We’re surrounded by love, in ways big and small. In celebration of Valentine’s Day, here are Technican’s tiny love stories.

Jameson Wolf, Editor-in-Chief: He brought me cookies after work. We played air guitar at junior prom. He moved away for school. We traded cross-country flights on breaks and long weekends. After four years of “see you in five months,” it’s nice to finally fall asleep each night saying “see you in the morning.”

Ethan Bakogiannis, Editor-in-Chief: It’ll sound silly to someone who doesn’t understand it, but I find love in Technician. 

Technician isn’t just the admittedly ugly Witherspoon Student Center, but the people inside. It’s the 3 a.m. print nights where I’m sentenced to “giggle jail.” It’s the effortless recollection of NC State sports memories with my buddy Ben. It’s every time I beg Ellie to get rid of those darn preview lines on InDesign, and it’s every time we get to say, “Let’s go make a paper.”

Technician gave me some of my best friends and fondest memories. It’s also dished out some of the toughest lessons and most difficult moments. But without fail, Technician’s been there for me — especially when other people haven’t been.

Technician drives me up the wall sometimes, but that’s perfectly fine with me. It’s gotten me through way more than I care to admit in a public forum, and I’ll always love it because of that.

Emily Vespa, Managing Editor: Growing up — and now, whenever I visit home — my family makes it a priority to spend time at dinner together in an official capacity. We keep full and accurate family dinner meeting minutes pursuant to NC Gen. Stat. Sec. 143-318.10. 

Meetings are promptly called to order daily at 6 p.m. and more often than not are adjourned while we blast music in the kitchen as we clean up. I love to reread our meeting minutes and remember all the “I Think You Should Leave” references, votes of no confidence, funny stories and whatever my siblings and I bickered about that day. 

Katherine Wan, Assistant Video Editor: Love is found in the dog-eared corners, yellowed pages and cracked spines of my favorite books. Signs of use are signs of love, and I love reading.

Elizabeth Dull, Culture Editor: There’s this Beanie Baby my sister bought for me the day I was born, and it reminds me of the loving relationship we’ve had since day one. The plush’s name is Diddley the Dog, but I named him “soft puppy.” His Beanie Baby poem goes a little like this: “Wherever I go anywhere, people always stop and stare. They’re not trying to be mean … they’ve never seen a dog that’s green!”

Matthew Burkhart, Assistant News Editor: Coming home, often from hours of draining social situations or brutal study sessions, I’m always greeted with my dog’s “roo-roo’s,” supposedly demanding to know where I had been the whole day without her. She follows me at my side, reminding me of the tricks I taught her as I set my things down, while also dodging her salival attacks when my head comes into her 2-foot-tall range. 

Running up to me in the backyard and dropping her most prized possessions — things that barely resemble tennis balls anymore — proves to me the existence of unconditional love. No matter how much I overanalyze myself, I will always be the apple of my scruffy little mutt’s eye.

Justin Welch, Opinion Editor: Lucky B’s.

Ellie Bruno, Design Editor: I’ve been accumulating love for almost three years now, through glances across crowded parties, inside jokes only we understand, strings of emojis next to our contact names, yellowed postcards and dried flowers. I keep it in the pinky promise by my heart, tarnished and worn, staining my chest blue from wear. 

Cate Humphreys, Assistant Photo Editor: Love is the dancing light shining through the canopy of trees that towered above me as a child in my magical backyard. We called it “The Creek.” The Creek was a place filled with fairies under rocks, creatures tucked in tree hollows and sweet green onions waiting to be pulled out of the wet ground. Love is my dad boosting me up onto his shoulders so I could be “Princess of The Creek.” Love is the awe and wonder of the world around us; the innocence of childhood. 

Carter McDermott, Assistant Design Editor: As the hammers strike the strings, the ivories swing. A melody in the key of uncertainty bends to the rhythms of life.

Riya Kannan, Assistant Culture Editor: Love is in the way I’m buying supplies to write physical letters to my best friend. She decided on a whim that she was going to start mailing letters. I’ve now spent a ridiculous amount of money on cards and envelopes, and am actively in pursuit of stamps. This isn’t necessary by any means — she lives half an hour away, and I text her every day. But she said, “I’m sending you a letter. Write me back.” So that’s just what I’ll do.

Amelia Russell, Assistant Culture Editor: My partner does the dishes because I hate doing them; takes me home at 3 a.m.; comes to visit me during work just because. After a long time of feeling unlovable at my best, he makes me feel loved even at my worst. I think of going home, and I think of going to him.

Ally Tennant, Assistant News Editor: When asked what love is, my mind goes blank — but I realize it’s all around me. It’s in the cup of coffee I share with my roommate in the morning while we still have sleepy eyes.  The walk to class that turns into a sprint because I spent too much time drinking coffee. In the laughs of my friends on a Friday night while we try to latch onto our childhood selves for as long as we can before graduation, and the silence on a still Sunday. It’s in the drive to work where I speed to spend the night writing this newspaper with the people who accept me the most. It’s my friends who are abroad and in different cities that send me silly little texts about their days. It’s my family who calls me every night to tell me they’re proud of me and that they cooked my favorite meal. Love is in my life — and even if you think there isn’t, just stop and look around. 

Kate Denning, News Editor: When I think of the love in my life, I think of sitting in a kitchen talking about nothing. I think of picking up a friend from the airport. I think of lingering in the doorway because there’s nothing else to say, but no one wants to leave. I think of driving a different route just to be together longer. I think of remembering someone’s favorite fruit and keeping it in your fridge for them. I think of sending Spotify links and funny TikToks and voice memos. I think of a fellow editor making a graphic on a moment’s notice. I think of texts that read “hey are you doing ok lol” because we want to check in on each other, but we’re not entirely sure how to — I think of trying anyway.

Elliot Johnson, Assistant Copy Desk Chief: I found love seven years ago, on Google Hangouts, when that still existed. Around midnight, when neither of us were allowed to be on the computer. I tried to come out to him while keeping plausible deniability in case anyone found out. We didn’t believe each other at first because why would two best friends be keeping the same secret? He called me his brother, and he was the first person to do it.

Skye Crawford, Assistant Opinion Editor: I find love in memories of my mamaw. They’ve made me the woman I am today:

My head feels stuffed full

of Mamaw’s chewing tobacco

from laughing at the flamingo-humans

I drew as stick figures in the purple

sketchbook my kindergarten teacher

donated to my childhood

charity. Mamaw’s chenille couch

is the same color as the tree

moss we pass at five a.m. walking

to the nursing home she does housekeeping

at, and it sinks into its springs

hugging our bottoms and molding

to the shape of our memories. Embalmed,

our mouths are, with the Blue Ribbon

strawberry shortcake ice cream bars

we eat at the white foldout kitchen table

Mamaw keeps covered with holiday

tablecloths in March, ones I’ve stained

by spewing V8 juice from my nose

in volcanic eruptions of laughter.

Isaac Hernandez, Video Editor: I find love in the piping hot cup of coffee I drink every morning before I go out to a whopping 14 hours out of my apartment. The steam, creamer, scent and the taste give me fond memories of getting some coffee and McDonald’s breakfast with my dad before school. The good ol’ days. Love you, dad.

Erin Ferrare, Assistant Sports Editor: I find love in the weather app with cities all across America scattered on my phone. The college town my sister is in at the moment, the city she will move to post-grad, the town I used to spend Christmas in with my grandma and my mom’s hometown flash temperatures and precipitation to me throughout the year. Change is inevitable, but the weather is universal. Love comes in the form of my meteorologist father texting to ask if I have an umbrella because the weather will be bad this week. I want to bring that love to other people. 

Rachelle Hernandez, Copy Desk Chief: One of the millions of ways I find love is from my time working at the front desk of Wolf Village apartments. There, I’d occasionally take over the mail room, and as I sorted out the junk mail and sent back construction catalogs, I began to notice sloppy, cursive and brightly colored handwriting among the glossy serif fonts. All of them were handwritten letters, sent from all over the United States and dedicated to summer students or interns who packed up all they knew and moved cross-country for the summer. Someone hundreds of miles away was thinking of them and how they must have needed a handwritten reminder that they are loved and that there was someone thinking of them.

Editorial Board: We all find love from Ben McNeely, our editorial advisor. He’s always there to lend an ear or give us advice, and he cares enough about us to give us constructive criticism. He makes us all better journalists, editors and people. Ben, you’re the best!