I'm the biggest fan of face-to-face communication.

Host: The rain had just stopped, leaving the city streets gleaming under a misty dusk. Neon reflections shimmered in the puddles, and the air smelled faintly of coffee and wet concrete. Inside a small café tucked between old brick buildings, warm light glowed against the windows, softening the edges of a long day. Jack sat by the window, his grey eyes fixed on the blurred silhouettes outside, while Jeeny stirred her coffee slowly, watching the steam rise like thoughts she hadn’t yet spoken.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack… Mary Dillon once said, ‘I’m the biggest fan of face-to-face communication.’ I think she was right. There’s something about being present, seeing another person’s eyes, that makes truth… real.”

Jack: “Face-to-face, huh?” He gives a short, dry laugh. “You sound like someone who’s never spent a week in corporate meetings where ‘face-to-face’ means fake smiles and carefully rehearsed empathy. Screens, at least, are honest in their distance.”

Host: Steam curled around their faces, catching the light. The sound of a passing tram echoed faintly through the window. Jeeny’s eyes softened, but there was a quiet fire beneath her calmness.

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly the point, Jack. Screens may be efficient, but they’re soulless. You can’t read the micro-expressions, the little tremors in someone’s voice. During the pandemic, people talked to each other more than ever online — and yet, they felt lonelier than before. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Jack: “It tells me they were expecting too much from a conversation. Loneliness isn’t cured by proximity; it’s cured by understanding. And if two people can’t connect through words alone, maybe they weren’t really listening in the first place.”

Jeeny: “Do you really believe that? That a voice through a speaker carries the same weight as someone’s presence? Tell me, Jack — would you rather have a video call at your mother’s funeral, or hold her hand one last time?”

Host: Her voice trembled slightly as the question lingered. Jack’s jaw tightened, his fingers tapping against the table. The hum of conversation from other tables filled the pause like distant rainfall.

Jack: “That’s not fair, Jeeny. You’re mixing emotion with philosophy. Of course, there are moments when being there matters. But in most of life? Efficiency wins. The world moves on data, speed, and time saved. That’s what keeps everything running.”

Jeeny: “You call that running? Or just spinning faster? Efficiency without connection turns people into machines. Look at Japan in the 1980s — the height of technological boom, but the suicide rate climbed. People could communicate instantly, yet their souls couldn’t keep up.”

Host: The rain began again, softly tapping against the glass, like unspoken thoughts returning. A neon sign flickered — OPEN — then dimmed, as if listening.

Jack: “That’s not about technology, Jeeny. That’s about expectations. People put too much weight on connection. We evolved to survive, not to feel understood. A good message on time — that’s what matters now. Face-to-face communication is nostalgic, like handwritten letters. Beautiful, yes, but impractical.”

Jeeny: “Impractical?” Her voice rises slightly. “Jack, we’re not machines. We’re flesh, breath, heartbeat. We need to see each other to truly believe in each other. Think of the Civil Rights Movement, the way people stood shoulder to shoulder, marching, chanting — those weren’t emails, those were souls united in presence. Change doesn’t happen through screens, it happens when eyes meet.”

Jack: “You think that’s the only way change happens? Look at Arab Spring — sparked by social media. The world saw injustice because of screens, Jeeny. People didn’t need to stand next to each other to stand together. Sometimes, the message matters more than the medium.”

Host: A waiter passed by, setting down another cup of coffee, its surface trembling slightly as it met the table. The air between them thickened — not with anger, but with conviction.

Jeeny: “But even then, Jack, what came after? Those same movements fell apart because digital unity lacks human weight. When you don’t look someone in the eyes, it’s easier to betray them. The Internet connects minds but isolates hearts.”

Jack: “And face-to-face doesn’t guarantee honesty either. People lie with smiles, with handshakes, with tears. The eyes deceive just as much as the words do. At least with a screen, you can focus on the message, not the manipulation.”

Host: The lights outside flickered as a bus passed. The reflection of rain shimmered across Jack’s cheek, making it look like a tear he would never admit to.

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s been disappointed by too many people, Jack.”

Jack: He smirks, but the corners of his eyes betray him. “Maybe. But that’s what the world is — disappointment wrapped in polite conversation. You think Mary Dillon’s love for face-to-face communication means truth always surfaces? No. It just means she’s lucky enough to believe it still can.”

Jeeny: “No, it means she believes in the possibility of truth, even when it’s rare. That’s what makes us human — the belief that connection still matters. It’s not about being ‘right,’ Jack. It’s about being present.”

Host: Silence settled over the table. Outside, the rain softened into a mist, and the café grew quieter, as if the world itself was catching its breath. Jack’s eyes dropped to his coffee, watching the ripple of his own reflection.

Jack: “Presence… You make it sound so simple. But being present costs time, energy, sometimes even pain. Maybe people avoid it because it makes them vulnerable.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And that’s why it’s real. Vulnerability is what keeps us from turning into ghosts behind our own devices. When we meet face-to-face, we risk being seen. That’s terrifying… but it’s the only way to truly live.”

Jack: quietly “Maybe that’s why I avoid it.”

Host: Her hand reached across the table, hovering for a moment before resting gently on his. The contact was small, but it carried the weight of everything they’d said. The sound of rain became a whisper, the world shrinking to that single touch.

Jeeny: “See, Jack? That’s it. This — right now. This is what Mary Dillon meant. Face-to-face, not just in distance, but in honesty.”

Jack: “You think that’s enough? A touch, a look, a word?”

Jeeny: “It’s always been enough. We just forget.”

Host: Jack’s eyes softened, the steel melting into something almost fragile. The noise of the city outside faded into a low hum. For the first time, neither of them spoke — not because there was nothing left to say, but because they had finally heard each other.

Jeeny: smiling faintly “You don’t have to be the biggest fan of face-to-face communication, Jack. You just have to remember what it feels like.”

Jack: “And what does it feel like?”

Jeeny: “Like truth… that doesn’t need to be typed.”

Host: The lights flickered once more as the rain stopped completely. A single ray of moonlight broke through the clouds, catching the steam between their cups, turning it silver. They sat there — two souls, neither fully right nor wrong, but finally present. The moment hung in the air, fragile, human, face-to-face.