When you have a lot of communication online before you go out

Host: The café sat at the corner of a rain-soaked street, where the neon lights of the city bled into the puddles like spilled memories. Steam rose from cups and windows fogged, hiding faces in silhouettes and reflections. The evening hum was steady—cars passing, conversations murmuring, the occasional laugh breaking through the drizzle.

At the table near the window, Jack leaned over his phone, scrolling, his jaw tight. Across from him sat Jeeny, a half-finished cappuccino cooling between her hands, her eyes quiet, but her thoughts loud.

The rain tapped the glass—soft, rhythmic, indifferent.

Jeeny: “You’ve been staring at that screen for twenty minutes. Whoever she is, she’s not going to become more real the longer you look.”

Jack: (smirks) “You sound jealous.”

Jeeny: “Not jealous. Just... concerned. You build castles in your head, Jack, and then blame the world when they’re made of sand.”

Host: Jack set the phone down, his reflection flickering in the window, caught between the outside world and the glow of his own screen.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? I’ve never even met her, but it feels like I have. We’ve talked for weeks—messages, late-night calls, shared playlists, old stories. I know her favorite color, the song she cries to, the scent she misses from her grandmother’s kitchen.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you don’t know the sound of her footsteps. You don’t know how her eyes move when she’s silent. You don’t know if she laughs the same way in real air.”

Jack: “You make it sound like that matters more than what’s said.”

Jeeny: “It does. Words online are like mirrors—we only show what we want reflected back.”

Host: The rain deepened, a steady thrum that filled the pauses between their voices. Outside, a couple crossed the street, umbrellas colliding, laughter spilling like light.

Jeeny: “Joanna Coles said it perfectly—*‘When you have a lot of communication online before you go out with someone, it builds up a false sense