Romantic films often rely on chance encounters to bring two strangers together. A delayed flight, an unexpected meeting in a coffee shop, or a mistaken identity usually sets the story in motion. Voicemails for Isabelle chooses a far more emotional starting point. Instead of introducing romance through coincidence alone, it begins with grief, allowing an accidental phone connection to become the bridge between heartbreak and hope.

According to a review published by The O’Colly, the Netflix film, which premiered on June 19, has quickly climbed into the platform’s Top 10 movies in the United States. While its premise sounds unconventional, the emotional foundation beneath it is surprisingly familiar: learning how to move forward after losing someone you love.

At the center of the story is Jill, played by Zoey Deutch, a pastry chef living in San Francisco. From the very beginning, Jill is portrayed as someone who has never heard the phrase “TMI.” She speaks openly, wears her emotions on her sleeve, and carries an energy that makes her instantly likable despite the heavy burden she carries.

The audience first meets Jill as a young girl growing up alongside her younger sister, Isabelle, portrayed by Ciara Bravo. Their relationship is presented as warm, affectionate, and full of the kind of closeness many siblings dream of having. Yet that happiness is shadowed by tragedy. Isabelle suffers from cystic fibrosis, and eventually loses her battle with the disease.

That loss becomes the emotional center of everything Jill experiences afterward.

Life in San Francisco is far from perfect. Although she works as a pastry chef, she finds herself dealing with a job that barely allows her to bake under what she sarcastically describes as a “Timothee Chalamet” wannabe boss. Away from her hometown of Austin, Texas, she struggles with loneliness, frustrating dating experiences, and even something as simple as being unable to find a proper breakfast taco.

Despite these everyday disappointments, Jill never loses the warmth that defines her personality. Instead of allowing grief to harden her, she continues searching for connection while carrying memories of Isabelle with her everywhere she goes.

One place becomes especially meaningful.

Whenever Jill needs a moment to herself, she visits a scenic overlook featuring a bench facing San Francisco’s iconic Golden Gate Bridge. It is there that she performs a ritual that keeps her connected to her late sister.

She calls Isabelle’s old phone number and leaves heartfelt voicemail messages.

What Jill does not realize is that Isabelle’s former phone number no longer belongs to her family.

Instead, it has become the work phone of Wes, a successful real estate agent played by Nick Robinson.

Unlike Jill, Wes initially appears emotionally unavailable. He has little interest in serious relationships and seems fully committed to his career, complete with a silver nameplate and his own dedicated business phone. Nothing about his routine suggests he is looking for an unexpected romance.

Yet every voicemail changes that.

As Jill continues speaking to the sister she can no longer reach, Wes becomes the unintended listener. At first, he has no idea why these deeply personal messages keep arriving on his phone. Gradually, however, he pieces together the truth about Isabelle’s passing and the grief Jill is quietly working through.

The voicemails were never meant for him.

Ironically, that is exactly what makes them so powerful.

Without realizing it, Jill reveals her fears, memories, humor, and vulnerability through conversations intended only for her sister. Wes comes to know her not through carefully planned conversations or first dates, but through honest moments of healing that were never supposed to have an audience.

The more messages he hears, the more deeply he admires the woman behind them.

Naturally, not everyone believes his behavior is entirely appropriate.

When Wes’ friends discover what has been happening, they react with understandable concern. One of them—played by Leah McKendrick, who also wrote and directed the film—delivers perhaps the story’s funniest observation:

“This is like a sick, sick reboot of ‘You’ve Got Mail,'”

The comparison captures both the charm and the discomfort of the situation. Like the classic romantic comedy, two strangers are connected through unexpected communication. But unlike that beloved film, one person has absolutely no idea the other is listening.

The review also playfully reminds audiences that Wes is “NOT TOM HANKS,” acknowledging that viewers may occasionally question his decisions even as they continue rooting for the relationship to succeed.

That tension becomes one of the film’s greatest strengths.

Rather than presenting a flawless romance, Voicemails for Isabelle allows its central relationship to grow from an emotionally complicated situation. Love does not erase grief, nor does healing happen overnight. Instead, the film suggests that people sometimes find comfort in the least expected places—even through circumstances that initially seem impossible to justify.

By balancing heartbreaking memories with humor and romance, the story avoids becoming overwhelmingly sad. The emotional weight of Isabelle’s absence remains present throughout, yet it exists alongside laughter, awkward dating moments, workplace frustrations, and the possibility of beginning again.

The review concludes that the film ultimately succeeds because it embraces all of these emotional contradictions. It is a story filled with loss, hope, longing, and unexpected joy, culminating in a romance that feels earned precisely because both characters arrive there carrying emotional scars.

As Benson Boone’s Beautiful Things plays near the film’s conclusion, the message becomes clear. Sometimes the most meaningful connections begin not with perfect timing or grand gestures, but with a voice message intended for someone who can no longer answer—and another person who chooses to listen anyway.