The attitude of the people proves that not only do we want to

Host: The night had settled heavily over the city, pressing its weight against the glass towers of the financial district. Rain fell in thin, unsteady sheets, coating the streets in silver. The lights of the skyline reflected off the puddles like trembling constellations — the false stars of a world that had learned to worship numbers instead of the sky.

Inside a nearly empty coffee bar, the hum of the espresso machine mingled with the sound of the storm. The few patrons spoke in low tones, their words muffled under the static of rain and the unspoken tension that comes when people have survived something — barely.

Jack sat by the window, his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, a half-finished espresso cooling beside a pile of financial reports. He looked older than he was — not in body, but in spirit. There was a kind of fatigue in his eyes, the kind that belongs to someone who has watched faith dissolve into figures.

Jeeny arrived with the quiet energy of someone carrying warmth through cold air. She shook the rain from her coat, ordered nothing, and sat across from him.

For a long moment, neither spoke. They just watched the rain slide down the glass — droplets racing each other down to nowhere.

Jeeny: “You know what Nicos Anastasiades said once? ‘The attitude of the people proves that not only do we want to, but that we can succeed in pulling our country out of the difficult position it finds itself in. The banking system of our country will survive and grow.’”

Jack: smirks faintly, without looking up “That’s a bold thing to say when the banks are on fire.”

Jeeny: “He said it in 2013, right in the middle of Cyprus’s financial crisis. Everyone thought the system would collapse, but he stood there and told them to believe.”

Jack: nods slowly “Belief — the world’s most valuable and most unstable currency.”

Host: The lights outside flickered briefly as a rumble of thunder rolled over the city. The coffee machine hissed behind the counter, releasing a sigh that sounded almost human.

Jeeny: “You don’t believe in recovery?”

Jack: leans back, eyes still on the window “I believe in mathematics, not miracles. Once trust breaks, you can’t just patch it up with speeches. Markets aren’t hearts — they don’t forgive. They correct.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But people aren’t markets. They heal. Slowly, maybe, but they do. That’s what Anastasiades meant — the attitude of the people. You can rebuild systems, but only if the spirit behind them survives.”

Jack: “The spirit of the people doesn’t pay the bills.”

Jeeny: “No, but it pays the price. Every time.”

Host: A faint silence followed — heavy, but not cruel. The rain softened, and the world outside turned from blur to clarity. In the reflection of the window, the city looked cleaner, as though washed by its own suffering.

Jack: “You sound like an optimist.”

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s forgotten what optimism is for.”

Jack: turns toward her, half amused “And what’s it for, Jeeny?”

Jeeny: “To keep us moving when logic says stop.”

Jack: “That sounds like denial.”

Jeeny: “It’s faith. The kind you need when everything practical has failed.”

Host: The faint glimmer of a smile crossed Jack’s lips — reluctant, but real. He picked up his espresso, swirled it absently, and stared into the black surface like a man peering into an abyss that once looked like opportunity.

Jack: “You really think belief fixes economies?”

Jeeny: “No. But it starts them again. You can’t rebuild a nation if everyone’s already decided it’s over.”

Jack: softly “Belief as infrastructure.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The invisible scaffolding that holds everything else up.”

Host: A bus passed outside, splashing through the puddles, its lights casting a brief reflection over their faces — hers lit by conviction, his by doubt.

Jeeny: “You know, I read that when Cyprus froze its banks, people were angry — terrified. But they still stood in lines calmly. They didn’t riot, didn’t burn the institutions that betrayed them. They waited, trusted that recovery was possible. That’s the attitude Anastasiades was talking about. Collective discipline. Quiet courage.”

Jack: “And what did it get them? A smaller country, a weaker system, a decade of austerity.”

Jeeny: “And a chance to start over.”

Jack: raises an eyebrow “You call that a win?”

Jeeny: “It’s survival, Jack. And survival is where success begins.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked softly, marking time in slow, deliberate beats. The barista turned off the steamer, and the sound of rain once again filled the gaps between words.

Jeeny leaned forward, her elbows on the table.

Jeeny: “You talk like you’ve given up.”

Jack: sighs “Not given up. Just stopped pretending the system cares. It doesn’t. Banks fall, nations wobble, and people like us — we patch the holes until it happens again.”

Jeeny: “Then why keep patching?”

Jack: pauses “Because even I know collapse isn’t an option. Someone’s got to keep pretending until it’s real again.”

Host: Her eyes softened — not pity, but empathy, the kind that recognizes a fellow fighter even when he refuses to admit it.

Jeeny: “That’s all belief ever is, Jack. Pretending until it’s true. Every leader, every teacher, every parent — they build on that same illusion until it becomes faith.”

Jack: “You make it sound noble.”

Jeeny: “It is. Because it keeps us from giving in to despair.”

Host: The rain had stopped now. Outside, the city gleamed wet and new, its streets reflecting the glow of shop windows and car headlights — a world freshly cleaned, if only on the surface.

Jack followed her gaze toward the street, watching a couple walk hand-in-hand beneath a shared umbrella. He smiled faintly.

Jack: “You really believe people can save what they broke?”

Jeeny: nods slowly “Every time. Because every time they break something, they learn a little more about how fragile it was — and how to hold it better next time.”

Jack: quietly “You sound like you’d make a good president.”

Jeeny: smiles “I’d rather be a believer.”

Host: The light above their table flickered once, then steadied. Jeeny stood, pulling her coat around her, her movements deliberate and unhurried.

Jeeny: “The thing about difficult positions, Jack, is that they force us to find out what we’re made of. Fear collapses systems faster than failure ever could. But belief — that’s what makes them grow again.”

Jack: nodding slowly “So maybe that’s what progress is. Not the absence of crisis — just the persistence to keep going through it.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Resilience disguised as optimism.”

Host: She buttoned her coat and smiled faintly as she glanced toward the window.

Jeeny: “You know, Anastasiades wasn’t just talking about banking. He was talking about people. The economy’s just the metaphor. The real system that survives is the human one.”

Jack: softly “And that one’s still open for business.”

Host: The camera would linger there — two figures in the glow of the city’s rebirth, framed by rain-slick glass and the hum of quiet persistence.

Outside, the first hints of dawn began to shimmer faintly on the horizon, turning the puddles into mirrors.

And in that mirror — the reflection of their tired faces, two silhouettes who, despite everything, still believed — because belief, however fragile, was still the only thing powerful enough to build again.

For as Nicos Anastasiades once said — and as every era relearns in its own way —

“The attitude of the people proves that not only do we want to, but that we can succeed.”

Because in the end, the true strength of any nation
is not found in its banks, but in its faith.