I believe that it is important to have faith in a cosmic

Host: The night sky above the rooftop café was a vast canvas of stars, silver and still, as if the universe itself had paused to listen. Below, the city glowed, its lights like a thousand souls trying to outshine their own doubts. A soft wind moved, lifting the napkins, fluttering the candles, carrying the hum of distant traffic — that eternal heartbeat of human life.

Jack leaned on the railing, a glass of something dark in his hand, his eyes on the sky, though he wasn’t really seeing it. Jeeny sat nearby, legs crossed, a book open, her hair moving gently in the breeze. She read aloud — slowly, deliberately:

Jeeny: “I believe that it is important to have faith in a cosmic, universal power and identify the reasons for one’s existence.” (She looked up.) “Jyotiraditya Scindia said that. What do you think, Jack? Do you believe in any of that — cosmic power, universal meaning?”

Jack: (without turning) “I believe in what I can measure, Jeeny. What I can touch, see, or prove. The rest... it’s just noise dressed up as philosophy.”

Host: The light from the candles flickered against his face, carving his features into lines of light and shadow — a man shaped by logic, but haunted by something deeper he refused to name.

Jeeny: (closing the book gently) “You always make it sound so... small. As if what we can touch is all that matters. But look up, Jack. That sky — those stars — they’re billions of years old. Doesn’t that make you feel something? A kind of... cosmic pull?”

Jack: “It makes me feel insignificant. Which is why I don’t waste time trying to find meaning in it. The universe doesn’t care, Jeeny. It just is.”

Host: The wind shifted, cool, salty, alive. Jeeny watched him for a moment — his shoulders, the way they seemed to carry something heavier than the glass he held.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the point. The universe doesn’t have to care — we do. That’s why faith matters. It’s not about believing the stars are watching. It’s about knowing we’re part of them.”

Jack: (smirks) “That’s poetic. But you can’t build a life on poetry.”

Jeeny: “And you can’t build a soul without it.”

Host: Silence settled — not empty, but charged, like the pause before lightning. Somewhere below, a church bell rang faintly, marking the hour, as if the earth itself were keeping time with their debate.

Jack: “You really believe there’s some cosmic power — some invisible intelligence keeping score of all this?”

Jeeny: “Not keeping score, Jack. Holding it together. Everything — the atoms in your blood, the light on your face, the thoughts in your head — they’re all part of the same fabric. Maybe that’s what he meant: that faith is the bridge between what we can see and what we can feel.”

Jack: “You call that faith, I call that physics. The universe is a system. It doesn’t need our belief.”

Jeeny: “And yet we need it. Isn’t that interesting? We build our lives on meaning, even when the cosmos refuses to give us one. Maybe that’s what makes us human — our refusal to stop searching.”

Host: The candles flickered harder now, threatened by the wind, their flames struggling but refusing to die. The sky above seemed to lean closer, as if to listen.

Jack: “Search all you want, Jeeny. But you’re not going to find a reason written in the stars.”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But I can find it in a hand held, in a moment of kindness, in the beauty of trying to understand. That’s the universal power Scindia meant — not a god sitting somewhere, but the energy that connects us.”

Jack: (turns to face her now) “Energy. Connection. You make it sound so clean. But what about the ugly parts? The wars, the hate, the suffering — are those cosmic too?”

Jeeny: (quietly) “Yes. Because they remind us what we’re still capable of fixing. The darkness isn’t separate, Jack — it’s part of the balance. Faith isn’t denial. It’s defiance. It’s saying: even when everything’s falling apart, I still believe there’s meaning.”

Host: Jeeny’s eyes shone — not with certainty, but with that gentle, aching kind of faith that only comes from loss. Jack looked at her for a long moment, his jaw tight, his silence deeper than any argument.

Jack: “You talk like someone who’s already made peace with the unknown.”

Jeeny: “Not peace. Just... respect. The universe doesn’t owe us answers. But it does offer us questions worth living for.”

Jack: (after a pause) “And that’s enough for you?”

Jeeny: “It has to be. Because if you don’t believe in something bigger, then every loss, every pain, every failure just becomes — random. Faith gives shape to the chaos.”

Jack: (leans forward, voice low) “Or it hides it.”

Jeeny: “No. It translates it.”

Host: The city lights below flickered, like the heartbeat of a sleeping giant. Jack set his glass down, his reflection in the window merging with the stars beyond. He spoke more softly now — less like a debater, more like a confessor.

Jack: “When my father died, people told me the same thing. ‘Have faith,’ they said. ‘He’s in a better place.’ I wanted to believe them, Jeeny. I really did. But all I saw was an empty chair, and the silence where his voice used to be.”

Jeeny: (gently) “That silence, Jack — that’s the space where faith begins. When everything else is gone, and you still choose to believe something matters. That’s not weakness. That’s courage.”

Host: Jack’s eyes shifted, the hardness in them melting, revealing the boy beneath the armor — the one who once asked the universe for a sign, and was met only with quiet.

Jack: “So you think the universe is listening?”

Jeeny: “Always. Maybe not with ears, but with echoes. You send something out — love, kindness, curiosity — and it comes back. Not always how you expect, but it does.”

Host: The sky above them was now deep, velvet, alive with the movement of stars that had seen the rise and fall of entire civilizations. Jeeny stood, walked to the edge, her silhouette framed against that infinite canvas.

Jeeny: “That’s the cosmic power, Jack — not some distant force controlling us, but the one that reminds us we’re a part of something too vast to ever own, but too intimate to ever leave.”

Jack: (quietly) “And what if the cosmos doesn’t care about us at all?”

Jeeny: “Then we’ll just have to care enough for both.”

Host: A smile ghosted across his face, small but real, the kind of smile that accepts something without fully understanding it. The wind stirred, the candles died, but the light of the stars remained — unwavering, eternal.

The camera pulled back: two souls, tiny beneath the universe, yet somehow larger for believing they belonged in it.

And as the scene faded, Jeeny’s voice lingered — soft, sure, infinite:

Jeeny: “Faith isn’t about answers, Jack. It’s about belonging — to the mystery, to the motion, to the magnificent silence that keeps us all alive.”