The word 'romance,' according to the dictionary, means

Host:
The night sky draped itself over the quiet pier, a velvet canopy stitched with faint stars. The ocean shimmered black and silver beneath the moonlight, breathing in slow waves against the wooden planks. Somewhere nearby, a guitar strummed from a distant café, soft and human — like a heartbeat echoing across water.

A small lantern sat between Jack and Jeeny, its flickering flame caught in the salt-heavy wind. Around them lay the remnants of a picnic — two coffee cups, an open book, and the warmth of conversation stretched into midnight. The air was cool, the kind that carried both peace and ache.

Jeeny sat cross-legged, her brown eyes reflecting the glow of the lantern. She smiled faintly, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup before saying, almost to herself,

"The word 'romance,' according to the dictionary, means excitement, adventure, and something extremely real. Romance should last a lifetime." — Billy Graham

The words lingered between them like sea mist — simple, timeless, impossible.

Jack:
(softly)
“Something extremely real,” huh? Coming from a preacher, that’s… unexpected.

Jeeny:
(smiling)
Why? You think faith can’t coexist with romance?

Jack:
Faith, maybe. But preachers tend to treat romance like a rehearsal for virtue, not adventure.

Jeeny:
(tilting her head)
Maybe that’s what he meant. Maybe the adventure is the virtue — two people brave enough to stay real when the fairytale ends.

Jack:
(staring out at the ocean)
“Real” and “romance” — two words that don’t usually share a sentence.

Jeeny:
That’s because most people think romance is about illusion. But maybe it’s the opposite — maybe it’s about clarity.

Jack:
You mean, love as honesty, not fantasy?

Jeeny:
Exactly. The kind that excites you not because it’s perfect, but because it’s alive.

Host:
The waves rolled in, soft and rhythmic, as if agreeing. The lantern flickered, painting their faces in gold and shadow — two people illuminated by a truth that felt both fragile and fierce.

Jack:
You know what I like about that quote? The idea that romance is “extremely real.” Not emotional fog — but something grounded.

Jeeny:
Yes. People think romance is escape. But real romance pulls you deeper into life, not away from it.

Jack:
Most people don’t want that kind of depth. They want fireworks, not foundation.

Jeeny:
(smiling gently)
That’s why they confuse the spark for the flame.

Jack:
And the adventure for the destination.

Jeeny:
Exactly. True romance isn’t about what happens next — it’s about what keeps happening after.

Jack:
(pauses, quietly)
The after… That’s the hard part.

Jeeny:
That’s the real part.

Host:
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and night-blooming jasmine. Somewhere, a gull cried out across the water, distant and haunting, as if remembering a love it couldn’t return to.

Jack:
You think romance can really last a lifetime?

Jeeny:
(smiling softly)
Yes — if it’s built on curiosity instead of comfort.

Jack:
Curiosity?

Jeeny:
The willingness to keep rediscovering someone. That’s adventure, isn’t it?

Jack:
(quietly)
Most people stop exploring once they think they’ve arrived.

Jeeny:
That’s why so many loves die young.

Jack:
So, romance isn’t about permanence. It’s about attention.

Jeeny:
Exactly. When you keep seeing the other person as a mystery — not a possession.

Jack:
(smiling faintly)
Sounds exhausting.

Jeeny:
(laughs softly)
Only if you think love’s supposed to be rest. It’s not. It’s movement.

Host:
The ocean murmured, the tide lapping softly beneath their words. The lantern light flickered lower, casting their silhouettes against the pale boards — two figures carved from light and shadow, both searching for a definition that felt less like a sentence and more like a vow.

Jack:
It’s funny — Billy Graham calling romance “something extremely real.” You’d expect him to talk about holiness, not heat.

Jeeny:
Maybe holiness is heat. Maybe it’s the kind of devotion that burns steady, not bright.

Jack:
That sounds more like endurance than passion.

Jeeny:
Maybe endurance is passion — the long, unglamorous kind.

Jack:
You mean the kind that stays even when it’s not exciting anymore?

Jeeny:
(smiling)
Yes. The quiet adventure of staying.

Jack:
You always make permanence sound rebellious.

Jeeny:
Because it is. In a world addicted to novelty, loyalty’s the last frontier.

Jack:
(pauses)
So, lasting romance is a kind of courage.

Jeeny:
The bravest kind. Because it means falling in love with the same soul in a thousand different ways — and never running out of ways to see them.

Host:
A faint moonbeam touched the water, stretching toward them like a bridge. The sea shimmered as if lit from beneath, and for a moment, the whole world looked newly made — the kind of beauty that only lingers when someone’s still looking.

Jack:
You think everyone gets that kind of love?

Jeeny:
Maybe not everyone. But everyone’s capable of giving it.

Jack:
So it’s not fate — it’s choice.

Jeeny:
Exactly. Romance isn’t an accident of chemistry. It’s a discipline of attention.

Jack:
And excitement?

Jeeny:
That’s just the natural result of seeing someone as infinite.

Jack:
(pauses)
And when they change?

Jeeny:
Then you fall in love with who they’re becoming.

Jack:
(sighs softly)
You make it sound so simple.

Jeeny:
(smiling faintly)
It is simple. It’s just not easy.

Host:
The waves crashed harder, and the air trembled with energy — as if the sea itself was agreeing with her, echoing her truth in every tide.

Jack:
You know, I used to think romance was just the prelude — the opening credits before real life started.

Jeeny:
And now?

Jack:
Now I think maybe it is real life — the part we usually overlook while waiting for something bigger.

Jeeny:
That’s it. Romance isn’t an escape from reality. It’s what redeems it.

Jack:
You sound like a believer.

Jeeny:
I am. Not in fairy tales — in devotion.

Jack:
(pauses)
So maybe Billy Graham was right. Romance is faith — not in God, but in another human being’s capacity to keep showing up.

Jeeny:
And in our own capacity to keep seeing them as holy.

Host:
The lantern flickered once more, then went out, leaving only the light of the moon. Their faces glowed faintly in its silver reflection — unguarded, luminous, and still.

Host:
And as the ocean whispered around them, Billy Graham’s words seemed less like doctrine and more like a quiet benediction:

That romance is not illusion,
but endurance —
the courage to keep choosing wonder
in a world that rewards indifference.

That excitement is not found in novelty,
but in the constant rediscovery
of what is already known.

That love,
when lived as adventure,
becomes not an escape from reality,
but a deeper descent into it —
where two souls dare to stay curious,
to stay present,
to stay real.

And perhaps the greatest miracle of all
is that when romance is tended,
when it is fed with awe instead of expectation,
it truly can last a lifetime —
not as a story that never ends,
but as one that never stops beginning.

The waves sighed,
the stars trembled,
and as Jack and Jeeny sat beneath the vast and endless sky,
their silence said what words never could:
that love, when lived fully,
was not the prelude to life —
it was life,
in its most beautiful, enduring form.