The air tasted of salt, and faintly, chaos. One does not expect to find oneself having a mild existential crisis on the rooftop of a dilapidated building teetering over the Bosphorus Strait, but life—or let’s say love—has a way of throwing curveballs.

Istanbul. The city where two continents meet but rarely agree. I had traveled there for research during my PhD, fully planning to immerse myself in Ottoman history and sip endless cups of tea in relative tranquility. What I hadn’t planned for was finding myself in an underground raki bar weeks into my visit, locking eyes with—you guessed it—a poet named Emir. Tall, brooding, a seemingly endless supply of metaphors at his disposal—he had all the chaotic energy my calculated Parisian self really shouldn’t have been drawn to. Yet, there I was, sipping anise-flavored trouble at 2 a.m., and listening to him ramble about love as though it were geopolitical strategy. This, of course, led to one fateful night, in what I can only describe as the craziest place I’ve ever been: his family’s abandoned hamam.

A Hamam, A Rooftop, and A Tinderbox of Emotions

Let me set the scene. Hamams, those steamy, centuries-old Turkish bathhouses, are places of communal cleansing and nostalgia wrapped in warm marble. Emir’s family, however, had a different approach: they’d owned a modest one for decades in a quieter part of the city, but when it fell into disrepair years ago, it was left abandoned. Now, enter Emir, who had decided that its rooftop—with its haphazard view of both Asia and Europe—was the ultimate spot for soul-searching, or, as I quickly realized, angst-ridden poetry readings.

The idea was simple. “Let me show you the real Istanbul,” Emir said with the kind of earnestness one can’t refuse. Cut to me, precariously climbing steel stairs that looked like they’d been borrowed from a ‘90s dystopian movie, my sensible sneakers doing battle on steps that had seen better centuries. And there it was: an uneven rooftop littered with remnants of old tiles, plants somehow surviving off sheer willpower, and a loose collection of mismatched chairs. If chaos could sparkle, this rooftop would be covered in rhinestones—and, of course, Emir was standing there, cigarette in hand, looking like he belonged.

The Allure in the Absurd

Why did I agree to this madness, you ask? Perhaps it was the romance of an impromptu adventure, or maybe it was Emir quoting Rumi under the stars (which, in hindsight, might have been overkill). But as I took it all in—that impossible, haphazard view of glowing mosques colliding with neon kebab signs—I realized this wasn’t just about Emir or a city’s charm. It was about stepping out of the predictable boxes I’d drawn around myself. Alexandria, Paris, London—each city had come with its own regimented rules. Istanbul, on the other hand, felt like a friend who’d hand you a shot of raki and say, “Do with this what you will.”

Love, Rooftops, and Life Lessons

Now, don’t get me wrong. This wasn’t some Hollywood montage moment. The rooftop came with challenges: a suspicious number of stray cats that seemed committed to a coup d'état; the wobbly and somewhat judgmental chair I had to sit on; and the intense smell of tar from nearby construction we occasionally had to pretend wasn’t making us lightheaded. Yet, amidst all that absurdity, two things dawned on me.

First, love really does make fools of us. No, seriously. The rational Zahra who knew to avoid unstable furniture and cryptic men somehow morphed into someone who’d willingly sign up for poetry readings on a roof that might collapse into an ancient bathhouse. Yet, it wasn’t foolishness in the negative sense—it was choosing to embrace the whimsy and imperfection of human connection.

Second, there’s something to be said for stepping outside your comfort zone. Too often, relationships—romantic or otherwise—are measured in neatly curated milestones: the dinner dates, the weekend getaways, the eventual introduction to family. What we forget, however, is that connection often deepens in the most unpolished, unexpected settings. You don’t need candlelit dinners or perfectly planned vacations when the magic of the moment comes from simply taking a risk together.

Takeaway: Why You Should Embrace the Unexpected in Love

You don’t have to climb onto your poet-not-quite-boyfriend’s rooftop to shake things up (although if poetry and existential ramblings are your thing, who am I to stop you?). Here’s what you can take away instead:

  1. Lean Into Chaos
    It’s easy to default to routine in relationships, thinking stability equals success. But sometimes, stepping into places—or experiences—you’d never expect can teach you more about each other than ten perfectly planned dates. Whether it’s wandering off the beaten path on a trip or agreeing to try an activity one of you truly loves, those little leaps create stories worth telling later.

  2. Stop Chasing the Perfect Setting
    Not every connection needs a carefully curated backdrop. Honestly, some of my fondest memories were made in less-than-ideal locations. Love thrives on the stories you live together, not the aesthetics. Here’s permission to ditch the filtered café for that hole-in-the-wall with the questionable seating!

  3. Be Present in the Absurd
    My Turkish rooftop adventure wasn’t about the hamam, the chairs, or even Emir’s endless quotes. It was about being present, something we all struggle with in our swipe-right world. Those unfiltered, imperfect moments have a way of grounding you and reminding you why connection matters in the first place.

Final Reflections: Is Chaos Worth It?

The rooftop didn’t change my life—or my soul, for that matter. (Spoiler: Emir and I eventually drifted apart when he moved to a different city to write full-time, leaving me with a tear-streaked napkin scribbled with an overly dramatic goodbye.) But those nights taught me how messy, imperfect, and beautifully real love—or even just infatuation—can be. Sometimes, all we need is a rooftop, a city that refuses to follow rules, and a willingness to say yes to something ridiculous.

Would I go back to that hamam rooftop? Absolutely not. My days of teetering between danger and artistry are hopefully behind me. But do I look for that same spark of uninhibited spontaneity in every connection I build today? Always. After all, life—like love—isn’t about staying comfortable. It’s about learning to laugh at the cats, the uneven tiles, and the tattered poetry books along the way.

So, here’s my advice: Find your crazy place. Climb that metaphorical rooftop. Just make sure the chairs are more stable than mine were.