Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of

Host: The train station café buzzed with the low murmur of modern loneliness — fingers tapping on screens, earbuds in, eyes cast down toward blue light instead of one another. Outside, trains groaned against the tracks, departing into the fog like ships leaving the harbor of human connection.

It was late afternoon — that hour when technology hums louder than thought, when even the light seems artificial.

At a corner table, Jack sat hunched over his phone, scrolling with a frown that looked permanent. Across from him, Jeeny sat quietly, her laptop closed, her coffee untouched. She watched him for a long while — not with judgment, but with the kind of sadness only distance between hearts can breed.

Host: The air around them was filled with signals — Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, cellular — everything invisible, everything impersonal.

Jeeny: [softly] “You ever notice how nobody talks anymore?”

Jack: [without looking up] “What do you mean? I’m talking to five people right now.”

Jeeny: “You’re not talking. You’re typing. There’s a difference.”

Jack: [glancing up, smirking] “Come on, Jeeny. Messages are just modern conversation.”

Jeeny: “No. They’re modern avoidance. Dickens once said, ‘Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of someone who, with their soul, encourages another person to be brave and true.’”

Jack: [raising an eyebrow] “Dickens said that? The guy who wrote about ghosts?”

Jeeny: [smiling] “Exactly. He believed in presence. In the kind of communication that happens when you look someone in the eyes and feel seen.”

Jack: “I don’t need to stare at someone to connect. I can feel things through words.”

Jeeny: “Sure. But can words feel you back?”

Host: A train horn sounded in the distance — a long, lonely note that lingered like a question that didn’t want to be answered.

Jack: [puts the phone down reluctantly] “You think technology kills emotion?”

Jeeny: “No. It just muffles it. We’ve replaced the trembling hand with the typing thumb. The soul used to travel through voice — now it gets trapped in pixels.”

Jack: “You sound nostalgic. Like someone who wants to live in sepia tones.”

Jeeny: “I’m not anti-tech. I just miss sincerity that isn’t scheduled. We text when we’re free, not when we’re feeling. There’s a difference.”

Jack: [quietly] “Maybe people don’t have the courage to be real anymore.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they’re just lonely in high definition.”

Host: The lights above flickered, catching the reflection of their faces in the window — two outlines framed by the ghostly glow of devices, caught between connection and disconnection.

Jeeny: [leans forward] “Tell me something, Jack. When’s the last time someone looked at you — really looked — and made you feel brave?”

Jack: [thinks, looks away] “...I don’t remember.”

Jeeny: “Then no app’s going to fix that.”

Jack: “You make it sound like we’ve lost something sacred.”

Jeeny: “We have. We lost the ability to witness each other. To sit in silence without distraction. To let words breathe instead of sending them before we mean them.”

Jack: [sighs] “You think it’s that simple — that we just put our phones down and the world heals?”

Jeeny: “Not heals. Feels.”

Host: The espresso machine hissed, releasing a puff of steam — the café’s exhale after hearing too much truth.

Jack: “I think people talk more now than ever. We’re constantly connected.”

Jeeny: “Connection isn’t communication. It’s proximity without presence. Like two trains passing — close enough to see each other, too fast to touch.”

Jack: [smiles faintly] “You should write that down. It’s painfully accurate.”

Jeeny: “I did once. In a message you never replied to.”

Jack: [winces] “Ouch.”

Jeeny: [softly] “You see? That’s what I mean. We’ve turned silence into rejection and noise into comfort.”

Jack: “You think Dickens would’ve hated the Internet?”

Jeeny: “No. He would’ve loved it — as a storyteller. But he would’ve hated what it did to sincerity. He’d say we’ve mistaken speed for depth.”

Host: The rain began to tap on the window, small drops gathering, blurring the world beyond into watercolor smudges of motion.

Jack: “So what’s the cure then? Go off-grid? Burn the routers?”

Jeeny: [shakes her head] “No. The cure’s not retreat — it’s return. Look up. Speak slowly. Listen. Let your words live in the air before they die on a screen.”

Jack: “That’s hard. Vulnerability always is.”

Jeeny: “And yet it’s the only thing that keeps us human.”

Jack: “You make it sound like courage.”

Jeeny: “It is. To show up — body, face, voice, soul — without filters, without irony. That’s the bravest act left.”

Jack: [softly] “You think that’s what Dickens meant? That bravery is contagious when witnessed?”

Jeeny: “Yes. That someone’s presence can make you believe in yourself again.”

Host: The café door opened, letting in a gust of cold air and laughter — real sound, real warmth, unmediated by signal.

Jack: “You ever wonder if maybe we’re evolving past that? Maybe presence isn’t necessary anymore.”

Jeeny: “No. Presence isn’t outdated — it’s endangered.”

Jack: [leans back, considering] “So you think we’ll lose the ability to look each other in the eye?”

Jeeny: “If we stop practicing, yes. Empathy is a muscle — unused, it withers.”

Jack: [smiles faintly] “So that’s why I’m here. To exercise my empathy.”

Jeeny: [smiling back] “And I’m your workout partner.”

Host: Their laughter broke the sterile hum of the café, the sound warm and imperfect, like a heartbeat shared.

Jeeny: [reaches across the table] “You know, when someone looks at you — not at your résumé or your reflection, but you — it’s electric in a way no wire could carry.”

Jack: [looks up, finally meeting her gaze] “I’d forgotten what that feels like.”

Jeeny: “Then remember it now.”

Jack: [after a moment] “You make bravery sound contagious.”

Jeeny: “It always was. You just have to be close enough to catch it.”

Host: The rain outside softened, the world visible again through the glass — faces walking past, real, unfiltered, alive.

Because as Charles Dickens said,
“Electric communication will never be a substitute for the face of someone who, with their soul, encourages another person to be brave and true.”

And as Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other —
no screens, no distractions, just breath and presence —
they understood that the greatest form of communication
wasn’t digital, but spiritual — the exchange of courage
through the simple miracle of being seen.

Host: The train pulled into the station,
its whistle echoing like a call to return —
not to the past, but to one another.