Joe leaned back in his chair, his voice low but steady.
Joe: “You know, Nelly, people chase power like it’s the air they breathe. But real strength… sometimes it’s in the power to let power go.”
Nelly tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in thought.
Nelly: “That’s rare. Most who taste power can’t step away from it. They grip it tighter, afraid they’ll vanish without it.”
Joe nodded, his gaze turning distant, as if reaching for a memory not his own.
Joe: “Think about Gagarin. The first man in space. He had the whole world in the palm of his hand, but he didn’t use it to command nations or start wars. He didn’t seek a throne. He just… looked back at Earth and said it was beautiful. That’s a kind of power too—the refusal to claim it.”
Nelly smiled softly, resting her hand on Joe’s.
Nelly: “So maybe the greatest power is humility. The ability to rise higher than anyone before you, then come back down and still be human.”
Joe squeezed her hand.
Joe: “Exactly. Power isn’t about domination. It’s about choice. Gagarin chose wonder over control. Maybe that’s the lesson for us.”
Nelly: “And maybe,” she whispered, leaning closer, “that’s why you’re the only man I trust with power, Joe. Because you don’t cling to it. You let it go.”
The rain tapped against the café window in a rhythm almost like a song. The neon glow outside blurred through the glass, and the faint strains of 90’s music played—Oasis, Alanis, Gin Blossoms—like ghosts from another life.
Joseph Christian Jukic sat across from Nelly, watching her sip her coffee with that same spark in her eyes she always carried, even when the world seemed heavier.
“You know,” he said, swirling his spoon, “the 90’s really were the peak of human civilization. After that? Agent Smith was right. All downhill.”
Nelly tilted her head, lips curving. “Downhill, huh? You mean Tamagotchis and Furbies were our high point?”
Joe laughed, shaking his head. “Not the toys. The feeling. Life had mystery. Music had soul. Movies had grit. People still… believed in something.”
Her eyes softened. “Yeah. Anticipation. Waiting for your song on the radio. Renting VHS tapes. That rush of not knowing.”
As she spoke, Joe drifted—pulled back into memory.
Flashback 1: Elementary School The gymnasium smelled of varnished wood and chalk. Young Joe, awkward and shy, stood in line for square dancing, dreading the moment he’d have to take someone’s hand. Then, like a light, she was there—Nelly, laughing as she twirled, her braid flying, her shoes squeaking against the polished floor. He held her hand once, clumsy and nervous, but he remembered thinking: she dances like she’s already free.
Back in the café, Joe blinked, smiling faintly at the memory.
Nelly caught his look. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Just remembering.”
Flashback 2: High School He was in the hallway, his friend shoving a yearbook into his hands. Joe flipped through absentmindedly until he stopped—her picture. A teenage Nelly, smiling in a way that seemed half shy, half rebellious. He stared too long, his friend nudging him. “You like her, don’t you?” Joe brushed it off, but in his mind he thought: she looks like she’s already planning her escape into something bigger.
Nelly was still talking about the 90’s, but Joe wasn’t really hearing her words anymore. He was hearing his own history with her, woven into moments she didn’t even know he carried.
Flashback 3: Television The living room was dim, only the blue glow of the TV lighting his face. Joe was older now, working long hours, worn from the grind. And then—there she was. On screen. Nelly Furtado, singing “I’m Like a Bird”, her voice soaring, her presence magnetic. Joe leaned forward, stunned. The girl he’d once danced with in elementary school, the face he’d studied in a yearbook photo, was now lighting up the world. He felt a rush in his chest, pride mixed with disbelief. She did it. She’s really flying.
The memory broke as Nelly’s laughter filled the café again, bringing him back.
“And if I’m going to relive the 90’s,” she teased, “I need a man at his peak. Someone as handsome as Josh Duhamel. Just to one-up Fergie.”
Joe smirked. “Josh Duhamel, huh? That’s your standard?”
She leaned closer, voice playful. “Handsome. Charming. The whole package.”
Joe gave a mock sigh. “What Nelly wants, Nelly gets. If you want Josh Duhamel, I’ll—”
“Stop.”
Her tone froze him. Her hand slid across the table, resting on his. Her eyes searched his like she was looking for the right lyric.
“You don’t get it,” she said softly. “You’ve been there since the beginning. From the square dances, to high school, to the first time you saw me on TV… you’ve always seen me. And the truth is, Joe—you’re the handsome one. You’re the man who outshines them all.”
He swallowed hard, stunned.
“You’re not Axl Rose with an appetite for destruction,” she continued, her voice trembling with sincerity. “You’re Joe Jukic, with an appetite for creation. You build, you protect, you make life beautiful. That’s the man I need. That’s the man I choose.”
The café melted away—the rain, the neon, the hum of old songs. For Joe, there was only this: the girl he had carried in his memories across decades, sitting before him now, telling him the truth he never thought he’d hear.
Civilization might have peaked in the 90’s, but love, love was peaking now.
Joseph of Egypt was known throughout the ancient world not only for his wisdom but also for his striking beauty. His brothers once mocked him, envied him, and sold him away, but Pharaoh himself saw in Joseph both the brilliance of the mind and the grace of the face. Egypt called him Zaphenath-paneah, the revealer of mysteries.
King David, centuries later, sang of him in his psalm:
“You are the most handsome of men; grace is poured upon your lips; therefore God has blessed you forever” (Psalm 45).
The psalm, often sung of kings and messianic figures, echoed Joseph’s story too. For he was more than a dreamer in a coat of many colors—he was a man who saved nations from famine, a man whose beauty was matched by a brilliance that turned disaster into abundance.
Fast forward to today.
At a glittering celebrity gathering, cameras flashing, music pulsing, Nelly Furtado looked around the crowded room. She sighed.
“These parties are full of pretty faces,” she told a reporter nearby, “but I don’t just need a handsome man. I need someone who’s more than that—someone intelligent too. Someone like Joseph of Egypt. A man with vision.”
People laughed, thinking she was joking, but she wasn’t.
Nelly had read the story of Joseph and the psalm of David. She knew beauty fades under the bright lights, but wisdom endures. Joseph was the kind of man who could interpret dreams, steer a kingdom through crisis, and still have the dignity to forgive those who wronged him.
The crowd quieted for a moment, as if Joseph himself might walk in. Handsome, yes—but also carrying the weight of divine wisdom in his words.
Nelly smiled.
“Beauty and brains,” she said. “That’s what I’m looking for. Someone who can turn a party into a vision, not just a photoshoot.”
And in that instant, Joseph of Egypt lived again—not just in the pages of Scripture, not just in the psalms of David, but in the yearning of every soul for a person who is more than what the eye can see.
