These days in February, when bookshelves are awash in red and social media is flooded with digital hearts, we often think of love as a spontaneous impulse, an unpredictable spark appearing without warning. However, I recently witnessed a story that forced me to look at it from another perspective: that of love as a work in progress.

The scene didn't take place in an elegant restaurant or under romantic lighting. It happened in a mechanic's shop on the outskirts of the city, amidst tools, grease, and the metallic roar of an open engine. There I met Manuel, a retired engineer, and Teresa, a primary school teacher. They've been together for 43 years. They weren't celebrating with balloons or special reservations. They were celebrating by working side by side to repair the old car that, they said with a laugh, "has survived more crises than we have."

The interesting thing wasn't the car. It was the way they looked at each other as they discussed whether the problem lay with the carburetor or with patience. Manuel spoke of calculations, parts, and structures. Teresa responded with stories and anecdotes, with that sensitivity that transforms any object into a memory. Between them, there was something that can't be bought or improvised: complicity.

In times when love seems to be measured in perfect photographs and public declarations, finding them was like discovering the original blueprints of an old house. The kind that shows not only the facade, but also the foundations, the beams, the columns that hold everything up when strong winds blow.

Because if there's one thing I understood listening to them, it's that love isn't a static feeling. It's emotional engineering. It requires design, adjustments, and constant maintenance. You have to detect fissures before they become cracks. You have to reinforce the foundations when wear and tear threatens stability. Initial enthusiasm isn't enough; you need method, commitment, and a will for continuous improvement.

Teresa confessed to me that she doesn't believe in "perfect" love. She believes in enduring love. The kind that learns to communicate better over the years. The kind that doesn't run away at the first sign of disagreement. "You don't abandon your home just because there's dampness," she said.

That phrase stayed with me on my way back to the newsroom. I thought about how many relationships are discarded today as if they were defective objects, without even trying to understand the root of the problem. I thought about friendship too, that form of love that rarely makes headlines, but that silently sustains entire lives.

Valentine's Day shouldn't just be about exchanging gifts. It could become a day of structural reflection. Are we listening enough? Are we dedicating quality time? Are we strengthening our bonds or letting the wear and tear do its work without resistance?

Friendship follows this same logic. It doesn't stand on its own. It demands presence, honesty, and mutual support. A true friend is like a well-designed column: perhaps not always noticeable, but it bears weight, distributes burdens, and balances tensions.

This February 14th, while stores promote sales and social media amplifies public declarations, perhaps it's worth looking beyond the surface. Real love isn't always photogenic. Sometimes it manifests in small gestures: making coffee early, waiting up, silently offering companionship, sharing worries without judgment.

It's not about idealizing long-term relationships or imposing models. It's about understanding that loving involves conscious effort. It's not an emotion that remains unchanged by inertia. It's a shared project that is redesigned as many times as necessary.

Teresa and Manuel's car started again. It wasn't a miraculous repair. It was the result of checking each part, of persistence, of not giving up at the first sign of trouble. Valentine's Day could be the perfect excuse to remember that, beyond gifts and flowers, what is truly valuable is the daily commitment to what we choose to cherish.

Love is also built. And, like any great work, it leaves visible and invisible marks on those who participate in its creation.