Solved Murders - True Crime Stories - I Ruined Our First Date in Paris, Then Moved to Brazil to Be With Her Anyway—True Story #31

Episode Date: September 11, 2025

#horrorstories #reddithorrorstories #ScaryStories #creepypasta #horrortales #truelove #firstdateruin #parisromance #longdistancerelationship #movingforlove  This story begins with a date gone wrong in the City of Lights, where nerves and mishaps nearly end a new romance before it starts. But love isn’t about perfection—it’s about persistence. Choosing to move across the world to Brazil, the narrator embraces a new life and culture in pursuit of the relationship’s potential. It’s a tale of hope, second chances, and proving that sometimes, love means risking everything to make things right.  horrorstories, reddithorrorstories, scarystories, horrorstory, creepypasta, horrortales, truelovejourney, romanticdisaster, longdistancelove, movingabroad, relationshipstruggles, culturaladjustment, loveagainstodds, emotionalstory, datingfail, hopeandredemption, newbeginnings, loveandloss, heartfeltstory, personaljourney

All right, people. I have a true story for you all. One about the day I met the Brazilian girl, I'm French, for whom I learned Portuguese, and eventually moved to Brazil. Though I may have learned a full language and crossed an ocean for that woman, this date will go down in history as one of the cringiest ever. You've been warned. Paris saw me arrive at 8 a.m. sharp to pick up the Brazilian girl. Alas, no matter how well I explained the concept of the or lival to Anthony station, confusion set in even as she disembarked. By some divine miracle, other citizens of her country suddenly appeared along the way to lend her a hand. Eventually, Raphaelah arrived in Antony in total serenity. Except that Antony is a big place. I found myself looking for her in the station

for easily half an hour. As it turned out, we were on the same platform, but because it was so long, we were on opposite sides. So we were off to a great start. It was at this precise moment that I was reminded of an essential piece of information, I'm terribly uncomfortable when I spend time with someone new. Add to this my relative mastery of her native language, and the nightmare could begin. When she found me, lost on the platform, all hell broke loose. Hi, Lucy. Oh, hi, Raphaella. In a panic, I held out my hand. She pulled me in a moment. She pulled me in a way. into a hug. We hugged to say hello. Can you repeat that? I don't understand. A brachco. Hug, she said, in broken English. Oh, yes. Hug. I got it. Silence settled in.

underscore, quick, don't let the unease set in underscore. Would you like a coffee? I bought you one. Oh, no thanks. Underscore be creative, Lucy. Pull yourself together. She's come to see you, underscore. Did you have a good trip, otherwise? Yes, it was quiet. But it's cold. It's what? Cold.

Oh, you're cold. Do you want me to take you to your hotel? To drop off your bags. In the metro, the level of discomfort was reaching Everest highs. When Raphaelah tried to talk to me, I petrified, when I wanted to chat, the words stuck in my throat. When we arrived at our charming station, we had to be. move aside, the armed forces were having a lively raid. Now, the problem was that I'd promised to guide her around Paris. Except that I knew nothing about Paris. And Google Maps had passed

the word to give Lucy the wrong instructions. That's how we ended up walking more than 20 kilometers the first day. It took us four metros, and three hours, to find. The Eiffel Tower. It's a good thing she's little, eh, gives you an excuse. Meanwhile, my brain had woken up. I was making attempts at conversation as we went round in circles. But if I was regaining energy, Raphaella was losing some in return, she was suffering a monstrous flu and swallowing cough syrup by the bucketful. When we reached the Eiffel Tower, we sat down again, still in silence.

I was horrified. I was a bad host, she must hate me. Why couldn't I be as natural as I was on WhatsApp? Poor thing, she must have been living a nightmare. Stranded, in an unfamiliar country, with an unfamiliar language, and with a stranger who behaved suspiciously. It was time to ask for help. Yes, Valentin.

Are you in Paris as planned? Yes. How are things going with your Brazilian? Terrible. I'm uncomfortable, it's hell, would you like to have a drink with me tonight? A beer might help you relax. I turned to Raphaella, patiently sitting on her bench, gazing at the Eiffel Tower. Say, I've got a friend who's asked us out to the bar tonight. Do you want to come along? Of course, but are you sure? If you're too sick or something,

don't force yourself, I left her a way out. She didn't take it. I'm sure. That is, if you don't mind me coming along. Yes, totally. I just don't want you to feel obliged to do anything. Don't worry, Lucy. You know I'm having a good day, right? Ah, but that was without taking into account my dubious sense of direction. We set off again, heading for the bar. Along the boulevards, the cars passed by, non-stop. We could no longer take the metro. Raphaela was running out of money, and wouldn't let me buy her a ticket. So we kept walking. My feet were killing me, I distracted myself by making my crush talk.

Would you like to try a croissant? There's nothing more French than that. We've got croissons too, Ichem. What are they like, filled with cheese? That should be forbidden. They're delicious. It's criminal. Our debate continued in the bakery where we were taking a break.

Raphaela had ordered fries for me. Leaning over the table that separated us, we stared into each other's eyes. She seemed to dare me to contradict her. The tension was building. But it felt good, more like an electric massage, a spark, instead of a shock. Underscore it's certainly all in your head, Lucy underscore. Excuse me, but Brazil isn't known for its cuisine, is it? Are you kidding?

Brazilian cuisine is the best. What do you eat, besides rice and beans? Do you do anything else besides smoking? We drink, too. We have good red beers. What do you mean, red, cherry beers? I'll buy you one at the bar. You can't leave without a taste.

We set off again, energized. We landed in a square where we were to wait for Valentin. Time passed. It went on and on. In the square, the wind was blowing. It was getting dark, and I was chain smoking the night away. more French than France itself. I sat three meters away from Raphaella, not a fan of cigarettes. There she was, resting on her bench, shivering in the Parisian air. I'm cold. Damn. Damn, valentine.

Damn me, too, and my rotten plans. I didn't want her to hate me any more than necessary. I refused to see her suffer because of me. Do you want my jacket? I don't need it. No, It's all right. I'm just cold. But I'm fine. We stood there, waiting for Valentin, stuck in the capital's traffic jams. Raphael was trembling, several meters away from me. I didn't know what to do.

I prayed Valentin would arrive soon. When he finally arrived, I couldn't even feel the pain in my hands anymore. We made our way to the bar. To our disappointment, there was no red beer on offer. Raphaela had to make do with a classic IPA between two glasses of cough syrup. Exhausted, we climbed into Valentin's car at the end of the evening. But he wasn't going to let me admit defeat so easily. Would you like me to take you to see the monuments?

It's beautiful at night. Raphaelah, Valentin offers to take us for a ride in his car. The Eiffel Tower is beautiful, apparently, at night. Would you like to come? Yes, definitely. Are you sure? If you're too tired, we'll drop you back at your hotel. Nah, I really want to see Paris by night. Valentin, it's okay, she wants to go for a ride. Can you ask her to put on some Brazilian music? Raphael was happy to choose the playlist. As the music she'd already sent me circulated in the car, she fell asleep on her window seat.

The melody lulled her to sleep, as did my awkward silence. I sucked, she'd never want to see me again. She certainly didn't share my feelings. When the Eiffel Tower loomed in the distance, I decided to wake her up. I shook her arm in the back seat. Raphaela? We're at the Eiffel Tower. Incredible. The Brazilian detached herself, sliding across the seat to my side.

Her head came closer to my shoulder, to better see the monument. A soft love song in Portuguese kept us company. The alarm began to sound in the car. Oh, someone's not wearing a seatbelt, said Valentin. Go back to your seat, you need to buckle up. Brilliant. I was brilliantly stupid. So Raphaella went back to sleep and we finished our journey to her hotel, where she promptly got off. Only to come back and give me a hug.

It was great fun. Thanks for spending the day with me, I could only interpret that one way. She'd ruined her first day in Paris, and I'd ruined our first day. friendship. She would never contact me again. So I walked defeatedly back to my hotel. Once inside, I counted my pennies. I was running out of money. Paris had cost me too much. Panic returned with a vengeance, invading my whole being. It was the middle of the night. How could I get home? Valentine was sleeping at a friend's house. I was stuck. I was going to end up sleeping on the street. I called my mother. She left me stranded. Miraculously, I found a few

bills in my pocket. Emptying my bank account, I managed to finance my hotel room. I went upstairs to lie down and let tears guide me to sleep. When I woke up, I was surprised to find a message from Raphaela. She asked me to meet her at the Saker Kerr, to spend the day together. The sun was now shining mercilessly on Pan Am, as we French call the Capitol. Covered in sweat, I went to join my crush in front of the basilica. Raphaelah held out her arms to me. I cut the hug short, stinking already. So, what do you want to do today? I'd like to see the Louvre. Let's go, then. On the road, we talked. Raphaelah was cold, I was hot. She thought it was funny that we beheaded kings, I told her that Louis 14 probably didn't find it amusing.

Nope, I wasn't better at history than at dating. Finally, we saw the pyramid appear before our very eyes. The Brazilian was taking photos, and a passerby asked me to hold her cell phone. I took the opportunity to escape my creeping anxiety of not knowing how to resume the conversation. Could you tell me which French song would go with this story? Raphaela didn't let me get lost in my futile panic. What kind of music are you thinking of? I don't know, something that makes sense.

I've got mostly shrinks, on my Instagram. Oh, wait up. Didn't you want to see some psychoanalyst's plaque before you left? Yes. But if we don't have the time, it's okay. My crush was due to leave at the end of the day. I glanced at Google Maps. Miracle, the plate was ten minutes away.

I wasn't going to disappoint her again. We walked briskly to our destination. reconciliation. Raphaela smiled, taking the pose in front of the plaque. I smiled to see her smile. But before long, I became dismayed again. We were back in front of the metro. It was time to say goodbye. I was already awkward with hellos. I was a thousand times worse at goodbyes. Raphaela offered me a final hug. When she pulled away, she planted herself in front of me and stared into my eyes. You know, I'm really glad you came to keep me company. I really enjoyed spending those two days with you. Really, it's been great. I'm delighted to know you, and I hope we'll

meet again, in Paris or in Brazil. Because next time, it's your turn to visit me. I was in a panic. She was so cute. I didn't know what to say. Same here. Have a good trip, bye, and I told you. I turned on my heels, walking back through the crowd to a deserted bench where I could cry my heart out. Yep, this is actually how it went LMAO. You know the worst part. Raphaela missed her plane. She had to pay another ticket. As for me, I went back to school in order to go to Brazil and escape my very tortured French fate at the same time. I did live in Brazil for nearly a year, and I went though, let's say, some interesting dates there as well. including, with Raphaella herself.

Now, if you're all interested in discovering more horror stories from the most useless lesbian ever, you can do just that by reading my memoir, available over here, in both English or French, in case some wild Frenchies passing through. You may find it hilarious at times, but beware, it's mostly revolting. Though, I guess you'll understand why I was so avoidant with Raphaela. So, whether you want to laugh, cry, cringe, or just to be a little bit of you. help out a fellow lesbian go on a few more hilarious dates, I'll tell you all about it, I swear, then don't hesitate to get my book or just share the word about it.