There are some books you finish… and then quietly sit with, as if something inside you needs a moment to rearrange itself. A Brief History of Love did that to me. Not dramatically. Not in a way that announces itself. But in a slow, almost unsettling way—like realizing that something you’ve trusted your whole life might not be entirely yours. Because what if love… isn’t just yours? I went into this book expecting insight. What I didn’t expect was a gentle dismantling.
