Every night, I was read to. Every Friday, we were taken to the

Host: The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light across the room, illuminating the pages of the open book that lay in Jack’s hands. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its rhythm the only sound that interrupted the otherwise still evening. Jeeny sat nearby, curled up in a chair, her legs tucked underneath her as she gazed out the window, lost in thought. The air was quiet, almost nostalgic, as though the world outside had slowed its pace for just a moment.

Jeeny broke the silence, her voice gentle, almost reminiscent.

Jeeny: “You know, I read something today that made me think of my childhood… It was a quote from Avi: ‘Every night, I was read to. Every Friday, we were taken to the library. I always received at least one book for my birthday. I have a few of them yet. Early on, I had my own collection of books. I loved to read. Still do.’”

Jack paused, his fingers lightly brushing over the spine of the book in his hands. He looked up at her, a slight frown on his face.

Jack: “Sounds like the perfect setup for a child, right? Books every night, trips to the library... But doesn’t it seem kind of... idealized? I mean, reading is great, but not everyone has that kind of environment growing up.”

Jeeny smiled softly, her gaze still fixed on the window as she spoke.

Jeeny: “I don’t think it’s about the perfect setup, Jack. It’s about the habit. It’s about being nurtured in a way that makes you fall in love with something, something as simple as reading. Avi talks about how it was a part of his life, something that was woven into his daily routine. It didn’t have to be perfect; it just had to be consistent.”

Jack’s eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity and skepticism, his voice a little more pragmatic.

Jack: “Yeah, but life’s not always about routine, right? There’s no formula for what works for people. Some kids don’t get that kind of care. Some don’t have access to books or even the time to enjoy them. I grew up with a lot of distractions—things like school, sports, and, honestly, just trying to survive. I didn’t exactly have the luxury of sitting down every night for bedtime stories.”

Jeeny’s expression softened, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice calm but insistent.

Jeeny: “I understand that, Jack. It’s not about everyone having the same exact experience—it’s about what happens when you do have access to those small rituals that help you connect with something bigger than yourself. Maybe for Avi, it wasn’t just the books, but the sense of care, the feeling that someone wanted to give him the world of stories. For him, it was a way of learning, of exploring his own imagination. It’s about that spark.”

Jack paused, running his fingers through his hair, his thoughts clearly churning. He wasn’t entirely convinced, but something in her words seemed to resonate with him.

Jack: “So, you think it’s more about the ritual of it all? Not just the books themselves, but the idea of someone taking the time to invest in that connection with you?”

Jeeny nodded, her eyes glowing with that quiet passion she always had when talking about things she truly believed in.

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what I’m getting at. It’s not just about the books—it’s about someone showing you that learning and imagination matter. That what you read can change the way you see the world. It gives you a sense of identity and a way to make sense of things, even when life is chaotic.”

Jack’s gaze dropped to the pages in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges of the book. His expression softened, just for a moment, as though he was considering something he hadn’t fully understood before.

Jack: “Maybe… Maybe I get that. It’s not just about the content of the books, or even how many you read. It’s about the connection they help you form, not just with the world but with yourself. That’s something I never really thought about before.”

Jeeny smiled, her eyes gentle as she saw the realization starting to take hold.

Jeeny: “It’s about nurturing your mind and spirit, Jack. And once you get that feeling, once you realize the value of stories, you can carry it with you. It doesn’t matter what’s going on around you—books will always be there, like old friends, waiting to welcome you back. It’s that love for reading, that curiosity, that makes you never want to stop.”

Jack’s voice softened, almost as though he were thinking aloud, his words touched with something he hadn’t expressed in years.

Jack: “I think I get it now. It’s not about the rules or the structure. It’s about finding that thing, that escape, that helps you grow. Reading, or whatever else it might be—those are the things that stick with you.”

Jeeny nodded, her voice quiet, but full of warmth.

Jeeny: “Exactly. And you don’t need a perfect childhood to get it. Sometimes, it’s the simple things, the small habits, that shape us more than we realize.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the quiet comfort of understanding, and the gentle tick of the clock against the stillness. Outside, the city hummed with life, but inside, it felt like the world had slowed down, giving them both the chance to reflect on something as simple, and as profound, as the love of a good book.

Host: The night stretched on, the soft light of the lamp casting a golden hue over the room. The two of them sat in silence, their thoughts lingering on the words they had shared, the small rituals that had shaped their lives in ways both big and small. The world outside continued its steady pace, but inside, they both understood—sometimes, the most meaningful things were the ones that were read between the lines.