As the sun dipped below the skyline, four friends gathered at a trendy rooftop bar overlooking the city. The journalist, the poet, the musician, and the woman sat in comfortable silence, sipping their artisanal cocktails and watching the fading light paint the glass-and-steel buildings in warm hues.
The woman was the object of the men’s unspoken affections, but she had yet to show preference for any of them. The silence stretched on until the musician, restless, suggested they order a bottle of champagne.
“How about we discuss something instead?” the poet countered.
“Politics, naturally,” the journalist chimed in.
The poet shook his head. “Let’s talk about something that interests us all.”
“Love,” the woman said decisively, her voice cutting through the ambient noise of the bar.
The men exchanged glances, intrigued. The woman continued, “Surely it fascinates you all. Journalist, can you deny that some of the biggest headlines revolve around love? Poet, isn’t love the muse behind the greatest works of literature? And you, musician, isn’t love the driving force behind most songs?”
The men nodded in agreement, captivated.
“And you?” they asked in unison, turning to her.
She paused, a playful smile dancing on her lips. “Why don’t you tell me what love is? Whoever convinces me might just win my heart.”
The journalist spoke first: “Love is breaking news from the heart, a story the mind tries to fact-check but can’t deny. It’s taking a risk on an unverified source because your gut tells you it’s true.”
The musician followed: “Love is a melody that plays in your soul. Even when logic tries to silence it, the tune only grows stronger.”
The poet concluded: “Love is a verse that flows from the heart, its beauty diminished if the mind tries to edit it too much.”
The woman listened, then challenged them: “But how would you feel if I chose you?”
The journalist declared he’d be fiercely protective, guarding her affection like exclusive rights to a story. The poet said he’d celebrate her beauty like a work of art, proud to share it with the world. The musician promised to compose symphonies inspired by their love, creating a legacy that would outlive them both.
After considering their responses, the woman sighed. “I don’t want someone who values possession more than me, or who worships me more than themselves, or who’s more in love with their art than with me as a person.”
As silence fell over the group, the journalist quipped, “Maybe we should have stuck to discussing politics after all.”
The poet smiled wryly. “Aren’t love and politics one and the same? Both complex, full of competing ideologies, and nearly impossible to fully understand.”
The woman turned back to them, her expression softening. “Or perhaps,” she said, “it’s much simpler than you all think.”
With that enigmatic statement, she raised her glass in a toast to the city lights now twinkling before them, leaving the men to ponder the true nature of love in the modern world.
