Failure is unfortunately as common as success.

Host: The train station was almost empty — echoing, quiet, filled with the aftertaste of departures. The lights above flickered, casting long shadows across the tiles, where footsteps and dreams had once crossed paths.

Outside, the rain had slowed, but the sky still hung low, grey and heavy, like a bruise waiting to heal. A bench, under the flicker of a dying lamp, held two silhouettes — Jack and Jeeny, both silent, both thinking, both tired of pretending that life was symmetrical.

Host: Jack’s coat was wet, his hair disheveled, his eyes restless, haunted by the lingering taste of a dream gone wrong. Jeeny’s hands were folded, her expression calm, soft, but with the strength of someone who has watched storms pass without running from them.

A train horn wailed in the distance — a lonely sound, familiar, human.

Jack: “You ever notice how no one really teaches you what to do when you fail?”

Jeeny: “They do. They just dress it up with metaphors — like ‘Every door closes for a reason.’ Or ‘Everything happens for a purpose.’”

Jack: “Yeah, but no one tells you how to breathe when everything collapses.”

Jeeny: “That’s because they’re still figuring it out themselves.”

Host: He looked down, hands trembling slightly, a crumpled paper in his grip — a rejection letter, its words sharp, clinical, final.

Jack: “Sanjay Kumar said, ‘Failure is unfortunately as common as success.’ I used to think that meant he was just being humble. Now I think he meant it as a warning.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he meant it as a reminder.”

Jack: “A reminder of what?”

Jeeny: “That failing doesn’t make you broken. It just makes you human.”

Host: The sound of a distant train rumbled, shaking the floor, the air, the memory of everything that ever moved forward. Jack’s reflection in the station glass trembled, blurred, like a man trying to hold his shape against time itself.

Jack: “It’s funny. Success gets celebrated, failure gets studied — like a disease.”

Jeeny: “That’s because failure makes people uncomfortable. It reminds them that their own triumphs are temporary.”

Jack: “And success makes people lie.”

Jeeny: “Lie?”

Jack: “Yeah. They say, ‘I worked hard, I earned it,’ but they forget the luck, the timing, the thousands who worked just as hard and got nowhere.”

Jeeny: “So you think success is luck?”

Jack: “Mostly. Effort’s the price of the ticket, not the guarantee of the ride.”

Host: The rain picked up again, soft, persistent, melancholy. The lamp above them buzzed, casting a faint halo around Jeeny’s face — calm, knowing, forgiving.

Jeeny: “I think failure teaches us things success never will. It breaks the illusion of control. It humbles us enough to listen.”

Jack: “And what if I don’t want humility? What if I just want another chance?”

Jeeny: “Then you’re already learning. Failure means you cared enough to try again.”

Jack: “You make it sound noble.”

Jeeny: “It isn’t noble. It’s necessary.”

Jack: “Necessary for what?”

Jeeny: “Growth. Compassion. Wisdom. You can’t understand people until you’ve fallen like they have.”

Host: Her voice softened, the rhythm of it weaving through the rain like a song half-remembered.

Jeeny: “Sanjay Kumar was right — failure is as common as success, but we treat it like a scandal. We hide it, bury it, pretend it doesn’t happen. But really, it’s what keeps us honest.”

Jack: “Honest?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Success tells the world who you are. Failure tells you.”

Host: The station clock ticked, the minute hand dragging forward like a reluctant confession. Jack leaned back, exhaling, the steam from his breath mixing with the cold air.

Jack: “I’ve failed three times in the last year. Projects, relationships, expectations. Every time, I swear it’ll get easier — and it never does.”

Jeeny: “It’s not supposed to.”

Jack: “Then what’s the point?”

Jeeny: “The point is that you kept showing up.”

Jack: “And what does that earn me?”

Jeeny: “Grace.”

Jack: “Grace doesn’t pay bills.”

Jeeny: “No. But it rebuilds your heart so you can try again.”

Jack: “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I do. Because every person I’ve ever admired failed first — and often.”

Jack: “Name one.”

Jeeny: “Einstein couldn’t get a teaching job. Van Gogh sold one painting. Mandela spent twenty-seven years behind bars. Yet their failure became the soil for their freedom.”

Jack: “And what if I’m just ordinary?”

Jeeny: “Then fail beautifully.”

Host: Her words landed like raindrops, gentle, cool, but real. Jack looked up, the edges of his frustration softening. The platform lights reflected in his eyes, small sparks of hope, still alive, still flickering.

Jack: “You make it sound like failure’s a kind of faith.”

Jeeny: “It is. You can’t believe in yourself if you’ve never doubted yourself.”

Jack: “But the world rewards winning.”

Jeeny: “And the soul rewards trying.”

Jack: “You talk like someone who’s made peace with losing.”

Jeeny: “Not losing — learning. They’re different words for the same door.”

Host: The train arrived, roaring through the station, filling the air with wind and light. The moment was alive — noisy, vivid, brief — a perfect metaphor for the passing nature of success itself.

Jack: “You ever failed?”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Of course. That’s how I know you’ll be fine.”

Jack: “You’re certain?”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because you’re still here.”

Host: The doors hissed open. Neither of them moved. The crowd shuffled past, a blur of faces that carried dreams, regrets, and quiet courage.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Kumar meant — not that failure is inevitable, but that it’s shared. That we’re all just failing at different speeds.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It’s not rare. It’s universal. The only difference between failure and success is the story you tell after.”

Jack: “Then maybe I’ll start writing a better story.”

Jeeny: “That’s the spirit. Failure’s just the first draft of greatness.”

Host: The rain stopped. The clouds began to part, revealing a thin sliver of dawn on the horizon — pale, trembling, but certain.

Jack: “You know… I think I’m done punishing myself for being human.”

Jeeny: “Good. The world does that enough already.”

Jack: “And maybe next time I fail—”

Jeeny: “You’ll remember this moment.”

Jack: “No. I’ll remember that I wasn’t alone.”

Host: The train doors closed, the sound fading, leaving behind quiet — that sacred kind of quiet that only comes after confession.

The camera would pull back, rising over the station, the city, the night giving way to morning, the light touching everything that had once been dark.

And beneath it all, Sanjay Kumar’s words would echo, soft but unyielding:

“Failure is unfortunately as common as success.”

Host:
And in that truth, they both finally found comfort —
because being human was never meant to be rare.