[Scene: A sunny plaza in Seville. Lucía and Carlos are sitting at an outdoor café after lunch. Carlos pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.]
Carlos: (holding out his lighter to Lucía) Want one?
Lucía: Nah, I’m good. I’m trying to quit. But hey—aren’t you passing that to Pedro later too? That makes three people using the same lighter, doesn’t it?
Carlos: (snatching the lighter back like it’s radioactive) ¡Madre mía! Lucía, are you trying to curse me? You never let three people use the same lighter. Bad luck!
Lucía: (chuckling) Seriously, Carlos? You believe that?
Carlos: Of course I do! My cousin Toni once lit his cigarette as the third person—and boom! That same night, his Vespa got stolen. Coincidence? I think not.
Lucía: Maybe he just parked it in the sketchy part of town again. Correlation doesn’t equal causation, my friend.
Carlos: Yeah, yeah, science girl always bringing up “causation.” But you can’t deny that weird stuff happens when people ignore the rules. Just last month, my coworker Julia ignored the three-person rule—next day, she lost her cat!
Lucía: Cats do have a habit of wandering off, Carlos. Unless your lighter is emitting some kind of feline-repellent frequency, I’m not convinced.
Carlos: You don’t mess with the lighter rule. It’s like walking under ladders or opening umbrellas indoors. Why take the risk?
Lucía: But think about it—these superstitions started ages ago, probably when people didn’t understand how the world worked. That “lighter” superstition, by the way, goes back to World War I. Soldiers believed that if three of them lit cigarettes from the same lighter, it gave a sniper enough time to spot, aim, and fire. It wasn’t bad luck—it was just dangerous tactics.
Carlos: (pausing, intrigued) Wait, really?
Lucía: Yep. One to light, one to aim, one to shoot. The third guy was just unlucky—statistically speaking.
Carlos: So it was bad luck! Just with bullets instead of curses.
Lucía: (laughing) I mean, yeah, but not cosmic bad luck. Just poor battlefield strategy. We’re sitting in a café, not a trench.
Carlos: Still, I feel like some things are better left respected. Like the time I broke a mirror and my ex broke up with me the same week.
Lucía: Or maybe she finally got tired of your mirror selfies?
Carlos: Ay, qué cruel eres. But seriously, isn’t it kind of comforting to believe in something bigger? That there’s a hidden order?
Lucía: I get that. Superstitions are like mental shortcuts—we like patterns, and our brains love connecting dots. But if we start believing every coincidence is fate, we stop seeing reality clearly.
Carlos: (smirking) So what are you saying? I should go light up three cigarettes right now and test the universe?
Lucía: Only if you’re ready to lose another Vespa, apparently.
Carlos: Touché.
Lucía: Look, I’m not saying you have to toss all your traditions out the window. Just… question them a little. Know the history. And maybe—just maybe—trust your brain more than your bad luck.
Carlos: Hmm. Maybe I’ll do some research. But I’m still not handing my lighter to a third person. Not unless they buy me churros first.
Lucía: Deal. But I’m bringing a science journal next time we hang out.
Carlos: Great, and I’ll bring garlic—just in case your journal summons any logic demons.
[They laugh, sip their coffee, and the lighter remains firmly in Carlos’s pocket—for now.]
End Scene.
Science Vs Superstition 
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