I'm a physicist, and we have something called Moore's Law, which

Host: The city was wrapped in winter steel, every streetlight a lonely halo in the fog. The air tasted of electric cold and faint burnt metal — the kind that always lingered near the old industrial district.

Inside a dim electronics repair shop, the neon sign flickered like a failing pulse: “Future Tech Repairs.”

Jack sat on the counter, his jacket collar turned up, a half-finished coffee cooling beside a pile of disassembled circuit boards. Jeeny stood across from him, watching the sparks hiss from a soldering iron in his hand.

Host: The room hummed with quiet machinery — computers whirring, old monitors flickering like the ghosts of past inventions. On the wall, scribbled in black marker, were words from a quote Jack had copied months ago:

“I’m a physicist, and we have something called Moore’s Law, which says computer power doubles every 18 months. So every Christmas, we more or less assume that our toys and appliances are twice as powerful as the previous Christmas.” — Michio Kaku

Jack: (without looking up) “You know, he’s right. Every year, faster processors, smarter machines, smaller chips. Everything’s doubling — except us.”

Jeeny: (softly) “What do you mean, except us?”

Jack: “Our patience doesn’t double. Our empathy doesn’t double. Our wisdom sure as hell doesn’t double. We’re running ancient software in biological hardware while the world upgrades every 18 months.”

Host: The buzz from the fluorescent light above trembled, matching the flicker in Jack’s eyes. His hands were steady, but there was a kind of resentment in the way he tightened each wire.

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s not a bad thing. Machines evolve fast because they don’t need to feel. We do. Maybe our slowness is what keeps the world human.”

Jack: (smirking) “Humanity’s a bug, not a feature. Every upgrade we make just shows how inefficient we are. Look at AI now — it writes, paints, composes. Soon it’ll outthink us. What happens then?”

Jeeny: “Maybe then we’ll finally have to ask what it means to be human. Not what we can do faster, but what we can feel deeper.”

Host: A gust of wind pushed through the cracked door, carrying the scent of snow and rain-soaked asphalt. The shop lights flickered, then steadied.

Jack: “That’s sentimental. But look at history. Progress doesn’t wait for morality to catch up. The printing press, the bomb, the internet — all built faster than we learned to handle them. Moore’s Law isn’t a miracle; it’s a warning.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s a mirror. It shows us how obsessed we are with speed — how afraid we are of stillness. You ever notice that every new invention promises time, and yet we have less of it?”

Jack: “That’s just how it works. The more powerful the tool, the more demands it creates. We build technology to serve us, and then we end up serving it. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Jeeny: (grinning slightly) “Maybe not ironic — maybe inevitable. But that doesn’t mean it’s bad. Machines may double their power, but so do we — just not in watts or bytes. We double in resilience. In adaptation. Look at how we learned to live with it all — data, noise, screens. Somehow, we still fall in love through it.”

Host: Jack looked up from his work. His grey eyes caught the dim reflection of Jeeny’s face in the old monitor screen beside him. It flickered with her outline — the ghost of a smile frozen in pixels.

Jack: “Love through screens. That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard tonight.”

Jeeny: “Or the most hopeful. The medium doesn’t kill the message. Even through code, people reach for connection. Maybe that’s proof that our hearts evolve too — just differently.”

Jack: “You think feelings can keep up with exponential growth?”

Jeeny: “Not keep up — balance it. Like gravity against velocity. Without it, the world would just fly apart.”

Host: The snow began to fall harder, tapping against the windows in uneven rhythms, as if nature were trying to out-code the machines inside. The light from the shop reflected off the flakes, turning them into tiny floating sparks.

Jack: (sighs) “You ever wonder when the curve breaks? When technology finally outpaces the species that built it?”

Jeeny: “Maybe it already has. But maybe that’s not the tragedy you think it is. What if the next leap isn’t about faster thinking — it’s about conscious compassion? What if our evolution isn’t mechanical, but moral?”

Jack: “Moral upgrades? That’s wishful thinking. You can’t code empathy.”

Jeeny: “You don’t have to. You live it. Machines can predict outcomes, but they can’t understand sacrifice. They can simulate kindness, but they can’t feel it. That’s where we stay ahead.”

Host: Her words landed softly, but they seemed to ripple through the air like a tuning fork. Jack’s hands paused mid-motion. He leaned back, staring at the mess of wires and circuits scattered across the table.

Jack: “Maybe. But it’s hard to feel ahead when your refrigerator has more memory than you do.”

Jeeny: (laughing) “Maybe that’s what Kaku was hinting at — not that we’re losing to technology, but that we’re learning to live with it. Every Christmas, our toys get smarter, but maybe that’s our reminder to stay humble.”

Jack: “You think humility can compete with innovation?”

Jeeny: “It doesn’t have to compete. It just has to survive it.”

Host: Outside, a car passed through the slush, its headlights briefly illuminating the frosted glass. Inside, the world seemed frozen in a small, luminous silence.

Jack unplugged the soldering iron, letting the faint trail of smoke curl upward.

Jack: “You know, sometimes I wish progress would slow down. Give us a chance to catch our breath.”

Jeeny: “It never slows down. But we can. That’s our rebellion. To pause. To feel. To choose.”

Host: She stepped closer, her reflection merging with his in the dark screen. For a heartbeat, they looked like two figures made of light and shadow — one shaped by logic, the other by faith.

Jack: “You think faith still has a place in a world run by code?”

Jeeny: “Always. Because code follows rules. Faith breaks them — and somehow finds meaning anyway.”

Host: A quiet hum filled the air — the sound of a dozen small machines idling in unison, like a choir of microchips humming a digital lullaby.

Jeeny reached over and turned off the main switch. The lights died one by one until only the faint glow from the snow outside remained.

Jack looked around the now-dark room — the silent circuit boards, the machines asleep, the world suddenly still.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Kaku really meant. It’s not about doubling power. It’s about doubling wonder. Remembering that the more advanced we get, the more we should stand in awe.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The point isn’t to outpace the machine — it’s to remember we built it to mirror our imagination, not replace it.”

Host: The snow pressed softly against the glass, muting the last sounds of the night. Jack stood beside Jeeny, both watching as the city lights glowed faintly through the mist — billions of tiny circuits burning with the same stubborn pulse as a human heart.

And in that quiet hum of machines and snow, two small figures stood against the glow of progress — reminding the future that even in a world of exponential growth, there is still something that refuses to double, something that only deepens: the capacity to wonder.