie, just to see if they’re smiling. Memorizing their order at every fast-food place. Saying ‘text me when you get home,’ and actually staying up until they do. Sitting on the bathroom floor with them when they’re sick, even if they tell you to leave.”

I swallowed hard.

I knew that one was about me.