But behavior in the human being is sometimes a defense, a way of

Host: The office was quiet — too quiet for the hour. The blinds were half-drawn, slicing the evening light into thin gold bars across the walls. A clock ticked softly, its sound landing heavy in the stillness. There were no diplomas on the wall, no plaques, no pretense — just books, a faint scent of paper, and two chairs facing one another with the subtle tension of ritual.

Jack sat in one of them, elbows on his knees, fingers intertwined — his usual armor of calm cracking just slightly at the edges. Across from him, Jeeny sat cross-legged, a notebook open on her lap, pen motionless. She wasn’t his therapist, but tonight she might as well have been.

Outside, the rain began to fall — the steady kind that doesn’t end quickly, that feels more like reflection than weather.

Jeeny: “You’re quiet tonight.”

Jack: “I’m thinking.”

Jeeny: “About what?”

Jack: (shrugs) “Nothing important.”

Jeeny: “You know that’s a lie.”

Jack: “Yeah.”

Host: She waited. Not with impatience — with the silence that knows how to draw truth out of hiding.

Jeeny: “You ever read Abraham Maslow?”

Jack: (smirking) “You’re going to say something about needs, aren’t you? The pyramid thing?”

Jeeny: “Not this time. He said something better — ‘Behavior in the human being is sometimes a defense, a way of concealing motives and thoughts, as language can be a way of hiding your thoughts and preventing communication.’”

Jack: “So what, now I’m being psychoanalyzed?”

Jeeny: “No. I’m just wondering what you’re hiding behind your words tonight.”

Host: The rain hit harder against the window. He looked out, his reflection trembling faintly in the glass — blurred, uncertain.

Jack: “You ever notice how people talk without saying anything? We fill the air with words because silence gives us away.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes silence says everything.”

Jack: “That’s the problem.”

Jeeny: “With silence?”

Jack: “With honesty. It’s not just what you say — it’s what you let someone see.”

Host: She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her voice soft but steady.

Jeeny: “So what is it you don’t want seen?”

Jack: “The things I haven’t figured out yet.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe figuring them out requires letting them show.”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: “It’s not. It’s terrifying. But that’s what Maslow meant. We use behavior like camouflage — charm, anger, detachment — all ways to keep people from finding the soft parts.”

Jack: “You’re saying I’m hiding behind behavior?”

Jeeny: “I’m saying everyone does.”

Host: He leaned back, exhaling slowly. The sound of rain filled the pauses between their words.

Jack: “You know what’s funny? People say they want authenticity, but they flinch the second they see it.”

Jeeny: “That’s because real emotion doesn’t fit into polite conversation. It makes people feel naked. And no one likes naked truth.”

Jack: “You do.”

Jeeny: “I tolerate it. There’s a difference.”

Host: She smiled faintly, but her eyes — dark, steady — didn’t look away.

Jeeny: “You wear irony the way some people wear armor.”

Jack: “It keeps me alive.”

Jeeny: “No, it keeps you alone.”

Host: He froze. The sentence hit him like a clean punch — quiet, direct, unavoidable.

Jack: “You don’t pull punches, do you?”

Jeeny: “Why would I? The truth’s already bruised enough.”

Jack: “You think honesty’s the cure?”

Jeeny: “Not always. But it’s a start.”

Host: The clock ticked louder now, or maybe the silence between them had grown deeper, making every sound sharper.

Jack: “You know, when Maslow said that — about behavior being defense — I think he was confessing something, not diagnosing it.”

Jeeny: “Confessing what?”

Jack: “That even the ones who study human behavior are afraid of being seen.”

Jeeny: “Of course they are. Understanding the mind doesn’t make you immune to it. It just gives you better excuses.”

Jack: (quietly) “You ever feel like you talk too much to keep from saying the thing that matters?”

Jeeny: “All the time.”

Jack: “And you call that communication?”

Jeeny: “No. I call that survival.”

Host: The rain softened, the rhythm turning almost tender.

Jeeny: “You know, words are supposed to connect us. But half the time, they just build prettier walls.”

Jack: “Then what’s the alternative?”

Jeeny: “Silence. Eye contact. A moment where you stop performing.”

Jack: “Performing?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Every behavior — every gesture, every joke — it’s theater. We act our way through fear.”

Jack: “And what’s your performance?”

Jeeny: “Listening.”

Jack: “That’s not acting.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes it is. Especially when what I’m hearing hurts.”

Host: He stared at her — really stared — his own defenses trembling at the edges.

Jack: “You know, for all our talk about human progress, we still hide like children. We still wear masks — only now we call them personalities.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And we hide behind language too. That’s why poetry feels dangerous — it strips language of defense. It turns speech into confession.”

Jack: “You think that’s why most people avoid it?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because poetry doesn’t let you lie well.”

Host: He smiled — that rare, reluctant kind that means surrender.

Jack: “You ever get tired of seeing through people?”

Jeeny: “No. I get tired of people pretending they’re invisible.”

Jack: “And me?”

Jeeny: “You’re not invisible, Jack. You’re just scared of what happens when someone finally sees you.”

Host: The rain stopped. The world outside fell into a stillness that felt almost earned.

Jack: “You know, maybe that’s why I talk so much — to stay one sentence ahead of being understood.”

Jeeny: “And maybe that’s why I listen — to catch you when you finally stop.”

Host: They sat in the quiet for a long moment. No walls. No defenses. Just presence — fragile, human, unguarded.

The clock ticked again. The air felt lighter now, as though honesty itself had opened a window.

Jack: “Maslow was right. Behavior hides the truth. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, the right person can see through it anyway.”

Jeeny: “And then?”

Jack: “Then you start to actually communicate.”

Host: She smiled, closing her notebook softly, the gesture final but kind.

Jeeny: “That’s the real hierarchy, isn’t it? Beneath all those needs — food, safety, love — there’s one more: to be seen, without disguise.”

Jack: (whispering) “And to still be accepted.”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: The lights dimmed with the fading evening. They stayed there a while longer, saying nothing — and for the first time all night, that silence wasn’t a defense. It was understanding.

Outside, the rain had washed the city clean.

And in the quiet, Maslow’s words lingered like the final truth they had both just lived:

“Behavior in the human being is sometimes a defense, a way of concealing motives and thoughts, as language can be a way of hiding your thoughts and preventing communication.”

Because the real language between souls
isn’t spoken —
it’s felt.

And sometimes,
to be known,
you must first stop talking long enough
to be found.