Originally published at https://rootedbygraceteam.substack.com
If you’re new here: This story is part of our series The Letter That God Answered a real-life love story about faith, waiting, and the way God writes miracles into ordinary lives. You can start from Part 1: The Letter to discover where it all began.
As I stared at that message, all I could ask myself was: what do I have to lose? So I replied.
I said I was there to learn English, that I didn’t know much yet, but I was trying. He couldn’t have been more gentle and encouraging: “That’s really good! Just don’t let the fear of making mistakes stop you from trying, that’s how we learn.”
That made me smile. Nobody had ever acted like that with me before. Usually, when I tried to speak in English, people would laugh or correct me so harshly that I would just stop trying to speak. But his tone was different, very patient and kind, and that made me want to keep trying.
That first night we didn’t talk about many things, I was still shy and just trying to figure things out. Most of the time, I used Google Translate, and even then, every time I made a mistake, he would say, “It’s okay, you’re doing great. Don’t be afraid to write.”
Time seemed to fly during that short first conversation. I soon learned there was a six-hour time difference between Brazil and Turkey, so while it was still early evening for me, it was already past midnight for him. Eventually, it was time to say goodbye.
And that night ended with a simple message from him, a wish that sounded more like a promise: “I have to go now, but I hope we can keep talking tomorrow.”
The next morning, I woke up with a strange feeling, a mix of excitement and dread. As I reached for my phone, I realized that what I was really feeling was fear. Even though I wasn’t looking for anything more than friendship, I was afraid that the messages from the night before had just been a dream.
But there it was: a new message.
“Good morning :)”
It sounds so simple, but those two words made my heart beat differently.
That day, we talked for hours, and I couldn’t believe how much we had in common. He loved reading, and even our favorite books and stories were almost the same. We had just watched the same movie that week, and it had become our favorite. And when it came to music, he was as eclectic as I am, ranging from classical pieces to those songs we’re even shy to admit we like. It was almost funny how much alike we were. Even the things I thought made me weird like my quietness, my love for old books, my fascination with history, all of it seemed to make sense to him.
For the first time in so long, I felt like someone saw me, not the broken version, not the “too emotional, too much” version - just me.
He was incredibly respectful. That stood out the most.
No strange comments. No flirting disguised as kindness. Just genuine conversation.
And the more I spoke, the more I realized I wasn’t pretending.
Usually, I’d hide parts of myself, the silly parts, the awkward ones, the sensitive ones. But with him, it felt impossible to hide. The more myself I became, the more he leaned in.
That was new.
That was healing.
By the third day, our conversations had shifted. We talked about family, faith, and what we believed about life. I told him I had grown up Christian, but I was away from God. I said I still believed, but I wasn’t close anymore.
He told me he didn’t follow any religion. His family was Muslim, but he had never practiced Islam. Still, he believed there was a God - a Creator - and he said it with this quiet confidence that stopped me. He said, “I don’t know everything about faith, but I know we’re not alone. I know there must be a God.”
And somehow, even though our beliefs had been shaped in different places, something in me recognized that kind of faith, the quiet kind, the one that searches for light even without having all the answers.
That night, before he went to sleep, he sent one last message.
“I want to tell you something before it’s too late,” he wrote. “I don’t want to miss the chance to say it.”
Then three words appeared.
“I love you.”
I stared at the screen for a long time. My heart was racing. It had been only three days. Three days. It made no sense. But something in me, something that logic couldn’t touch, whispered that it was true. And though part of me wanted to resist it, another part told me not to run away.
So I said it back.
“I love you too.”
Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was crazy. But deep down, I felt a kind of peace that didn’t come from understanding, but from belonging. I didn’t know if it would last, but I knew one thing for sure: I wanted to keep speaking with him. I wanted to keep knowing him.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t begin with fireworks. It begins with a message that arrives just when you’re about to give up, a whisper that says, don’t close the door just yet.
With grace and love,
Brenda
Next Week: Part 4: The Distance Between Us
A thousand messages, two continents, and one growing faith, how a long-distance love became a story written by heaven.
PS.: I want to keep this series completely free so every love-lover can have a little dose of hope and faith every week. But if you’d like to support the writing of this series, you can do so by buying me a mocha. May God bless you.