I'm a huge believer in you don't really need anybody to make you

Host: The sunlight poured through the sheer curtains, warm and fractured, painting the old apartment in soft amber. Dust motes floated like tiny planets, orbiting in slow, careless grace. The city hummed outside—car horns, a barking dog, distant voices calling from an unseen market.

Jeeny sat on the floor, her back against the couch, a half-drunk cup of coffee beside her. Jack stood by the window, smoking, the curl of smoke catching the light like silver ribbons.

There was a quiet between them—not empty, but reflective, like the still water of a lake just before the wind.

Jeeny: “You know, I read something today. Brittany Snow said that you don’t need anyone to make you feel validated or secure. That when you go to sleep, you’re with yourself—and that’s enough.”

Jack: (exhales slowly, watching the smoke disappear) “That sounds like the kind of thing people say when they’ve been hurt one too many times. A slogan for the wounded.”

Host: His voice carried a note of bitterness, but also something softer—an ache, maybe, buried under the habit of sarcasm.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “Maybe. But maybe it’s also the truth. We spend so much time looking for someone else to fill us, when we’ve never even sat still long enough to know what we’re missing.”

Jack: “That’s because being alone terrifies people. The silence, the echo of your own thoughts—it’s not peace, Jeeny. It’s noise without escape.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the problem isn’t being alone. Maybe it’s that we’ve never learned how to be with ourselves without judgment.”

Host: The clock ticked in the background, the steady beat marking time as the room filled with the scent of coffee and faint cigarette smoke. Jack turned from the window, his grey eyes fixed on her.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic, but loneliness isn’t a lesson—it’s a disease. You can tell yourself you’re whole all you want, but deep down everyone’s just looking for someone to say, ‘You matter.’”

Jeeny: “And what if that someone could be you?”

Host: The question hung in the air like a held breath. Jack’s expression faltered for a second, then hardened again.

Jack: “You ever notice how the people who say that—‘I don’t need anyone’—usually have a history of needing someone too much? I’ve said those words myself, Jeeny. And I’ve watched them crumble the first time I reached for a hand that wasn’t there.”

Jeeny: “Needing isn’t weakness, Jack. It’s human. But dependence—that’s something else. What Brittany meant, I think, is that validation built from within can’t be taken away. When you rely on others to define your worth, they can break you by leaving.”

Host: The sunlight shifted, landing across Jeeny’s face, catching the glint of a small tear she quickly wiped away. She looked at Jack with quiet sincerity, her voice low, but certain.

Jeeny: “There’s a kind of freedom in knowing you can be alone and still feel complete. Don’t you want that kind of peace?”

Jack: (scoffs lightly) “Peace? No one’s really at peace alone. We just distract ourselves—music, work, sleep, scrolling through other people’s lives. We build walls of noise to avoid hearing the truth: solitude hurts.”

Jeeny: “It hurts only because we fight it. The silence isn’t punishment—it’s a mirror. It shows us what we run from.”

Host: Jack stubbed out his cigarette and sank onto the couch, his hands clasped, his gaze distant. The afternoon light turned to gold, stretching shadows long across the floor.

Jack: “I used to believe that, once. After my divorce, I told myself I’d learn to love being alone. But nights came—empty ones. You can meditate all you want, read self-help, light candles—but at 2 a.m., when you wake up to the dark, and there’s no heartbeat beside you... tell me that doesn’t feel like absence, not empowerment.”

Jeeny: (softly) “It does. But maybe absence can be sacred too. Maybe those moments teach us what it means to truly be with ourselves, not just in body, but in soul. You can’t share peace until you’ve made peace within.”

Host: The room seemed to breathe with them, a shared stillness, neither comfort nor discomfort—something truer.

Jack: “You sound like a monk.”

Jeeny: “No. Just someone who’s tired of giving away her happiness to people who never knew what to do with it.”

Jack: “That’s your problem—you give too much. And then you act like the lesson is to stop needing anyone, instead of learning who deserves the need.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about deserving, Jack. It’s about balance. Love should be an addition, not a repair.”

Host: Jack looked up, and for a flicker, his eyes softened.

Jack: “You ever think that being alone is just another illusion? That the second you remember someone—anyone—you’re not really alone anymore? You carry ghosts, voices, moments. You never really leave people behind; they live in your head like echoes.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s true. But there’s a difference between memory and dependence. Ghosts remind us we loved. Dependence makes us forget who we are without love.”

Host: The sound of distant church bells drifted through the window, muffled and melancholic.

Jack: “I envy you sometimes. You make solitude sound beautiful.”

Jeeny: “It can be. Think of it like a garden. If you don’t learn to grow flowers alone, how will you ever know which ones die when love leaves?”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You and your metaphors.”

Jeeny: “You and your cigarettes.”

Host: They both laughed, softly, the tension breaking like a fragile shell. The light now dimmed into evening, the sky turning the color of bruised violet.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe validation has to start from within. But damn, Jeeny—it’s hard. This world’s built to make you feel less than enough. Every screen, every ad, every post—it all says, ‘You’re incomplete until you’re seen.’”

Jeeny: “Then stop waiting to be seen. Start witnessing yourself. Sit with your own mess, your own beauty, until you don’t need applause to believe in it.”

Host: There was a pause, the kind that feels like the end of one life and the start of another. Jack leaned back, the light catching the faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jack: “You really think happiness alone is possible?”

Jeeny: “Not just possible—essential. Otherwise, every love becomes desperation in disguise.”

Host: Outside, the city lights flickered to life—windows glowing like a thousand tiny hearts beating against the darkness. Jack stood, walked to the window, and looked out. His reflection merged with the skyline, half shadow, half light.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? For the first time in a long while, this quiet doesn’t feel like loneliness. It feels... honest.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s how it starts. The world stops echoing, and you start listening.”

Host: She stood, joining him at the window. The two stood side by side, not touching, not speaking, just breathing in the same soft air.

The camera would pull back then—their silhouettes framed by the city’s heartbeat, the quiet harmony of two people learning that solitude is not the absence of love, but the presence of the self.

And as the night settled fully, the moonlight brushed across their faces, and for once, they didn’t look away.