Now the bottle sits on my bedside table, the faint scent of jasmine still lingering. I don’t see it as a cheap gift anymore. It’s a symbol of the love I almost overlooked — the love that lived quietly in his gestures, his patience, and his belief that small things could hold deep meaning.
He had always been like that. When money was tight, he’d bring me wildflowers instead of roses. When I was stressed, he’d make me tea without saying a word. His love was never loud — it was steady, gentle, and enduring.
The Lesson I’ll Never Forget
Sometimes the most beautiful gifts don’t come in fancy wrapping or shiny boxes. They come from hearts that give everything they can, even when the world calls it little.
I can’t turn back time. I can’t tell him I finally understand. But every night, before I turn off the light, I look at that simple bottle and whisper, “I see it now. I see you.”
And I do.
Because love, I’ve learned, doesn’t need to sparkle — it just needs to be real.
