Everyone has attitude, and I think everyone should have attitude.

Host: The tennis court lay silent under the cool evening sky, its bright lines gleaming faintly under the floodlights. The sound of the ball machine had stopped long ago, leaving behind only the echo of past serves — a rhythm that lingered like breath in an empty cathedral.

On one of the benches, Jack sat tying his shoes, his posture deliberate, his hands steady but his mind elsewhere. The faint smell of rubber, sweat, and freshly-cut grass hung in the air — that intoxicating blend of discipline and exhaustion.

Jeeny stood near the net, her racket resting lightly on her shoulder. Her stance was casual, but her eyes were sharp — focused in the way only someone who’s fought hard to be heard can be. The kind of focus born not from talent, but from resistance.

Pinned to the fence behind them, someone had taped a quote in bold marker — words fierce and confident, radiating a sense of unapologetic fire:

“Everyone has attitude, and I think everyone should have attitude. But I know I have attitude, but that's just, I think if you don't have attitude, it comes only with self confidence. So if you don't have self confidence, you won't have attitude, and I think there's a difference when you have attitude and when you have arrogance.” — Sania Mirza

Jeeny: (tossing the ball lightly in her hand) “You know, I love that quote. It’s everything I wish women were taught earlier — that attitude isn’t arrogance. It’s armor.”

Host: Her voice cut through the stillness — firm, measured, but pulsing with a quiet kind of heat.

Jack: (grinning) “Armor, huh? I always thought attitude was the thing people use to hide insecurity.”

Jeeny: (smirking) “That’s because you’ve only seen the loud kind. Real attitude doesn’t shout, Jack. It stands its ground.”

Jack: “So it’s confidence with posture?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s knowing your worth without needing to convince anyone else of it.”

Host: She walked toward him, her steps light, her presence sharp against the empty court.

Jeeny: “You know what I like about what Sania said? She draws the line between confidence and arrogance. Arrogance needs validation — it needs an audience. Confidence doesn’t.”

Jack: “You think people can tell the difference?”

Jeeny: “They can feel it. You walk into a room with attitude, they respect you. You walk in with arrogance, they tolerate you.”

Host: Jack picked up a stray tennis ball and tossed it lazily against the wall, watching it bounce back, rhythmically — like the conversation itself.

Jack: “You ever had someone call you arrogant for just standing your ground?”

Jeeny: (laughs softly) “Only every other week. The world still doesn’t know what to do with a woman who doesn’t apologize for herself.”

Jack: “So you give them attitude.”

Jeeny: “No. I give them self-respect. The rest is just how they read it.”

Host: Her words carried that magnetic balance — gentle but unyielding, the sound of truth spoken by someone who’s had to earn it.

Jack: “You know, Sania Mirza was the first woman from her country to make it into the big leagues. I remember the headlines. Some people praised her, others picked apart her clothes, her expressions — even her confidence.”

Jeeny: “Of course. Because confidence in a woman still looks like rebellion to insecure men.”

Jack: (nodding) “She didn’t tone herself down.”

Jeeny: “And that’s exactly why she became who she did. Attitude isn’t about rebellion. It’s about refusing to shrink.”

Host: The floodlights flickered once, throwing their shadows tall and distorted across the court — two figures stretched, monumental against the night.

Jack: “You think attitude can be learned?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s remembered. You’re born with a sense of self — the world just spends years trying to make you forget it.”

Jack: “So attitude is self-memory.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Exactly. You remember who you are, and the rest takes care of itself.”

Host: She leaned on the net, watching him with quiet challenge.

Jeeny: “The trouble is, people confuse kindness with weakness. So when you’re firm, they call you arrogant. When you’re gentle, they call you naive.”

Jack: “And when you’re both?”

Jeeny: “Then you scare them.”

Host: The night air cooled, brushing their faces like truth finally relaxing its grip.

Jack: “You ever lose that confidence?”

Jeeny: “Sure. Everyone does. But that’s the thing — attitude isn’t constant. It’s a muscle. The more you doubt yourself, the more you have to flex it.”

Jack: “You mean fake it until you make it?”

Jeeny: “No. Feel it until you believe it.”

Host: The words landed between them like a soft serve that still hit its mark.

Jack: “You know, I used to think arrogance was confidence gone wrong. But maybe it’s just confidence without empathy.”

Jeeny: “That’s a perfect way to put it. Arrogance closes the door; confidence opens it and still knows how to walk through first.”

Host: She smiled then — that small, defiant smile that comes when truth finally lands in both hearts.

Jeeny: “People who have real attitude don’t need to prove they’re better than others. They just refuse to pretend they’re less.”

Jack: (quietly) “You know, I wish I’d heard that ten years ago.”

Jeeny: “You wouldn’t have believed it then.”

Jack: “Maybe not. But now I get it — attitude isn’t decoration. It’s declaration.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s saying, ‘I’ve worked for this confidence. I’m not sorry for it.’”

Host: A cool wind drifted across the court, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and asphalt. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle roared past — the sound of motion, of freedom, of persistence.

Jack: (after a long pause) “So you think everyone should have attitude?”

Jeeny: “Absolutely. Without it, life happens to you. With it, life happens with you.”

Jack: “And arrogance?”

Jeeny: “That’s when you forget where your confidence came from — and who you used to be before you had it.”

Host: She walked to the baseline, tossed the ball once, twice, then served — a clean, powerful strike that cut the silence perfectly.

Jack watched it sail across, land just inside the line.

Jack: “That’s attitude.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “That’s self-confidence.”

Host: The sound of the ball bouncing away lingered like punctuation — firm, final, true.

And as they stood there, two figures under the lights — equals, opponents, reflections — Sania Mirza’s words seemed to pulse through the court like a heartbeat:

that attitude is not aggression,
but self-knowledge turned outward;
that confidence is not arrogance,
but clarity about your worth;
and that true strength
doesn’t need to shout —
it simply shows up,
every time,
unapologetically alive.

The wind died down, the lights dimmed,
and somewhere deep in the silence,
the echo of that serve
sounded a lot like freedom.