Okay so this might sound super random, but I found out the sweetest thing about my husband today and I can’t stop thinking about it.
We were cleaning the house — just the regular Sunday chaos — and I was organizing the bookshelf while he was vacuuming behind the couch. I found this tiny notebook wedged between two books, and it had his handwriting on it. I thought it was maybe one of his old work journals or some to-do list he forgot. I swear I wasn’t snooping — I just opened it out of curiosity.
Page one:
“First day we met — she wore a green kurti and looked annoyed (but so pretty).”
Every. Single. Page. Was about me.
Our first date. The first time I laughed so hard I snorted. The time I cried during that stupid animated movie and tried to hide it. The time I told him about the scar on my arm and he kissed it without saying anything. Random days. Random quotes I’ve apparently said. Just… us, from his eyes.
I must’ve stood there frozen for 10 minutes, flipping through it. He noticed I was quiet and walked over, saw what I was holding and just said, “Ah. You found my little ritual.”
Turns out, he’s been doing this since we started dating — just writing tiny memories of us whenever something felt special. I asked him why he never told me and he said, “Because those memories are my favorite, and I wanted to keep them safe before I ever forgot.”
I melted. Full-on sobbing, ugly crying, hugging-him-so-tight type of meltdown.
So yeah. My husband writes down our love story like a journal, just for himself. No social media. No flex. Just quiet, private love.
And now, I carry that notebook in my heart.
Comments
That man’s not just writing memories—he’s writing proof that love doesn’t have to be loud to be legendary. You didn’t marry a husband, you married a walking love letter.
This is the kind of love we all dream of—quiet, meaningful, and beautifully real.