You can be very efficient with lyrics, and you can get the heart

Host: The club lights pulsed like heartbeat echoes, casting waves of crimson and blue across the crowd. Bass thudded through the floorboards, a rhythm so deep it felt like the earth itself was moving beneath the skin. The air shimmered with smoke, perfume, and the faint metallic scent of electricity.

At a corner table, half-hidden in the flicker of the strobe, Jack and Jeeny sat side by side. Between them — a pair of untouched drinks, the condensation running like slow tears down the glass. The DJ had just dropped a track that built and broke like a heartbeat on loop.

Jeeny was watching the dancers — arms lifted, faces lit with reckless joy — while Jack, as always, watched her.

Jeeny: “Kylie Minogue once said, ‘You can be very efficient with lyrics, and you can get the heart fluttering or soaring or make someone cry with a really amazing dance song.’”

Jack: (raising an eyebrow) “Efficient with lyrics? That’s one way to describe rhyming love with above.”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “You think it’s that simple? You’ve never really listened to one of those songs, have you? The kind that hits you before you even understand why?”

Jack: “Oh, I’ve listened. I just don’t confuse adrenaline for emotion.”

Host: The music shifted — a pulsing crescendo that made the walls tremble. A woman on the dance floor spun, her hair catching the light like threads of gold. For a second, time felt like it had rhythm.

Jeeny: “But that’s exactly the point, Jack. Music doesn’t ask you to analyze it — it asks you to feel it. Sometimes three words and a beat can say more than a novel.”

Jack: “You sound like you’re in love with the idea of simplicity.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I’m in love with the idea that something simple can still move mountains inside people.”

Host: The lights dimmed, and the song faded into another — slower now, deeper. The crowd swayed like a single body, the glow of phone lights flickering like digital fireflies.

Jack: “You really think lyrics can do all that? Make someone cry? Flutter their heart? It’s just a string of metaphors timed with a good drop.”

Jeeny: “It’s not just the words — it’s how they fit into the sound. That marriage between rhythm and meaning. Think of ‘Dancing Queen’ — it’s joy and sorrow in the same breath. You dance while you ache.”

Jack: “That’s nostalgia, not art.”

Jeeny: “Art is nostalgia. It’s remembering what it felt like to feel.”

Host: She leaned back, her eyes reflecting the neon lights. The DJ mixed seamlessly into another track — something with a synth that shimmered like glass. Around them, the world pulsed in waves of light and motion.

Jeeny: “Every great lyric carries a heartbeat. Sometimes just one line — ‘Don’t you forget about me,’ or ‘I will always love you.’ Eight words, Jack. And somehow, they haunt people for decades.”

Jack: “Because they’re catchy.”

Jeeny: “No, because they’re true.”

Host: A pause stretched between them. The crowd roared as the beat dropped — the kind of collective joy that makes even strangers feel like family. Jack looked out over the sea of people, his usual cynicism softening, if only for a moment.

Jack: “You know what I see? Escape. People drowning out their lives with rhythm because silence terrifies them.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But isn’t that still beautiful? Even if it’s temporary? Music gives people a place to breathe when the world’s too heavy.”

Jack: “So what — you think dancing is therapy now?”

Jeeny: “Of course. You ever watch someone let go? It’s like confession without words. Their bodies tell the story their mouths can’t.”

Host: A burst of confetti shot from the ceiling, glinting in the light like tiny pieces of fallen stars. The crowd cheered, and for a fleeting instant, it felt like the room existed outside time.

Jeeny: “That’s what Kylie meant — efficiency. You don’t need verses to explain heartbreak when a beat can say it for you.”

Jack: “You think she was talking about heartbreak?”

Jeeny: “Every dance song is about heartbreak. Even the happy ones.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Now that’s poetic.”

Jeeny: “It’s human.”

Host: The DJ slowed the tempo — the bass thinned into a steady pulse, almost like a heartbeat coming down from a sprint. The lights softened. The floor cleared a little, leaving a few couples still lost in the haze of the music.

Jeeny: “You know, when my dad left, I used to dance in my room every night. I’d play Madonna, ABBA, whatever I could find. I’d cry sometimes, but it felt... cleansing. Like the music was moving the pain out through my skin.”

Jack: “That’s... oddly vivid.”

Jeeny: “It’s real. Music heals in motion. It’s not just the lyrics — it’s the rhythm reminding your body that you’re still here. Still capable of joy.”

Jack: “Even when everything hurts?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: Jack turned his gaze away from the crowd, watching her instead. The lights rippled over her face, painting her in hues of violet and gold — fleeting, alive.

Jack: “Maybe I envy that. I think too much to ever just... let go.”

Jeeny: “Thinking too much is just another way of being afraid to feel.”

Jack: (sighs) “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It isn’t. But it’s necessary.”

Host: The next track began — slow build, deep pulse, a voice floating over it like smoke: “All I need is your heartbeat...”

Jeeny closed her eyes, her body swaying almost imperceptibly. Jack watched — something stirring behind his calm exterior.

Jack: “You really think that’s art? A four-word lyric looped over a beat?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because in those four words, someone found the courage to say everything.”

Jack: “Everything?”

Jeeny: “Love. Loss. Need. Loneliness. It’s all there, Jack — if you listen with your heart instead of your head.”

Host: The lights dimmed to a gentle glow. The music vibrated softly in the air — like the sound of breath shared between two people who understand silence too well.

Jack: “You really believe a song can make someone cry?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Because sometimes music says the thing we’re not brave enough to admit.”

Jack: “And what do you think this song is saying right now?”

Jeeny: (opens her eyes) “That even cynics like you still want to feel something that moves.”

Host: He laughed softly, a sound caught between surrender and disbelief. The crowd erupted again as the chorus hit — the room pulsing with light and color, an explosion of humanity in rhythm.

Jack leaned closer to her voice, half-lost in the music.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we don’t need poetry to explain everything. Maybe sometimes the beat is the poem.”

Jeeny: “Finally.”

Jack: “Don’t get smug.”

Jeeny: “Too late.”

Host: The night stretched onward — the songs blending one into the next, like chapters in an unwritten novel. The world outside the club had vanished, replaced by light and pulse, sweat and sound — the shared heartbeat of strangers refusing to feel alone.

The DJ played a remix of an old Kylie Minogue track. The crowd cheered.

Jeeny closed her eyes again, whispering over the beat —
“See, Jack? Efficient. She just said everything in five words — ‘Can’t get you out of my head.’”

Jack: “And yet, you’re saying it back twenty years later.”

Jeeny: “That’s what good art does. It lingers.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s the point — efficiency doesn’t mean less meaning. It just means... sharper delivery.”

Jeeny: “Like a lyric. Like love.”

Jack: “Like a heartbeat.”

Host: The lights flashed one last time before fading into a soft, golden afterglow. The music pulsed quieter now — still there, like the echo of something that refused to die.

The two of them sat in silence, the sound vibrating faintly through their bodies, until Jack finally spoke —

Jack: “You know... maybe simplicity isn’t emptiness. Maybe it’s courage — saying just enough and trusting people to feel the rest.”

Jeeny: “Now you’re getting it.”

Host: And as the final notes lingered in the air, fading into the hum of the city outside, it was clear that neither of them was untouched.

Because sometimes, it doesn’t take poetry or philosophy to make the heart soar —
just a beat,
a lyric,
and someone willing to listen.