What does normal even mean?

People say it like it's something solid - unchanging. Some define a normal person as someone without a disability, someone whose body fits society's narrow standards of "acceptable." To them, normal looks a certain way, walks a certain way, lives quietly within invisible lines.

And when it comes to love, the definition tightens even more.

A normal couple, they say, is a man and a woman. Anything outside that frame is labeled as different, strange, or wrong. But who decided that? And why does love have to look the same for everyone to be seen as valid?

What about the ones who love differently? The ones who build their own rules, cross oceans for a voice on the other end of the call, or write "I miss you" in time zones apart?

Are we not normal, too?

Maybe normal isn't something that can be measured by sight or shaped by tradition. Maybe it's something far more human - messy, real, and endlessly diverse.

This is not a story about what's expected.

This is a story about what's true.