I know that I'm just a spirit. I'm just a soul living a human

Host: The night was clear, the sky wide and endless, freckled with stars that looked close enough to touch. The city below hummed softly, lights flickering like the pulse of something half-alive, half-dreaming.
Up on the rooftop, the air was cool — the kind that carried stillness but also electricity, like the moment before a revelation.

Jack leaned against the ledge, cigarette unlit, eyes lifted toward the horizon where concrete met cosmos.
Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged on an old paint-splattered crate, her hands clasped around a thermos, hair drifting in the wind.
There was a silence between them — not awkward, but sacred — like the world had exhaled just long enough for them to hear the truth underneath everything.

Jeeny: softly “NLE Choppa once said — ‘I know that I’m just a spirit. I’m just a soul living a human experience. You come here for a purpose. So, once you acknowledge that and acknowledge that God put you here for a reason, I feel like you gotta fulfill that as much as possible.’”

Jack: smirking faintly “You quoting rappers to me now?”

Jeeny: “I’m quoting prophets disguised as rappers.”

Host: He turned toward her, eyebrows raised, but there was warmth in the skepticism — the look of a man who wanted to argue, but not too hard.

Jack: “So you think he’s right? That we’re souls in costumes?”

Jeeny: gazing upward “Don’t you ever feel it? That quiet pull — like something inside you remembers more than this body ever learned?”

Jack: “Sometimes. Usually at 3 a.m., when everything feels like a rerun. But I’ve always thought that’s just biology — too much caffeine, not enough meaning.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the same thing. Maybe meaning is biology — God whispering through chemicals.”

Host: The wind picked up, lifting the edge of Jack’s coat, making the rooftop flags flap faintly. Somewhere below, a siren wailed — far enough to sound almost like part of the stars’ rhythm.

Jack: “You sound like one of those spiritual TikToks — ‘You are not your body, you are light.’”

Jeeny: grinning “Maybe they’re not wrong. You ever notice that when you stop fighting everything — even for a second — there’s this weird calm? Like you’ve stepped outside the noise.”

Jack: “And then the noise comes back.”

Jeeny: “Yeah. But that calm — that’s you. The rest is just static.”

Host: He stared at her, the reflection of city lights shimmering in his gray eyes, and for a moment, his cynicism looked tired, like armor worn too long.

Jack: “You think purpose is real, then? Not just an illusion to keep us sane?”

Jeeny: “I think sanity is purpose. The reason you’re still here — despite everything — that’s proof enough that something’s using you for meaning.”

Jack: “That’s poetic, but I’ve met a lot of people who never found their reason.”

Jeeny: “Maybe they did. Maybe they just didn’t like what it looked like.”

Host: The stars shimmered, faintly, like tiny eyes opening and closing. A plane crossed overhead — a silver dot against eternity.

Jack: after a pause “You know, when I was younger, I used to think life was a test. Like if I did enough good things, the universe would hand me a report card.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think it’s an assignment with no due date and no rubric.”

Jeeny: “That’s the point, Jack. You’re not being graded. You’re being shaped.”

Host: She leaned back, eyes still on the stars. Her voice softened, almost reverent.

Jeeny: “NLE Choppa’s right — you come here for a purpose. But it’s not about success or legacy. It’s about experience. God sends souls to taste — pain, love, time, hunger, joy — because how else could eternity understand life?”

Jack: quietly “So we’re here to give God context?”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: He laughed — not mocking, but marveling, the sound light and worn around the edges.

Jack: “You know, if you told me five years ago I’d be sitting on a rooftop having theology class with you, I’d have laughed you out of the room.”

Jeeny: “And now?”

Jack: “Now I think maybe you’re the only person I’d trust to tell me what my soul’s been up to.”

Jeeny: teasing “Your soul? Mostly smoking cigarettes and avoiding responsibility.”

Jack: grinning “Yeah, sounds about right.”

Host: The wind softened, carrying faint laughter from a street below. The city glowed like a heartbeat — imperfect, alive, human.

Jeeny: “You ever think about why you’re here, Jack? Like really here. Not in this city or on this roof — but here.”

Jack: hesitant “Sometimes I think I was put here to build things. Fix things. Even if they break again.”

Jeeny: “That sounds like purpose to me.”

Jack: “Or punishment.”

Jeeny: “You always confuse the two.”

Host: She took a sip from her thermos, the steam swirling upward, merging with the chill night air — smoke and soul intertwined.

Jeeny: “You know what I think God does? He gives us a piece of Himself, then forgets where He put it. So we spend our whole lives looking for it again.”

Jack: “And when we find it?”

Jeeny: “We call it peace.”

Host: The silence stretched, deep and warm. The night felt infinite, like the world had stopped spinning for them alone.

Jack looked up, eyes narrowing at a single star — brighter than the rest.

Jack: “You think we really get to fulfill it? The purpose?”

Jeeny: “Only if we stop trying to force it. Purpose isn’t something you chase — it’s something you allow.”

Jack: “And if I never figure mine out?”

Jeeny: “Then maybe your purpose is to keep asking.”

Host: The words settled between them, as gentle as the wind brushing their faces.

Jack: smiling faintly “You make it sound almost beautiful — being lost.”

Jeeny: “That’s because it is. Every soul gets lost before it remembers where it came from.”

Host: The camera pulled back, showing the two of them sitting against the endless cityscape — tiny, human, luminous in the still night.

The wind whispered through the air — not words, but music. The hum of existence. The quiet conversation between God and His fragments.

Because NLE Choppa was right —
we are souls having a human experience.
We come here raw, burning, searching —
not to escape the chaos,
but to feel it, learn from it,
and in small, trembling ways,
fulfill the reason we were sent.

And as the stars above blinked —
each one a reminder of where home really is —
Jack and Jeeny sat beneath them,
two spirits briefly human,
breathing, wondering,
and for the first time in a long while,
feeling infinite.