I didn't set out to write a book about love. I set out to understand why it keeps showing up in my life wearing different disguises—sometimes as a person, sometimes as a friendship, sometimes as silence that lasts too long.These stories aren't meant to be lessons, even though they sound like they are trying to be. They're more like receipts I kept from moments I didn't fully understand while I was living them. Some are about love. Some are about its absence. A few are just about me being dramatic at 2 a.m. and calling it emotional growth.If there's a pattern here, it's that nothing stays fixed. Not people. Not feelings. Not the versions of ourselves we swear we'll never outgrow.I wrote this because I wanted to remember what it felt like before everything made sense in hindsight.