That particular day at church, I wasn’t in the mood for anything. The sermon hadn’t even started, but the pastor kept saying, “Turn to your neighbor and say…”—you know, the usual. The first time, I reluctantly turned to my neighbor on the left and repeated whatever I was supposed to say. But then the pastor added, “Now turn to your other neighbor and say…”

Honestly, I was annoyed. I decided to ignore it. But just as I settled back into my thoughts, someone tapped me gently on my right shoulder. I turned and saw a young man I’d never noticed before. He had a kind smile and soft eyes. “You’re supposed to say it to me,” he said, lightly teasing. I smiled shyly, nodded, and repeated the words to him.

It didn’t end there. During the sermon, the pastor asked again, “Turn to your neighbor and say, ‘I love you with the love of God.’” I turned to the woman on my left and said the words, thinking I was done. But again, that tap on my right. I turned, and there he was, looking at me expectantly. “I love you with the love of God,” he said softly, his voice warm.

I was flustered. Shy. I managed to say the words back, but I could feel my face heating up.

When the service was about to end, the pastor gave his final instruction: “Go around and share the grace with one another.” Everyone stood up, milling about, greeting each other. I had my own plan: avoid the guy. Not because I didn’t like him, but because he made me feel so nervous. Yet, somehow, he managed to wait for me. As I tried to blend into the crowd, he approached, his eyes kind.

We shared the grace together, and he waved goodbye with a smile that stayed with me long after I left the church.

After that day, I didn’t see him again. Week after week, I looked around, hoping he’d show up. But he didn’t. I didn’t know his name, didn’t know who to ask, and I couldn’t bring myself to describe him to anyone. Strangely, I missed him.

Months passed—seven, to be exact. Then one night, I had a dream. In the dream, he asked me to marry him, and I was the happiest girl in the world. I woke up with a smile on my face. It was a Sunday morning. I went to church as usual, sat in my usual spot, and tried to focus on the service.

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As fate would have it, the pastor once again asked us to turn to our neighbors. I sighed, already annoyed at the repetition. But then, a familiar tap on my right shoulder made my heart skip.

I looked up, and there he was. Him. The man I’d been dreaming of and missing for months.

“Hi, where have you been?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement.

“I don’t live in this town,” he replied. “I only come here when I have a project.”

“So, you have another project?” I asked, trying to sound casual.

He shook his head and smiled. “No. I came to look for you.”

Something inside me melted.

Now, we’re dating, and it’s been the most beautiful journey. I always said I’d never date my neighbor, but this is different. This neighbor sits next to me in church and loves me with the love of God.

So, the next time the pastor asks you to turn to your neighbor, just do it. You never know who might turn out to be your neighbor.