my perspective on Valentine's Day
They wrote - lust, attraction, bond. All three stages are
activated by different hormones and chemicals. Stage 1: #Lust
It can be said that the first stage of love is the feeling
of lust which is stimulated by the hormones testosterone and estrogen secreted
in the body of both sexes. Infatuation is thirty days; desire is sixty days
story This is the stage! Stage 2: #attraction
This is the second level of love. It is in this state that
we cannot think of anything else and melt into love. What scientists say is
that adrenaline, dopamine, and serotonin's dopamine, three neurotransmitters
(they are called neurotransmitters because they transmit information in
neurons) play an important role in making us stuck in this state of love.
#Adrenaline
When we fall in love with a new person, our heart rate
increases, our mouth becomes dry, and our body heats up, all because of this
chemical called adrenaline.
#Dopamine
Dopamine is a type of neurotransmitter that sends signals to
other nerve cells. Dopamine is released during sexual activity, causing a
feeling of pleasure. If you look at the brains of newly infatuated people, the
levels of this dopamine will be greatly increased. In other words, love is as
intoxicating as cocaine.
Dopamine is the reason new love couples always jump, hungry
and sleepless. Dopamine is the reason why even the smallest details about our
boyfriend or girlfriend are important to us.
#Serotonin
Serotonin is generally believed to contribute to feelings of
happiness and well-being. Researchers have proven that this nerve signal
transmitter is the reason why lovers feel naturally happy when they fall in
love. Serotonin's job is to keep us always thinking about the person we love
Do you know that when we fall in love, our brain's flow of
thoughts changes? What Dr Donatella Marazziti, (Psychiatrist at the University
of Pisa) has found in the research of twenty loving couples, the level of
serotonin in the blood of those who are newly in love is similar to the level
of serotonin in patients with obsessive-compulsive disorder. That's why we
always think of boyfriend/girlfriend!
Do you know why we say that love has no eyes, these chemical
changes in the brain and secreted hormones allow us to see only the positive
side of our loved ones. It is because of this that our lover smokes and even
eats food and we don't even know what is wrong. My boyfriend/girlfriend is the
most beautiful thing in the world. Uthman, is it because of the same
psychological reason that I feel like this? This is what creates the desire in
lovers to live together for the rest of our lives. It is because of these
chemical changes that even the feeling of 'I am nothing without you' and love
is gone.
Oxytoxin Level
It is in this state of bonding that romantic couples, if not
equals, begin to bear and care for their children and live together until they
grow up to be self-sufficient. Do you know what creates a bond between lovers
to live together? Oxytoxin and vasopressin are two hormones. (The nasty
artificial system called Nammurla marriage does this job.)
Oxytocin is the cuddle hormone. Oxytoxin is the hormone that
is secreted during orgasm, which is the climax of male-female intercourse. It
is this hormone that makes the partner/lover form an inseparable bond with each
other after intercourse. That's why the more we have sex, the deeper, closer,
and tighter we are as lovers. Even at the time of childbirth, it is because of
the secretion of the same Oxytoxin hormone that the bonding of the mother and
baby, the crying of the baby, and the secretion of milk from the nearby breasts
also occur.
#Vasopressin
It is this vasopressin or antidiuretic hormone that is
secreted after intercourse that helps a loving couple to live together for long
periods of time. The above information has also been proven by a study carried
out in a species of hamster known as Pryorivol. That is, if the secretion of
this vasopressor hormone is controlled, couples are sure to go straight to the
breakup. (Even though there is no love in our country, we are forced to live
together due to social compulsion, another thing). If you want to have a
life-long partner/lover, you need a daily kilbans/matter.
💘 "The Forbidden Gift" 💘
Long
ago, in the twilight years of the Roman Empire, when love was weighed in blood
and sacrifice, there lived a man named Cassian, a stoic high priest in
the Temple of Lupercus. He had seen countless men offered to the gods on what
was then called Valens Dies—a brutal tradition to purify society by
removing those "unfit" to love.
But
something changed the year Aurelia, a widowed healer with silver in her
hair and fire in her heart, entered his life.
Aurelia
had lived quietly on the edge of the city, curing the sick with herbs and
whispers of old wisdom. She had loved once, lost once, and vowed never to
entangle her heart again. Yet one bitter February day, she was summoned to the
temple to tend to a wounded animal, a white deer considered sacred. There, her
hands met Cassian’s eyes—silent, calculating, but filled with a strange sorrow.
They
began to speak. Then to walk. Then to sit in silence, reading the same pages of
poetry, until silence became its own language.
But
theirs was a forbidden love. For Cassian, a priest of order and blood, to fall
for a woman so free and defiant of Roman customs was treason. He was to offer a
human sacrifice on the next Valens Dies, and Aurelia was chosen by the city’s
new governor—out of jealousy and fear.
Cassian
stood between the altar and Aurelia on the day of the ceremony. His voice
trembled but his heart was still. “If blood is what the gods want for love,” he
said, “then take mine. For in her eyes, I see the god I want to serve.”
He was
arrested. But the people, tired of blood and touched by the purity of such
sacrifice for love, rebelled. The tradition ended that day.
Centuries
passed. The festival transformed. What was once Valens Dies became Valentine’s
Day, no longer a day for blood, but for tokens of the heart.
Modern-day Parallel:
In a
bustling city today, a billionaire heiress named Mira Devlin grows tired
of cold boardrooms and calculated proposals. One rainy evening, she wanders
into a subway station and hears a young man playing the violin—Jay, a
street performer who lives on poetry and secondhand books.
They
speak. Then they walk. Then they sit in silence, listening to the strings
between their worlds.
Her
family disapproves. Her wealth creates waves he cannot swim through. But Mira,
remembering the ancient story of Cassian and Aurelia—one she read long
ago—decides to change her fate.
She
gives it all up: the marble towers, the guarded gates, the ceremonial lovers.
She walks into Jay’s world barefoot.
“Love,”
she says, “is not found in what we own, but what we’re willing to lose.”
And in
doing so, she gains everything.
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💔 The Festival of Lost Hearts 💔
— A Finds Tale from the Time of the First Loves —
Long
ago, when the Roman Empire was still young and men first began to live not in
caves but in stone houses with doors and locks, there arose a festival unlike
any other—a day called Valentinius.
But
Valentinius was no celebration of chocolates or red roses. It was a day of blood
and sorrow. Once a year, the High Priests would choose one young man
to be offered to the gods of Desire, in the hope that the city would be
cleansed of lust too dangerous to name—love that crossed forbidden lines.
Then,
over time, animals replaced men. The rituals softened. Yet even then, it was
believed that certain kinds of love brought chaos: the love of a young
girl for a wrinkled philosopher, or a noble lady's longing for a dark-eyed
stable boy. Such loves were called fracta corda—broken hearts—too wild
to be written into law or lineage.
But
one year, something strange happened. A poor boy named Marcion, son of a
cobbler, fell in love with Claudia, the emperor’s niece. Their eyes met
not in the palace halls, but in the alley where leftover bread was thrown.
Claudia had slipped away from her guards to feel something—anything—real.
When
their love was discovered, Claudia was ordered to wed a senator. Marcion was
arrested. On Valentinius Day, the people gathered, expecting the usual goat
sacrifice.
Instead,
Claudia climbed the temple steps and declared:
“If a
heart must be offered today, let it be mine. For love that destroys walls
should not be punished, but praised.”
The
crowd gasped. The High Priest hesitated. For the first time, a noble had
stepped forward not to destroy love—but to defend it.
And so
the festival changed. From that year on, Valentinius became Valentine’s Day—not
a day to kill passion, but a day to protect the kind of love that terrifies
empires.
Even
today, if a rich man or woman marries someone ordinary on Valentine’s Day, it
is said that an old curse is lifted. For in that moment, power becomes
powerless, and love becomes the only true property worth keeping.
And as
for Marcion and Claudia?
Some say they disappeared.
Others say they walk among us still,
reminding us with every stolen glance:
Love cannot be owned. It can only be found.
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&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
The love story of Marthanda Bhairava Thondaman Raja from Tamil Nadu, the first prince in this world to renounce his royal position for love.
Now that you know the difference between
love and lust, let me tell you a story about those who were kings for love,
threw it away and died living with the woman they loved.
1,The Prince and the Faraway Star
In the early
1900s, under the golden sun of Pudukkottai, King Martanda Bhairava Tondaiman
ruled a quiet yet proud princely state in the Tamil country. He was a modern
thinker trapped in a feudal crown—born into privilege but restless in spirit,
yearning for a world beyond palaces and rituals.
In 1915, seeking
freedom from the political restraints of colonial India and his own royal
court, he traveled to Australia, a land raw, young, and brimming with
new ideas. There, in Melbourne, amidst a society still thick with the
shadows of apartheid and prejudice, fate drew him into an unexpected orbit.
She was Esme
Molly Fink, the daughter of Inner Fink, a radical Jewish-Australian
lawyer known for defending Aboriginal rights and free speech. Esme was a rebel
in her own right—an artist, fluent in French and Sanskrit, and curious about
the cultures Britain tried to divide.
When Martanda
first saw her at a university lecture on Tagore’s poetry, he was spellbound—not
just by her pale gold hair and piercing eyes, but by the way she challenged the
lecturer on the ethics of Empire.
Their love was
immediate, but the world around them was not kind. Australia was still harsh to
people of color; the White Australia Policy whispered poison into even
progressive ears. The local press mocked her as "a princess chaser"
and him as "the dark charmer from the East."
But love, like
the moon, shines regardless of borders.
They married
quietly in Sydney, against protocol, religion, and politics. When their
son was born, they named him Sidney Marthandan—a symbol of two worlds
joined: the ancient crown of Tamilakam and the hopeful sprawl of Australia.
Meanwhile, back
in India, conservatism fumed. While Britain called it the "Conservative
Party", in India, it wore many faces—caste, class, and tradition.
The Pudukkottai court, led by S. Satyamurti, once the king’s advisor and
now a rising nationalist, condemned the king’s foreign marriage. They whispered
that a king who marries a foreign woman cannot be trusted with dharma.
Facing rising
dissent, Martanda abdicated power rather than bend. With only 20 lakhs in
gold and cash, he quietly left India with his wife and son, sailing not to
London, but to Paris—the city of exile, poets, and forgotten kings.
There, in a small
apartment near Montmartre, the once-prince lived a different kind of royalty.
Esme painted, Sidney grew fluent in Tamil and French, and Martanda wrote—poems,
political essays, letters never sent to his homeland.
He died quietly,
years later, of heart failure.
And yet, his
journey did not end in Paris.
According to his
will, his body was brought to England, where friends from both east and
west gathered. In a London crematorium, far from Pudukkottai, his body was cremated
with Hindu rites—the Vedas sung in an unfamiliar accent, the sandalwood
smoke rising into cold foreign skies.
Esme lived on for
years, guarding his memory like a flame in wind. Sidney Marthandan, son of a
Tamil king and an Australian artist, later returned to India—not as royalty,
but as a bridge between two fractured worlds.
Marthanda Bhairava Thondaman has another special honor. She is the one who created the first female doctor in India. Her name is Muthulakshmi.
When women were not allowed to study in higher education, she hid a girl in a classroom with a curtain and sent her desks and chairs from her house and also gave money for her education.
That woman was the first woman in the world to hold the post of Deputy Speaker of the Legislative Council through a democratic system, Muthulakshmi Reddy. She is a Devadasi woman.
When she was in the Legislative Council, Sathyamoorthy Iyer, who was the reason for the dismissal of the Marthanda Bhairava Thondaman king, spoke about the need for the Devadasi system. At that time, Muthulakshmi Reddy said that if you want it, make the women in your house Devadasi. It is recorded in history that
2, "The King Who Chose Love"
In the grand halls of Buckingham Palace,
where time seemed preserved in velvet and gold, Valentine's Day was no
celebration of passion—but a quiet formality, bound by rules older than any
heart could remember. The air was always stiff with duty, the protocol thick
enough to choke any free spirit.
Yet within those walls walked a man who dared to breathe—Edward,
the Prince of Wales, and later, King Edward VIII.
He was Queen Elizabeth II’s uncle, a man
born into a cage of customs but never made to stay within it. While others
bowed before titles and sat only when the King sat, Edward chafed. He laughed
when laughter was not permitted, frowned when smiling was expected. In a world
where love was rehearsed and feelings approved by councils, Edward sought
something dangerously real.
And then came Wallis Simpson, an American
woman with sharp wit, softer eyes, and the fatal flaw of already being married.
The first time he saw her, it wasn’t her beauty that struck him—it was her freedom.
She belonged to no one. She walked into a room as if it were her own and left
men wondering what part of themselves, she’d taken with her.
They were magnetic opposites: he, the heir to the
most traditional throne in the world; she, a woman the
archbishop and parliament would never accept. But they fit together
like truths in a world full of lies.
As their love deepened, the walls of the palace closed in
tighter. The Church of England, whose spiritual head the King
would become, could not countenance a divorced woman as queen. Parliament,
made of ancient tradition, branded her a scandal. Even the Conservative
Party, defenders of all things proper, balked at their love.
And so, on a cold December day in 1936, after less than a
year on the throne, Edward made a choice no king had made before.
In a radio broadcast to the world, his voice carried not
weakness but the weight of immense love and sacrifice:
“I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of
responsibility… without the help and support of the woman I love.”
He abdicated the crown—not for politics,
not for power, but for a woman. He knelt before his brother, now King George
VI, and left behind the only life he’d ever known. Together, Edward and Wallis
left England for France, where they built a new life in quiet exile.
They were never welcomed back into royal favor. They
had no coronation, no titles shared, only each other. But they held
hands through decades, dined like common folk, laughed without permission, and
slept each night in a house not built by duty but by love.
Edward lived the rest of his life in France, dying in 1972.
In a final twist of fate, he was buried near his wife Wallis
in the Royal Burial Ground at Frogmore, beside the very family
who had once cast them away.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SVx5oq72RzA
And so the king who gave up everything for love found peace—not in
a palace, but in the arms of the only crown he ever truly wanted: hers.
Would you like this
love story expanded into a historical fiction novella?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBn06A-sdok
The abdication ceremony, which was celebrated by touching the feet of his younger brother and bowing to him, and who did not like any rituals or protocols in his life, was written by that good man when he sailed with his beloved wife to the neighboring country of France.
Because I am a king, my friends must wait for me at the dinner table, they must eat only after I have started eating, and when I have finished eating, they must also finish. That is, I must cross my spoon on the plate, if I tell a joke today, they must also laugh, and if I go to see my mother, I must stand ten feet away on the right. I do not like all these rituals,
That is why I am leaving the country with my beloved wife, but the last thing he said was recorded on the radio by the BBC. Listen to it once.
3,“Beyond the Chrysanthemum Throne: A Love Story”
In the heart of Japan, beneath the weight of a thousand
years of tradition, lived a young woman with a quiet smile and a fierce heart—Princess
Mako, niece of Emperor Naruhito. Born into the revered Chrysanthemum
Throne, Mako was expected to live a life bound by duty, etiquette, and
sacrifice. But her heart had already charted a different course.
It was at university, among books and ordinary dreams, that
Mako met Kei Komuro, a bright, kind law student with a sincere
gaze and a warm laugh. Their connection was instant—built not on titles or
status, but on shared values, understanding, and the kind of laughter that only
true love brings.
Their bond blossomed quietly. But in Japan’s imperial
household, tradition casts a long shadow. Royal women were not allowed to marry
commoners without consequence. If she chose love, Mako would have to step down
from the Imperial Family, surrender her title, privileges, and the life she had
always known.
Their engagement, announced in 2017, should have been a
celebration. Instead, it became a national debate. Rumors swirled. Opinions
split. Years passed in painful limbo as the couple endured public scrutiny,
political delays, and personal anguish.
But love—real love—is patient.
And after nearly four years of waiting, Mako made her
decision.
She chose Kei.
She chose love.
On a quiet October morning in 2021, without pageantry or royal fanfare, Mako and Kei registered their marriage like any ordinary couple. There were no wedding dresses, no court rituals, no imperial blessings. She refused the traditional dowry of 137 million yen (around $1.2 million)—becoming the first royal woman since World War II to do so. She also gave up her royal title and status, choosing instead to live a simple life under her husband’s name—Mako Komuro.
"I love one person," she had once said, and that
one truth carried her through the storm.
Today, the couple live
quietly in New York, far from the palace walls, but closer than ever to each
other. Their story, while simple on the surface, is a revolution in love—a
reminder that sometimes, the most courageous act is not staying on the throne,
but walking away from it hand in hand with the one you love.
4,🌹 A Royal Love Beyond Borders: The Story of Harry and Meghan 🌹
Once upon a time, in the heart of
England, a young prince named Harry—fierce, kind, and forever in the
shadow of tradition—met Meghan, a brilliant and independent American
actress with a heart as bold as her spirit. They came from two different
worlds—his shaped by crowns and courtrooms, hers by creativity and causes—but
their hearts spoke the same language: love.
Their meeting was like fate unfolding
in slow motion. A blind date set up by a friend turned into a spark that
neither of them could ignore. From whispered conversations under starlit skies
to secret getaways away from flashing cameras, their bond deepened.
The world watched as their love
bloomed—across oceans, cultures, and expectations. When Harry brought Meghan
into the royal family, it wasn’t just a wedding; it was a declaration. Against
centuries of tradition, he chose love. He chose her.
But love, even the truest kind,
comes with trials.
Behind the grandeur of palace walls,
they faced pressure, criticism, and constant scrutiny. Meghan, a woman of color
and strength, endured attacks from the press. Harry, reminded of the pain his
mother once faced, knew he couldn’t let history repeat itself.
So, hand in hand, they made a bold
choice.
They stepped away from Buckingham
Palace and royal titles—not out of rebellion, but in search of freedom and
peace. They left behind the crown, but not their values. In the United States,
they began a new chapter—not as royalty, but as partners, parents, and
changemakers.
Their love only grew stronger. In
their quiet California home, surrounded by sunlight and trees, they raised
their first child—a boy born of two worlds. On a gentle Valentine’s Day
morning, Meghan smiled with tears in her eyes as she announced the joy of
another heartbeat growing within her.
They had turned a royal love story
into a human one—made not of gold and jewels, but of courage, sacrifice, and
endless devotion.
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