The Architect of Her Long-Distance Romance: Writing the Words That Make Her Fall for Someone Else

My name is Elias. I live in Montreal, Canada, a city where the air is thick with two languages and the snow covers the streets like a blank page. I’m a professional translator and linguist. I spend my days bridge-building between French and English, making sure the nuances of the heart aren't lost in the technicality of the text. But my most difficult work is the pro bono project I do for Clara.

Clara is a doctoral student I met at a local café. She is radiant, intellectual, and deeply in love with a man named Julian who lives in Paris. Julian is a poet—or so he says—and he only writes to her in the most complex, flowery French. Clara’s French is functional, but she can’t grasp the soul of his letters. So, she brings them to me.

I don’t charge her. I told her I need the "practice" with poetic structures. The truth is, I just want to be the one who interprets her world. I’ve spent my Friday nights sitting across from her, translating Julian’s letters into English so she can understand his "passion," and then translating her replies back into perfect, soulful French so he thinks she’s his linguistic equal.

I’ve essentially been ghostwriting their relationship for eighteen months. I take her simple thoughts—"I miss you"—and turn them into: "My days are merely shadows waiting for the light of your return." I thought that by being the voice she uses to express her deepest desires, I was becoming the silent partner of her soul.

"Elias, you make him sound so... magical," she said last night, clutching a printed page I’d just finished. "I read your translations and I feel like I’m finally being seen. You have a way of capturing exactly what I’m feeling, even when I don't know how to say it."

"I just know your voice, Clara," I said, my heart aching.

"You really do. Julian told me in his last email that my French has become 'sublime.' He said he’s never met a woman who speaks to his spirit like I do. He’s finally asking me to move to Paris to be with him."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I had done my job too well. I had crafted a version of Clara that was so perfect, he was finally ready to claim her.

"I’m leaving in two weeks, Elias," she said, her eyes wet with excitement. "And I have one last favor. I want to write him a long, handwritten letter to give him at the airport. I want it to be the most beautiful thing he’s ever read. Can you help me one last time? I want to tell him I’m ready to give him my whole life."

I spent four hours that night writing her final letter to him. I poured all of my own love for her into those paragraphs. I used words I would never have the courage to say to her myself. I described the way her eyes light up when she’s excited, the way her presence changes the energy of a room—all masked as Julian’s observations or her own reflections.

I was writing my own heartbreak in the most beautiful French prose I’ve ever produced.

This morning, I met her at the airport to give her the translation. She hugged me so tight I could smell the vanilla in her hair.

"You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Elias," she whispered. "I’ll tell Julian all about the 'kind man' who helped us understand each other. I'll send you a postcard from the Eiffel Tower!"

I watched her walk toward the security gate, clutching the letter that would seal her future with another man. She’s flying across the ocean to a man who fell in love with my words, my metaphors, and my devotion. Julian is getting the woman, but I’m the one who actually knows her heart, because I’m the one who had to translate it into a language she could understand.

I’m back at my desk now. The apartment is silent. My phone buzzed—a text from Clara. "I just landed! I gave him the letter and he cried. He said I'm a genius of love. Thank you for everything, Elias! You're a lifesaver!"

I looked at the blank screen of my computer. I’m a translator, but I’ve realized there’s no word in any language for the kind of pain that comes from being the reason the person you love finds happiness with someone else. I’m a linguist who is finally speechless.