When I was in the seventh grade, I had a girlfriend. I used to

Hear now the tender remembrance of Pulkit Samrat, who spoke of his youth and said: “When I was in the seventh grade, I had a girlfriend. I used to save up some of my pocket money to get her gifts on Valentine’s Day.” At first these words seem simple, the lighthearted confession of a man recalling his schoolboy days. Yet within them lies a deeper truth: that love, even in its earliest stirrings, inspires sacrifice, devotion, and joy. For though the gifts were small, the act of saving, the anticipation, and the eagerness to give were already reflections of a great and timeless principle—that love moves us to give more than we keep.

The origin of this sentiment lies in the innocence of youth, where affection is untainted by calculation or worldly ambition. A child’s gift, purchased with pocket money carefully saved, carries a weight beyond gold. It is not the cost that matters, but the intent, the purity of offering something of one’s own for the happiness of another. Samrat’s memory reveals that even in small beginnings, the essence of love shines forth: selflessness, effort, and the joy of giving.

History has preserved many such stories. In ancient times, even kings and warriors knew the power of simple tokens. It is told that Antony laid treasures at Cleopatra’s feet, but she prized not the wealth itself, but the gesture, the devotion. And consider the humble letter of a soldier in the trenches, written on torn paper, sent to his beloved across oceans of war. Such gifts were not precious in material value, but in meaning, for they were given at cost to the giver—time, effort, or even hope. Just as the boy saved his coins, so have lovers across the ages given from what little they had, to honor the ones they cherished.

The ancients also sang of this truth. Did not the poets remind us that the widow’s mite, though meager, weighed more in the eyes of heaven than the gold of the wealthy? For true worth lies not in the size of the gift, but in the sacrifice it represents. So too with Samrat’s boyhood memory: the coins of pocket money are transformed into treasures when spent in love. The child, without knowing, walked the path of the ancients—giving not for show, but for devotion.

Yet there is also wisdom for the grown. For as we age, we often lose the innocence of such offerings. Love becomes tangled in expectation, weighed down by comparison, measured by the splendor of flowers and the cost of jewels. Samrat’s memory calls us back to simplicity, to remember that love’s greatest strength is found in sincerity, not extravagance. Better a small gift with a full heart than a costly gift given out of duty.

The lesson, then, is clear: love thrives not on grandeur but on sincerity. Whether in youth or age, the essence of love is to give freely, even when it requires effort or sacrifice. The smallest token, if born of true affection, holds more power than the grandest spectacle. In this way, the young boy with his saved coins teaches more wisdom than many who adorn themselves with wealth.

Practical action follows. Let your love be seen in small, daily gestures: a note written by hand, a kind word spoken at the right moment, a sacrifice of time to listen and to care. Do not wait for great occasions to prove your devotion, for it is in the everyday giving that love grows strongest. Teach children to see value not in the price of the gift, but in the spirit behind it, so that they may carry this wisdom into all their relationships. Give from the heart, and you will always give enough.

So let Pulkit Samrat’s words echo beyond memory: “I used to save up some of my pocket money to get her gifts on Valentine’s Day.” They remind us that the heart of love is found in the eagerness to give, no matter how small the offering. Let us return to that childlike simplicity, and in so doing, rediscover the joy and purity of love itself—sincere, enduring, and unmeasured by gold.