Happiness is spiritual, born of truth and love. It is unselfish;

Host: The twilight descended over the city, turning the glass towers into fading mirrors of fire and smoke. The air was still, thick with the hum of electric signs and the soft rhythm of distant traffic. Inside a quiet rooftop café, two figures sat by the edge — Jack and Jeeny — their voices low, their silhouettes etched against the dying light.

The table between them was cluttered with two half-empty mugs, a notebook, and the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Far below, the world pulsed — people moving fast, lights flickering, laughter spilling out of restaurants and bars. Yet up here, time slowed.

Jeeny looked out across the skyline, her hair caught in the last strands of sunset. Jack watched her, half skeptical, half contemplative.

Jeeny: “Mary Baker Eddy once said, ‘Happiness is spiritual, born of truth and love. It is unselfish; therefore it cannot exist alone, but requires all mankind to share it.’”

Jack: “Sounds poetic. But also a bit naïve, don’t you think? Happiness doesn’t require all mankind — just enough money to pay rent and someone who doesn’t leave.”

Jeeny: “That’s survival, Jack. Not happiness.”

Jack: “You say that like there’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “There is. Survival is the body’s goal. Happiness is the soul’s. And souls don’t thrive in isolation.”

Host: A soft breeze stirred the napkins, rustling the corner of Jeeny’s notebook. The sky shifted from gold to indigo, and a faint chill crept into the evening. Jack rubbed his hands together, his breath visible in the cooling air.

Jack: “So you’re saying happiness depends on others? That’s a dangerous dependency, Jeeny. People are unreliable. They betray, they leave, they change. You can’t tie your peace to a species that can’t even agree on what love means.”

Jeeny: “I’m not saying happiness depends on others — I’m saying it’s completed through them. You can feel joy alone, but true happiness — the kind Eddy meant — is a shared vibration. It’s not about receiving love, but being it.”

Jack: “That’s philosophy talk. I’ve seen people ‘share’ happiness and destroy each other in the process. Families, lovers, friends — all in the name of truth and love. Humans ruin everything they touch.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you’re still here. Talking. Hoping. That means something in you refuses to give up on people.”

Jack: “Or maybe I just like arguing.”

Host: Jeeny smiled faintly, her eyes glimmering like small stars reflected in a dark sea. She lifted her mug, blowing gently across the surface before speaking again.

Jeeny: “Do you remember that power outage last year? When the whole city went dark for a night?”

Jack: “Yeah. I was stuck in my apartment with no internet. Worst night ever.”

Jeeny: “Funny — I thought it was beautiful. Neighbors came out with candles. Strangers shared food. People sang on balconies. For a few hours, the city became human again. That’s what Eddy meant — happiness that requires connection. It wasn’t about light bulbs, Jack — it was about shared light.”

Jack: “You call that happiness? I call it boredom therapy.”

Jeeny: “Then why did it feel so peaceful? Why did everyone smile that night without a single ad, deadline, or transaction pushing them to?”

Jack: “Because it was temporary. People can act kind when they know it ends soon.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe because they remembered who they are when everything artificial stops.”

Host: The lights of the café flickered on, one by one — soft golden halos that caught the floating dust, turning it into particles of quiet magic. Jack leaned back, watching the city breathe below.

Jack: “Let’s say you’re right. Happiness is spiritual, born of truth and love. Fine. But how do you build something spiritual in a world obsessed with material comfort? People chase success because happiness without stability is just philosophy.”

Jeeny: “That’s where truth comes in. Happiness born of love doesn’t crumble when circumstances shift. It’s not the kind you buy or secure — it’s the kind you awaken.”

Jack: “Awaken, huh? You sound like a preacher now.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I’m just tired of watching people confuse pleasure with peace. They think happiness is a possession — a state to achieve. But Eddy reminds us it’s a relation — an extension of compassion.”

Host: The wind lifted Jeeny’s hair, brushing it across her face. Jack reached instinctively to tuck a strand behind her ear, then stopped halfway, his hand hanging awkwardly before retreating. His eyes softened — a brief betrayal of his guarded logic.

Jack: “You know what I envy about people like you?”

Jeeny: “What’s that?”

Jack: “You believe in connection like it’s a law of physics. Me, I see it as an accident of circumstance. People collide, they comfort, they separate. End of equation.”

Jeeny: “And yet, even equations have constants — forces that bind no matter what. Love is one of them.”

Jack: “You think love is a constant? Tell that to the divorced, the betrayed, the forgotten.”

Jeeny: “Love doesn’t fail, Jack. People do. Love’s still the same — it’s we who turn it into a weapon instead of a gift.”

Host: A long pause stretched between them. Below, the streets gleamed with neon reflections — red, blue, green — like fractured pieces of the same spectrum. Jack’s reflection stared back at him from the glass barrier, doubled, lonely.

Jack: “You really think happiness can’t exist alone?”

Jeeny: “It can start alone. But it’s never complete there. Think of laughter — it’s fuller when echoed. Think of music — it blooms when shared. Even silence feels truer when someone else understands it.”

Jack: “So happiness is collective by nature?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because truth and love — the roots of it — are expansive. They want to move outward, to connect. Isolation suffocates them.”

Jack: “Then what about monks? Solitude, silence — they seem happy enough.”

Jeeny: “They’re not alone, Jack. Their silence is communion. They’re connected to everything, even in isolation. Happiness doesn’t need a crowd — it just needs openness. A monk in a cave can still love humanity more deeply than a man in a crowd full of noise.”

Host: The evening breeze turned cooler, lifting the edges of napkins and stirring the surface of their drinks. The city below glittered like constellations — countless lives pulsing, each one a small star in humanity’s great sky.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what scares me — that happiness isn’t a place you reach, but a responsibility. If it’s shared, then I can’t own it. I can only offer it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Happiness isn’t something you keep — it’s something you keep giving.”

Jack: “And if no one gives it back?”

Jeeny: “Then give anyway. That’s the unselfish part. Happiness that demands return is just a transaction. Real happiness doesn’t need applause — it becomes its own echo.”

Host: Jack looked down at his hands, calloused and strong, resting on the cold tabletop. He exhaled — a slow, deliberate surrender of something heavy.

Jack: “You know, when my brother was in the hospital, I used to visit him every day. I thought it was out of duty. But one night, he told me — ‘You’re the only reason I smile when I wake up.’ That was the first time I felt... whatever this is you’re talking about.”

Jeeny: “Love.”

Jack: “No — happiness. Real happiness. The kind that hurts because it’s too big to keep.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly it, Jack. The kind Eddy spoke of — happiness that can’t exist alone because it was never meant to. It’s the overflow of truth and love.”

Host: A sudden gust rattled the empty cups, as if punctuating the revelation. The city’s lights shimmered below, and a plane crossed the horizon, silent and graceful, like a thought taking flight.

Jack: “So what you’re saying is — happiness isn’t a feeling we find. It’s a way of being with others.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s not about possession, but participation. It’s not earned — it’s extended.”

Jack: “And it doesn’t end when it’s shared.”

Jeeny: “No. It multiplies.”

Host: The two sat quietly, the world below them buzzing with unseen stories — strangers crossing streets, children laughing, lovers arguing, lives intersecting in the endless play of connection.

Jeeny reached out and placed her hand over Jack’s — a small gesture, but it carried the warmth of everything they’d just spoken.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what she meant by ‘spiritual,’ Jack. Happiness isn’t a product of circumstance — it’s a current. You can’t trap it; you can only let it flow.”

Jack: “And if I let it flow — even when it hurts?”

Jeeny: “Then you’re alive. Truly alive.”

Host: The night settled fully now, the stars emerging one by one, shy but determined. The wind whispered through the metal rails, carrying laughter from a nearby table — strangers sharing a story, their joy rippling outward into the night.

Jack smiled faintly, eyes glistening not from sorrow, but from the strange peace of recognition.

Jack: “Alright, Jeeny. You win. Maybe happiness really isn’t something you own.”

Jeeny: “It’s something you become.”

Jack: “And something you share.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The camera panned out slowly, the café shrinking against the vastness of the city lights — a constellation of hearts, each flickering, each connected.

And as the world exhaled into the stillness of night, the Host’s voice lingered, soft and luminous:

“Happiness is not a treasure locked within the self. It is a song — one that must be sung together, across all distance and difference, until the whole of mankind hums in harmony with its truth.”