A college experience is something everyone should have. Going to

Host: The night hummed with the low buzz of neon lights and the faint sizzle of a griddle behind a half-open counter. The Waffle House sign flickered overhead, bathing the cracked parking lot in warm, uneven gold. The rain had stopped, but the pavement still glistened, reflecting the colors of sleepless youth — yellow, red, and electric white.

Host: Inside, two figures sat in a booth near the window — Jack, his jacket tossed carelessly beside him, eyes tired but sharp; and Jeeny, stirring a mug of hot chocolate, her smile soft and her hair messy, as if she’d run through the rain laughing. The radio whispered an old soul song, and somewhere behind them, a fry cook whistled out of tune.

Host: Jeeny read something from her phone, her voice breaking the rhythm of the late-night hum.

Jeeny: reading softly “‘A college experience is something everyone should have. Going to Waffle House late at night. Or the gym at midnight, until the wee hours of the morning. Just being kids. Hanging out.’ —RJ Barrett.”

Jack: chuckles “Waffle House and midnight gyms. That’s what passes for nostalgia now?”

Jeeny: “It’s not nostalgia. It’s freedom. The kind that only exists for a few years before the world gets loud again.”

Jack: “Freedom? It’s a sugar high disguised as independence. Everyone playing adult in borrowed time.”

Jeeny: smiling “Maybe. But that’s the point. For a little while, you believe life’s infinite. You eat pancakes at 2 a.m. and think you’ve conquered the universe.”

Jack: “And then 2 a.m. becomes overtime and exhaustion.”

Jeeny: “That’s adulthood. But college… college is the rehearsal for becoming human.”

Host: The neon glow bled across the window, painting their faces in soft amber light. Outside, a truck passed, its tires hissing on wet asphalt. Inside, time moved slower, as though the clocks had agreed to pause out of kindness.

Jack: “You sound like you’re missing it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I am. Those nights were meaningless and perfect. They didn’t build anything tangible, but they built me.”

Jack: half-smiling “I never had that kind of college. Mine was work and more work. Studying between shifts. Coffee instead of sleep.”

Jeeny: “Then you missed the beautiful kind of nothingness. The space between effort and expectation.”

Jack: “Yeah. I traded laughter for rent money. Turns out survival isn’t a major, but it should be.”

Host: Her eyes softened at his words — not pity, but recognition. The kind of understanding that doesn’t need explanation.

Jeeny: “You ever think about what those nights mean, really? The late-night drives, the empty diners, the bad decisions? They’re proof that we were alive before we were aware.”

Jack: quietly “Ignorance as innocence.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. Innocence as joy.”

Jack: “You really think joy’s that simple?”

Jeeny: “Sometimes it is. The simplicity’s what makes it sacred. Sitting in a booth with your friends, talking about nothing, laughing about everything — that’s the kind of memory that doesn’t fade.”

Jack: “It fades. You just romanticize it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe I romanticize it because it deserves it.”

Host: The cook behind the counter called out an order — “Hash browns, scattered and smothered!” — his voice cutting through the stillness like a line in a play. For a moment, the world outside the booth felt very far away.

Jack: “You know what I think? People remember those nights not because they were special, but because they were the last time ordinary felt enough.”

Jeeny: nods slowly “Yes. Before life became a checklist. Back then, we didn’t have to justify existence — we just existed.”

Jack: “And now?”

Jeeny: “Now we chase meaning so hard we forget how to live it.”

Jack: grinning faintly “So you think the world would be better if everyone just hung out more?”

Jeeny: “No. But I think the world would be kinder if everyone remembered what it felt like to be young and unsure — and free.”

Host: Her words hung between them like steam off the coffee mugs — soft, fleeting, full of warmth.

Jack: “You think RJ Barrett meant all that when he said it?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But sometimes truth hides in simplicity. He wasn’t talking about waffles. He was talking about belonging.”

Jack: “Belonging?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. Those nights, you belong to nothing and everything at once. You’re part of a moment that asks nothing of you. It’s rare, Jack — the world doesn’t offer that kind of peace twice.”

Jack: staring out the window “You make it sound sacred.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe the divine hides in ordinary hours — midnight breakfasts and gym lights that flicker while you chase your breath.”

Jack: “And then life turns the lights off.”

Jeeny: “No. Life just moves them somewhere else.”

Host: A car pulled up, headlights flashing briefly across the window, then disappearing into the wet street. Inside, Jeeny took a sip of her drink, while Jack traced his finger around the rim of his cup, lost in thought.

Jack: “You ever wish you could go back?”

Jeeny: “No. I just wish I’d noticed it while it was happening — how beautiful it was to be unimportant.”

Jack: “Unimportant?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not exceptional, not burdened by purpose. Just one heartbeat among millions, awake when the world was asleep.”

Jack: “Funny. That’s what we spend adulthood chasing — that same feeling of insignificance without emptiness.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The jukebox in the corner started playing an old Springsteen track — something about youth, roads, and the ghosts we keep trying to outrun.

Jack: smiling faintly “You know, maybe he’s right. Everyone should have a college experience — not for the degree, but for the nights that don’t mean anything.”

Jeeny: “Yes. The nights that remind you how to feel before you learn how to function.”

Jack: “And what about the ones who never get it? The ones who go straight from struggle to survival?”

Jeeny: softly “Then it’s up to the rest of us to keep the memory alive — to build small spaces of freedom for them too.”

Jack: “You mean, like this?” gestures at the empty diner

Jeeny: smiles “Exactly like this.”

Host: Outside, the rain began again, tapping softly against the glass — a slow, rhythmic percussion. Jack leaned back, exhaling deeply, his eyes distant but lighter somehow.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? This feels like one of those nights.”

Jeeny: “It is.”

Jack: “But we’re not kids anymore.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s what makes it matter even more.”

Host: The cook flipped the last order of the night. The clock above the counter ticked toward 3 a.m. The world outside was asleep, but inside that booth, under the humming light, two souls lingered in the gentle illusion that time could still pause — that somewhere between memory and exhaustion, youth was not lost, only resting.

Host: The rain’s rhythm slowed, and the window’s reflection caught their faces — two adults smiling faintly like the last students in an unending class on being alive.

Host: And for that moment, in that small diner that smelled of syrup and nostalgia, the night whispered what all growing hearts long to hear:

Host: You are still here. You are still young enough to feel it.