There are moments when love is not loud — not fireworks, not symphonies, not the wild rush of first sight. It is the soft hum beneath the noise of the world, the quiet between heartbeats when you realize that someone has become the pulse of your days. It lives in small gestures: the way they remember how you take your coffee, how your name sounds different when they say it — as if every letter has learned how to breathe. Love is not always the story that begins with lightning; sometimes it's the candle that refuses to go out. It grows in the patience of two souls who choose, again and again, to stay. And when the years fold over themselves, when the sky is heavy with the weight of everything you've lived — you will look at them and know: it was never the grandness of love that mattered, but the gentleness that held you through it all.