After a cold Istanbul night, I woke up to a bright, sunny morning that felt almost surprising. For weeks, everyone had been talking about snow, and finally it arrived. The city turned white overnight—clean, quiet, and beautiful. The streets, rooftops, and trees looked like they had been carefully covered with sugar. It was one of those rare Istanbul moments that makes you pause and just stare.
Of course, the snow also came with chaos. For many people, it was a difficult morning. Some buses didn’t work, transportation slowed down, and the news was full of stories about people who couldn’t get to work. Some worked from home, and others had to change their plans completely. But for me, the day felt calm. I wasn’t rushing anywhere, and I had something to look forward to—an invitation that had been waiting for nearly two years.
At 1 PM, I was going to visit Hatice Abla in Zeytinburnu. Our friendship started in a very unexpected way. Two years ago, my brother and I went to the airport to pick up my father. While we were waiting, Hatice Abla and her sister were also there. They had been trying to find a taxi for a long time, but nothing worked. They looked tired and worried, and at some point, she decided to ask us for help. Maybe she felt safe because we were a family, maybe she trusted our energy—sometimes you can feel that quickly. She asked if we could drop them somewhere on the way. We said yes without thinking too much. We drove them part of the way, and after that they continued by bus.
Before we said goodbye, we exchanged phone numbers. It was such a small thing, but it became the beginning of a connection. After that day, we stayed in touch in a simple, modern way: WhatsApp messages, small check-ins, liking each other’s stories, short conversations here and there. During these two years, Hatice Abla invited me many times, but life kept getting in the way. Work schedules, busy weeks, timing issues… you know how it goes. We always said, “Soon,” and we meant it. But “soon” can last a long time.
This time was different. Since I’m not working right now, I had the freedom to finally go on a weekday. So I decided: no more postponing. I wanted to show up.
Before I went, I stopped by a dessert shop. There were beautiful cakes, and also baklava that looked incredibly tempting. I almost bought baklava too, but I decided to keep it simple and chose a nice box of Turkish desserts as a small gift. It felt right—something sweet to bring into a sweet home.
When I arrived, I felt warm immediately. Hatice Abla welcomed me with a big smile and a calm, friendly energy. Two of her daughters were there too, and we quickly became comfortable with each other. It didn’t feel like a formal visit at all. It felt natural—like I was visiting people I already knew well. We talked, laughed, and shared stories, and I stayed for three or four hours without even noticing the time. Even though I went alone, I never felt lonely for a second.
And then there was the table. Honestly, she said it wasn’t exactly a “dinner,” but the table looked like a feast. There were stuffed grape leaves (sarma), and because they are from Urfa, they also made dried stuffed vegetables—those traditional dolma varieties that taste like pure effort and love. One of the peppers was extremely spicy, but it was so delicious that I still enjoyed it. I was impressed. I don’t usually eat that much pastry, but that day I did. I ate the poğaça and two börek pieces, and I have zero regrets. There was even one poğaça left, waiting like a bonus for later.
There was also a creamy salad—at first I wasn’t sure what it was. It reminded me of pasta salad, but it could have been Russian salad or “Amerikan salatası.” I’m still not completely sure, but it tasted familiar and comforting. With tea, it was perfect.
We chose to sit in the kitchen instead of the living room because the kitchen felt more intimate. It was warmer, closer, more real. We talked around that kitchen table for almost two hours. The tea glasses kept getting refilled, and the conversation kept flowing. It was one of those simple moments that feels rich—not because of luxury, but because of connection.
Another lovely surprise was her granddaughter, Ada. She was unbelievably cute and sweet. We spent time with her too, and she brought so much joy into the atmosphere. If I had known she would be there, I would definitely have brought a small gift for her as well. Sometimes you meet a child and you immediately understand why everyone in the family smiles a little more when she is around.
When it was time to leave, I went back home by public transportation. The snow outside still made everything look bright and clean, and I felt like the day had added something gentle to my heart. Before I left, we promised to meet again soon—this time, not in a “maybe someday” way, but in a real way.
They told me they make amazing çiğ köfte, and they promised to invite me again when they prepare it. In my family, we don’t really make çiğ köfte at home, so I’m honestly excited. I told them I would happily come again—and I meant it. Maybe next time we can even meet at one of the daughters’ homes too. The important part is not the location. The important part is keeping the connection alive.
It was such a lovely day: snow, sunlight, warm people, delicious food, and a long-delayed invitation finally becoming real. Some friendships begin in big ways, but many begin quietly—like an airport moment, a short car ride, and two phone numbers saved in a contact list. And sometimes, after two years, that small beginning turns into a beautiful afternoon around a kitchen table.
