Valentine’s Day has a way of making people express love rather than practise it.
Suddenly, we’re asking the wrong questions. Is this romantic enough? Is this what people expect? Will this prove something? There’s a lot of pressure to be impressive, to be chosen loudly, to be seen loving in public ways.
But the kind of love that lasts is quieter than that. It watches. It remembers.
When I think about the most intimate gifts, the ones that actually made me feel held, they all had one thing in common: they were evidence. Proof that someone had been paying attention to how I move through the world when I’m not trying to be desirable.
A book, for example. Not a popular one. A book that feels like a sentence continued from a conversation we once had. Something that says, I know how your mind wanders. I know what you return to. Giving someone a book is a vulnerable act. You’re saying, I see your inner life, and I’m not afraid of it.
Or think of gifts that give time back. A museum membership. A ticket to an Opera. An afternoon carved out of noise. In a place like Lagos, where life demands urgency, offering slowness is deeply romantic. It’s a way of saying, You don’t have to rush with me.
The most loving gifts improve the small, unglamorous rituals. A knife that makes cooking feel less like an obligation and more like care. A bottle of wine chosen not to impress, but to soften the evening. A passport holder that grows gentler with use. These aren’t things you buy last-minute. They come from observation. And observation is a form of commitment.
If you’re ever unsure whether something is a thoughtful gift, ask yourself this: Did you learn something about them before choosing it? About their habits. Their longings. The way they rest. Love is not instinct alone. It’s a study. It’s attention over time.
Some of the most romantic gifts cost almost nothing.
Print the photos. The ones from the trip. Or the ordinary day. The versions of yourselves that existed before life hardened you a little. Holding a memory makes it real again. It says, I was there. I noticed. This mattered to me.
Valentine’s Day will keep offering us formulas. Flowers. Reservations. Predictable gestures that feel safe because they ask very little of us emotionally. And sometimes, those are fine. But if you want to love someone deeply—if you want to be known as someone who loves well—you have to risk being specific.
Because the truth is, the best gifts are not romantic because they’re expensive. They’re romantic because they say, I see you clearly. They say, I know what steadies you. I know what makes you feel more like yourself.
That kind of love doesn’t shout. It leans in.
So here’s the advice part, if you’re wondering what to do this Valentine’s Day:
Don’t ask what will look good. Ask what will feel true. Don’t give to impress. Give to connect. Don’t perform love. Practice it.
Choose the thing that would only make sense for this person. The thing that would confuse everyone else. The thing that says, I have been here with you. I have been listening.
Because real love isn’t proved in grand gestures.
It’s proven in presence.
And presence, when offered consistently, is the most romantic gift there is.
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