How I Married My Best Friend- The Journey of Love

We met in the most unexpected way—online, on a tiny forum for travel and handmade crafts. I had posted a photo of a scrapbook I was working on during a solo trip, and he commented, asking about the type of paper I used. Just a casual, one-line message. That’s how it all began.

At first, it was just a friendly reply. Then came more messages—about travel, about life, about the little things we both loved. I lived in India. He was in Portugal. It seemed wild to be chatting every day with someone halfway across the world. But somehow, talking to him felt easy. Natural.

It’s not like we had anything to prove to each other. No expectations whatsoever. Just two people from totally different parts of the world liked the same quiet things—photography, postcards, journaling, long walks, and more. Gradually, we moved from long-type-out messages to voice notes and calls. I would record his messages while making tea, and he’d send his from seaside strolls or walks around the city.

We began exchanging small gifts, and I recall the first package he sent, sea glass he collected from the beach close to his house, along with a handwritten note. I still have that note. In return, I sent him a box of my homemade snacks, a few of my favorite bookmarks, and a tiny bottle of Indian spices that I knew he would not get in Lisbon.

It didn’t feel like a crush. It felt like home. Like comfort. Like a person I could share anything with.

This went on for three years.

Sharing birthdays, festivals, and even heartbreak. Friends around me would often pose the questions, “How can you be this close with someone you have never met?” And I would smile because the truth is I didn’t really have a good answer. I just knew I could trust him.

Three years passed like this.

Finally, we decided it was time to meet. We chose Bangkok as the predetermined neutral ground for both of us. I know I was nervous, and so was he. But when I saw him standing outside the small noodle shop we chose as the mark for our first meeting point, holding the paper flower, every bit of nervousness disappeared.

When I first met him, he hugged me as if we were best friends. We talked for hours that day. We didn’t need to break the ice. There was no ice to break.

After that trip, everything changed.

The bond we had formed over the last three years morphed into something deeper. We never jumped headfirst into calling it love, but we both felt it. Eventually, we said it out loud.

The visits became more frequent. We started saving money by counting down the days to the next flight. Each goodbye at the airport became harder, but every reunion made it all worth it. We talked about the future, where we would live, and how we would make it work.

Then one afternoon, I came home to find a familiar envelope on my doorstep. It was one of his postcards—the ones he always picked so carefully. On the back, in his usual messy handwriting, was just one sentence:

“Let’s stop saying goodbye at airports. Will you marry me?”

I cried for a long time. Then I called him and said yes.

We chose Istanbul for the wedding. A city between our two homes, rich with history and color, just like our story. We kept it simple. A small ceremony with people we love. His family brought local wine. My mom brought homemade sweets. We had two types of music, two styles of clothes, and one big heart full of memories.

Today, we live together. Finally. We never lost the charm for each other, as we still write notes to each other. Some days, I cook meals for him, and sometimes, he cooks meals for me. Silly voice notes are still being recorded by him, even with me sitting right next to him. That bond never faded away. It simply transformed into something far more stunning.

We still write each other notes. We still cook each other’s favorite meals. He still records silly voice notes, even though I’m right next to him. That friendship never left. It just turned into something even more beautiful.

That’s how I married my best friend.

And every time I see a postcard, I think—this all started with one small message. And now, here we are. A lifetime later, still best friends, now forever.