Before I was physically there in different countries to meet my

Host: The airport was nearly empty, its metallic halls glowing under the dim amber light of early dawn. The air carried that hollow echo that only departure gates know — a kind of melancholy silence, broken only by the distant roll of a suitcase wheel. Outside, the tarmac was wet, reflecting the blinking red lights of sleeping planes.

Jack sat by the window, a paper cup of coffee between his hands, its steam fading into the cold morning air. His grey eyes watched the runway as if it were a mirror of his own restlessness.

Across from him, Jeeny leaned against a bench, her long hair slightly disheveled, her coat collar pulled high. The tiredness on her face was not from lack of sleep, but from the weight of something unspoken.

The world outside was quiet, but between them — there was a storm waiting to be named.

Jeeny: “You know, Jack, I read something beautiful last night. G-Dragon once said, ‘Before I was physically there in different countries to meet my fans in person, I didn't really realize how famous I was.’ I thought about that all night.”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Fame always sounds romantic when it’s someone else’s story. But underneath, it’s just a mirror trick. He didn’t realize he was famous? That’s not humility, Jeeny — it’s disconnection. When you live too long behind a screen, you start to believe the world ends where your Wi-Fi does.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But isn’t that the point? He only realized it when he met real people — when he saw faces, heard voices, felt the energy of human connection. It’s not about the number of fans, Jack. It’s about the moment when virtual adoration turns into human warmth. That’s when fame becomes real.”

Host: A plane took off in the distance, its roar trembling through the windows. Jack’s eyes flickered, tracing the movement, his reflection merging with the clouds.

Jack: “You talk like there’s some purity in it. But fame isn’t a spiritual awakening, Jeeny. It’s a market — people’s faces, their cheers, their hands reaching out — all part of the same transaction. He felt ‘real’ because people validated him. That’s not connection, that’s commerce.”

Jeeny: “No, you’re wrong.” (her voice firm now) “There’s something different about standing before thousands of souls who see you, not as a product, but as part of their story. You can’t buy that with money or marketing. It’s like — like when Mandela walked out of Robben Island and saw the crowds waiting. He wasn’t a symbol anymore; he was flesh, presence, truth. Fame, when it’s earned, can remind a person of their own humanity.”

Host: Jeeny’s words hung in the air, their echo mixing with the hum of fluorescent light. Jack leaned forward, his coffee untouched, his brows drawn.

Jack: “Mandela? Jeeny, Mandela wasn’t a celebrity — he was a leader, a sufferer. He didn’t need applause to know who he was. G-Dragon, or any artist — they live in an illusion built by marketing machines. The ‘connection’ you speak of — it’s fabricated, crafted to sell dreams. It’s like mistaking the stage lights for sunlight.”

Jeeny: “But even mist has beauty, Jack. Maybe fame begins as illusion, but it becomes truth when it touches hearts. Look at the Beatles — when they first toured the world, they didn’t understand their impact until they saw people crying, shaking, singing every word. That wasn’t marketing. That was human need — the need to be part of something larger than oneself.”

Host: The silence that followed was almost tender, as if both had struck a chord too deep to touch again. The first light of morning spilled through the glass, painting the floor with streaks of gold and gray.

Jack: (quietly) “You always look for the heart in everything, don’t you? But let me ask you — do you think fame changes the famous, or does it change the fans more? G-Dragon didn’t ‘realize’ how famous he was — but what if that realization isn’t about humanity, but about power? The moment you realize your presence can move thousands, it’s not connection anymore — it’s dominion.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. It’s responsibility. The moment he stood before them, he must have felt it — the weight of their eyes, their love, their expectations. That’s not power; that’s burden. True fame isn’t about being seen — it’s about seeing others. Maybe that’s what he meant. Before, it was all numbers and names, but when he met them, they became faces, stories, lives.”

Host: Jeeny’s hands trembled as she spoke, not with anger, but with feeling. Jack’s jaw tightened, as if he were wrestling with something he couldn’t quite dismiss.

Jack: “And yet, Jeeny, the same crowd that adores you today can turn on you tomorrow. We’ve seen it. Look at how celebrities are torn down — one mistake, one misunderstood word, and the same fans who once worshipped you now burn your image. If fame is built on connection, why is it so fragile?”

Jeeny: “Because love is fragile, Jack. Because people are. You expect fame to be logical, but it’s not. It’s a reflection of our own conflicted nature — our desire to idolize, to belong, to destroy what we cannot own. G-Dragon realized his fame not through numbers, but through the eyes of those who loved him. That’s both a gift and a curse.”

Host: A faint announcement echoed through the terminal: “Final boarding call for Flight 107 to Seoul.” Jeeny’s eyes lifted, and a small smile crossed her lips, as if the universe had decided to join their conversation.

Jack: “You make it sound poetic, Jeeny. But I think he just woke up to his own shadow — the cost of being everywhere, yet nowhere real. Maybe he realized that fame is a kind of mirror maze — the more you chase your reflection, the less you recognize yourself.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Maybe that’s true. But even in that maze, there are lights. The smiles, the tears, the hands that reach out. You can’t call that meaningless.”

Host: The moment lingered — two souls caught between cynicism and hope, between isolation and connection. The airport around them seemed to pause, holding its breath.

Jack: “So you think fame can be real?”

Jeeny: “Not fame itself — but the encounters it creates. The moments when the veil lifts and two people, artist and admirer, simply see each other. That’s real. That’s human.”

Jack: (after a pause) “Then maybe… he didn’t realize how famous he was because he was too human to believe in it. Too caught in the creation to step back and see what he’d built.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Fame isn’t about how many people know you. It’s about how deeply you’ve touched those who do.”

Host: The light grew brighter now, spilling across Jack’s face, softening the hard lines around his eyes. He looked at Jeeny — not as an opponent, but as someone who’d just opened a door in the fog.

Jack: “You know… maybe we’re all a little like him. We go through life not realizing who we’ve become until we see ourselves reflected in others’ eyes.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Sometimes it takes a crowd — or even just one person — to show us our own size, our own weight in the world.”

Host: The gate door opened, and a stream of light flooded the hall. Jack stood, lifting his bag, his expression quiet now, contemplative.

Jeeny rose beside him, her eyes glinting with a trace of sadness and understanding.

Outside, the morning was breaking fully — the clouds opening to a clear sky, the world waking.

For a moment, they both stood in that glow, silent, as if the truth between them no longer needed words.

Jack: (softly) “Maybe fame isn’t realizing how big the world sees you — but realizing how small you still feel inside it.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s what keeps us human.”

Host: The sunlight touched their faces as they stepped toward the boarding gate. Beyond the glass, a new flight waited — not just toward another country, but toward another kind of understanding. The sound of the engines rose like a heartbeat, and for a brief, tender moment, the world felt both infinite and intimate — the way it does when a human being finally meets the echo of their own existence.