Crossing is one of those small, intimate stories that ends up feeling momentous and significant precisely because of how well it dials in on its characters and the little details that make up their lives. The specificity of it is precisely what lets its story feel universal, and while it may be fairly quiet and restrained for much of its runtime, the ending packs a mighty emotional wallop. Bring tissues.

It’s mostly about Lia (Mzia Arabuli), a Georgian woman travelling across the Turkish border to Istanbul in search of her trans niece Tekla, who fled there after being driven away from home. Near the border she meets Achi (Lucas Kankava), a young man who vaguely knew Lia’s niece at one time and offers to help find her. Once they arrive in Istanbul, their paths cross with Evrim’s (Deniz Dumanli), a trans woman who’s recently qualified as a lawyer and who might – or might not – be the key to finding Tekla.

That “mostly” is telling, however, because while Lia definitely is the protagonist, director Levan Akin never forgets the importance of all the other people who get caught up in her story. Everyone, no matter how small the part, feels like a complete, rounded person, whether it’s the street urchin who offers to lead Lia through Istanbul, or the kindly taxi driver with whom Evrim strikes up an unexpected connection.

It’s those small and specific details, that tell us so much about the characters and their world with so few words spoken, that really make Crossing sing. Like Achi, the young man from a poor family, instinctively grabbing any leftover food he can find, or emotionally-distant, clearly regretful Lia casually knocking back more of her drink than anyone else at the table.

The little moments of kindness ring out the loudest, whether that’s Evrim making a fuss of one of Istanbul’s innumerable stray cats, or Achi’s response to Lia’s disbelief after they’ve visited a brothel full of trans girls, thinking Tekla might be there. “So this is the life she chose”, Lia says, before Achi replies “I hardly think it was a choice”. It’s a film of profound empathy, in which every single person deserves understanding and a helping hand – and each of them needs it, whether they’re willing to it it or not.

Crossing is all about lonely people looking for connection, everyone trying to find something or someone in this city that, as Lia observes, people seem to come to in order to disappear. The gradual breaking down of the walls Lia’s built around herself forms the film’s principal arc, as she slowly comes to care for Achi and has her worldview shaken by her meeting with Evrim. The crescendo, when it comes, is devastating, the emotional floodgates opening and all the reserve she and the film have worked to maintain coming crashing down. The ending simply wouldn’t achieve the power and heartbreak it does without the gentleness and subtleness of what’s gone before; Akin masterfully balances the tone for maximum potency at the very end.

As ever, it’s the characters and the texture of the film that stick with you, and Crossing has both in spades. Its characters feel like living, breathing people and its Istanbul feels tactile and lived-in, vast and daunting but slowly opening up as Lia ventures further on her journey. For all the power of Crossing’s destination, there’s a sense that the journey is what really counts, the journey that never truly ends and that each of us is on. What a lovely film this is.