I like to spend as much time with my friends and family as

Host: The sun was dying behind the hills, spilling gold across the edge of the city like melted honey. The air was warm, the kind of warmth that doesn’t just touch the skin but reaches inward — the kind that makes people linger longer in conversation, slower in goodbye.

The park was almost empty now, save for a small bonfire at its center. Jack sat beside it, a beer in hand, his jacket tossed on the grass. The flames licked upward, reflecting in his grey eyes like a confession.

Across from him, Jeeny crouched over a small grill, flipping skewers of half-burnt vegetables, her hair loose, her laugh faint in the wind. Around them lay the remains of the evening — paper plates, a half-eaten cake, and the soft echoes of their friends’ laughter fading into distance.

The night had grown quieter now, but not empty.

Above them, the sky was a quilt of stars, stitched together by the invisible threads of belonging.

Pinned to the edge of a picnic blanket, a small card read:

“I like to spend as much time with my friends and family as possible.”
— Zara Larsson

Jeeny: “You ever think about how much we waste our time pretending we’re too busy for the people who make time worth anything?”

Jack: “You mean, like this barbecue I didn’t want to come to?”

Jeeny: “Exactly like this barbecue you didn’t want to come to — and yet, here you are, laughing, drinking, pretending you don’t enjoy it.”

Jack: “I enjoy the beer.”

Jeeny: “And the company?”

Jack: “Tolerable.”

Host: She threw a small twig at him. It landed harmlessly against his shoulder. He smirked — a rare, unguarded thing.

Jack: “You sound like a pop lyric, Jeeny. ‘Spend time with friends and family.’ It’s the kind of thing people post on social media right before they go back to ignoring everyone.”

Jeeny: “Maybe because we say it more than we live it. But Zara Larsson was right — time with the right people is the only kind that stretches instead of shrinks.”

Jack: “You talk like time is elastic.”

Jeeny: “It is, when it’s filled with love.”

Jack: “Love doesn’t stop clocks.”

Jeeny: “No, but it makes the ticking beautiful.”

Host: The flames cracked softly. A faint breeze carried the smell of smoke and grass, of laughter lingering in the air.

Jack leaned forward, tossing another log into the fire.

Jack: “You know what I think? People cling to others because they’re afraid of silence. Afraid of hearing themselves think.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe they seek others because they want to hear their own laughter echo somewhere else.”

Jack: “You think connection’s the cure to loneliness?”

Jeeny: “No, I think it’s proof we were never meant to be alone.”

Host: The firelight flickered across Jeeny’s face, painting her features in gold. Her eyes held a kind of peace Jack rarely trusted — the peace of someone who had learned how to stay open in a world that always closes.

Jack: “You’re too sentimental.”

Jeeny: “And you’re too scared to be.”

Jack: “Sentimentality is just emotional indulgence.”

Jeeny: “No — it’s gratitude without apology.”

Host: The wind shifted, carrying the distant sound of children’s laughter, someone strumming a guitar, a dog barking in joy. The world felt wide, but also small — like the inside of a shared breath.

Jeeny: “You know what I think? Most people chase meaning in work, in success, in proving something. But meaning’s already around them — sitting at the dinner table, calling their name, waiting for them to look up.”

Jack: “That’s a nice fantasy. But the world doesn’t stop for family dinners.”

Jeeny: “No. That’s why we have to make it stop sometimes.”

Host: She took a bite from a skewer, grimaced, and laughed.

Jeeny: “You know, I probably burned this because I was talking too much about philosophy.”

Jack: “It’s inedible, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

Jeeny: “Thank you. I’ll add that to my list of small victories.”

Jack: “You really think happiness is this simple? Food, laughter, people?”

Jeeny: “Not simple. Sacred.”

Host: Jack looked into the fire — not to avoid her eyes, but to see what she saw.

Jack: “You think you can live like that forever? Just… finding holiness in the ordinary?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about forever. It’s about moments that make forever worth wanting.”

Jack: “You make it sound like time can be rewritten.”

Jeeny: “It can — every time you choose presence over distraction.”

Host: The silence between them stretched — not cold, but full. The kind of silence that means you’ve said everything that matters.

Jeeny leaned back, staring at the stars.

Jeeny: “You know, I used to think freedom meant doing whatever I wanted. But now I think it’s being with the people who make me forget to check the clock.”

Jack: “That’s dangerous. Time catches up eventually.”

Jeeny: “Let it. I’d rather be caught by time than chase it forever.”

Host: A shooting star cut through the dark, leaving a streak of white flame. Neither spoke. The fire dimmed, but the warmth between them lingered.

Jack finally broke the quiet.

Jack: “When I was younger, I thought success meant independence. No need for anyone. But now, when I think about the few times I actually felt alive… it wasn’t when I won anything. It was when I was surrounded by people who didn’t care whether I won or lost.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s the discovery no one wants to make too late.”

Jack: “And you really think that’s the secret to happiness? Just… staying close?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s choosing closeness over comfort. That’s harder.”

Host: The firelight reflected in her eyes — small constellations burning quietly.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe the happiest life isn’t built — it’s shared.”

Jeeny: “Now you sound like the lyricist.”

Jack: “Don’t tell anyone.”

Jeeny: “Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

Host: The night deepened, tender and infinite. The fire burned down to soft orange embers. Neither of them moved to leave.

Jack: “You know, I’m terrible at saying it… but I’m glad I came tonight.”

Jeeny: “That’s your version of ‘I love you,’ isn’t it?”

Jack: “Close enough.”

Jeeny: “I’ll take it.”

Host: A faint wind stirred the ashes, scattering tiny sparks that rose, shimmered, and vanished into the dark — like brief lives finding their place among the stars.

Jeeny smiled, whispering as though to the night itself:

Jeeny: “Time spent together — that’s how we beat death, Jack. One laugh, one meal, one evening at a time.”

Host: Jack didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He just leaned back, eyes on the stars, the fire warming his knees, the weight of solitude slipping quietly away.

And in that soft, unguarded silence — where planning had ceased and presence had taken its place — the truth of Zara Larsson’s words revealed itself not as a cliché, but as a compass:

The happiest life is not about what you build alone, but about the moments you build together — the ordinary hours that turn, somehow, into eternity.