A lot of good love can happen in ten years.

Host: The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still glistened under the neon glow of the city — like the world had been washed clean but hadn’t decided what to do with its clarity yet. The diner at the corner was nearly empty, the kind of place that stayed open not for profit, but for those who needed a soft light at three in the morning.

Inside, the air smelled of coffee, old sugar, and the faint electricity of untold stories.

Jack sat in a booth by the window, his hands wrapped around a cup that had long since gone cold. His eyes were tired, but not defeated — they carried that reflective weight that comes from realizing how much of life is memory. Across from him, Jeeny sat with her knees pulled up slightly, her hair falling over one shoulder, her face open and unguarded in the way night sometimes allows.

Between them, scrawled on a napkin in her looping handwriting, was a single quote:

“A lot of good love can happen in ten years.” — Jim Carrey.

Jeeny: smiling softly “It’s simple, isn’t it? Almost too simple. But it feels… true.”

Jack: staring out the window “Depends on your definition of ‘good.’”

Jeeny: “Always the philosopher.”

Jack: half-smiling “Always the cynic, you mean.”

Host: The jukebox in the corner hummed softly, its tune lost in static — a half-remembered melody that felt like nostalgia wearing a new suit.

Jeeny: “Ten years doesn’t sound long until you start living them. Then it’s a lifetime disguised as a decade.”

Jack: “Funny thing about time — it doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It just keeps going, and love either keeps up or gets left behind.”

Jeeny: quietly “You’ve lost someone recently.”

Jack: after a pause “No. I just realized the person I loved turned into someone else — and so did I. We just didn’t notice the change until it was permanent.”

Host: A drop of condensation slid down the side of Jeeny’s glass, leaving a faint trail — a small echo of time passing.

Jeeny: “That’s what ten years does. It builds quietly, then breaks suddenly.”

Jack: “And yet, Carrey calls it ‘good love.’ Not tragic. Not wasted. Just good.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “Maybe because even when it ends, it still matters. Maybe love doesn’t need to last forever to be good. It just needs to be honest while it lives.”

Jack: “Honesty’s overrated. People talk about love like it’s holy, but most of it’s just fear wearing perfume.”

Jeeny: with gentle fire “No. Fear ends things. Love sustains — even if only for a while. You can’t call something meaningless just because it has an expiration date.”

Jack: grinning faintly “You should write greeting cards.”

Jeeny: “And you should learn to stop confusing endings with failures.”

Host: The neon sign outside buzzed faintly, flickering every few seconds. Its red glow painted the edge of Jack’s face — making his features look carved from some softer kind of pain.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I thought love was a finish line. You meet someone, survive the storms, and that’s it — you win. But now I think maybe love’s more like a road trip. You share miles until the map runs out, and then you stop — not because you wanted to, but because you’re supposed to.”

Jeeny: “And if it’s good, those miles change you.”

Jack: “Exactly. You never drive the same after.”

Host: She reached across the table, tracing a small circle on the rim of her mug — the kind of absent motion that carries unspoken memories.

Jeeny: “My parents were together twenty years. My father used to say, ‘Love doesn’t get smaller — people just stop growing into it.’ Maybe that’s why ten years feels both short and endless. It’s long enough to love deeply but short enough to forget to notice how much you’ve changed.”

Jack: leaning forward “So what do we do? Stop loving before we outgrow it?”

Jeeny: “No. We love knowing it’s mortal. That’s what makes it good.”

Host: The rain started again — a slow drizzle against the glass, steady but soft, like an old rhythm the city remembered by heart.

Jack: half-whispering “Do you think love gets harder or easier with time?”

Jeeny: “Harder to find. Easier to recognize. Time makes you picky about illusions.”

Jack: nodding slowly “And you?”

Jeeny: “I’ve learned to love differently. Softer, but stronger. Less about possession, more about presence.”

Jack: “That’s rare.”

Jeeny: “So is good love.”

Host: The clock behind the counter ticked toward three a.m. The world outside was sleeping, but inside, the diner felt timeless — as if the two of them had stepped out of life and into some suspended moment of truth.

Jeeny: “You know what I think Jim Carrey meant? He wasn’t talking about romance alone. He meant love in all its forms — friendship, forgiveness, resilience. A lot of good love can happen in ten years if you let yourself be open to it.”

Jack: “And a lot of damage too.”

Jeeny: “They’re the same thing, Jack. You can’t separate them. Every good love bruises — that’s how you know it was real.”

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s been through it.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Haven’t we all?”

Host: The rain eased again, leaving streaks on the glass like fingerprints of passing time. Jack looked down at the napkin, the quote still glistening faintly under the table’s light.

Jack: quietly “Ten years. It sounds both infinite and fleeting.”

Jeeny: “It is. Ten years is enough to fall in love, lose it, grieve it, and find yourself again. Enough to become a different person — and still miss who you were.”

Jack: after a pause “Do you think it’s worth it?”

Jeeny: “Always. Because even if it ends, you get to say you lived something worth remembering.”

Host: The camera lingered on their faces — two people who had both known love’s fire and aftermath, sitting in the stillness that only honesty allows. The neon light outside flickered one last time, steadying as if the night itself had decided to agree.

The quote on the napkin glowed faintly under the table’s lamp, its truth quietly triumphant:

“A lot of good love can happen in ten years.” — Jim Carrey.

Host: The scene faded as they sat in silence — not empty silence, but the kind that holds gratitude. Outside, dawn began to pale the horizon, washing the city in new light.

And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, time — the thief and the giver — whispered the same reminder to them both:

That love, no matter how long it lasts, always leaves something good behind.