Fortune, seeing that she could not make fools wise, has made them

Host:
The sky hangs low, a pale gray curtain drifting across the city. The wind whispers against the windows, carrying with it the sharp scent of rain. Inside, the dim light from an old, flickering lamp casts long, soft shadows across the room. A small café in the corner of a forgotten street, where the buzz of conversation is swallowed by the silence of the late hour.

Jack sits at a table near the window, his eyes lost in the distance, as though the world beyond is too much to face. His hands are wrapped around a cold cup of coffee, the steam long gone. Jeeny sits across from him, her fingers gently tapping on the wood, as though trying to coax something from the empty space between them. There is a tension here, but also a quiet understanding. The moment hangs, fragile, like the last breath of an evening.

Jeeny:
(softly, almost to herself)
"Do you ever think, Jack, that fate plays more than just the cards we’re dealt? That maybe, in the end, it’s not just wisdom that matters, but luck?"

Jack:
(his voice rough, like gravel underfoot)
"Luck, huh? You mean Fortune and her little tricks? She’s just a cheat. Rolling the dice and making the fools feel like kings."
(pauses, eyes narrowing)
"I don’t buy it. It’s the hard work, the grit, that gets you somewhere — not some chance that spins the wheel for you. What you earn is what you deserve, not what a random force hands you."

Jeeny:
(her eyes narrow, lips curling into a faint smile)
"Isn’t that the very thing we’ve all been taught? But if you look closely, Jack, you’ll see how often it’s the lucky who seem to have it all. Think of someone like Einstein—the brilliance was there, yes, but it was the timing, the circumstances, that allowed him to be heard. That wasn’t all about effort."

Jack:
(snorts, shaking his head slightly)
"You want to put Einstein in the same basket as the lucky? That’s the problem with idealists like you. You see the world through rose-colored glasses. Life isn’t some storybook where the good guys always win. Luck is just a distraction from what really matters — strategy, planning, grinding. The rest is just a game for the naive."

Host:
The air between them feels charged, like a storm that hasn’t quite broken. The light from the streetlamp outside flickers, casting long shadows across their faces. Jeeny leans forward slightly, her hands clasped tightly, her gaze steady and intense. Jack looks at her, his jaw clenched, but his eyes flicker with something more—confusion, maybe.

Jeeny:
(with quiet conviction)
"Do you really believe that, Jack? That it’s all just about effort and control? Because if that were true, then why are some of the hardest-working people I know stuck in places they’ll never get out of, while others, less deserving, seem to be born with the world at their feet? What if Fortune has more say than you want to admit?"

Jack:
(his voice tightens, but his expression shifts from anger to something softer, more thoughtful)
"Are you saying the world’s unfair? That’s not news. The question is, what do you do with that? You can sit and wait for luck, or you can make your own."

Jeeny:
(with a soft but steady laughter)
"You’ve got it backwards. You can’t make luck, Jack. You can create opportunities, yes, but sometimes, the doors just open when you least expect it. Like when someone steps into the right place at the right time, and their effort aligns with the forces around them. That’s when luck feels like it wasn’t luck at all, but something more—something like a gift."

Host:
A silence falls between them, broken only by the faint hum of the city outside. Jack’s fingers tap the side of his cup. He stares at it, eyes focused on the shadows the light casts. Jeeny watches him, her gaze soft but unwavering.

Jack:
(with a heavy sigh, finally breaking the quiet)
"I get it, Jeeny. But how do you explain the ones who never get their chance? Who work their whole lives and still end up with nothing. Do you really believe it’s all about timing and Fortune? Because if that were true, we’d all be running on nothing but hope."

Jeeny:
(her voice low, almost sorrowful, but with a trace of fierce compassion)
"Maybe it’s not about waiting for luck to find you, but being ready when it does. Fortune isn’t kind to everyone, but those who believe in something greater than themselves, who keep fighting even when everything seems lost—sometimes, they get the break they need."

Host:
The air feels heavy now, thick with unspoken thoughts. Outside, the wind picks up, stirring the fallen leaves into the night. A shiver runs through the room as the cold of the evening seeps in.

Jack:
(softly, almost to himself)
"Maybe… maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been too caught up in thinking everything’s within my control. But it’s hard, Jeeny, when you’ve spent so long convincing yourself that the world doesn’t owe you anything."

Jeeny:
(gently reaching out, her voice soft, the edges of her words touching his heart)
"It doesn’t owe us, Jack. But sometimes, when you least expect it, the world gives. It’s just about being open enough to receive."

Host:
The quiet stretches between them, but it no longer feels cold. The tension of earlier has melted, replaced by something softer, more real. Jack looks at her, his eyes not with skepticism, but with a gentle understanding, as if, for the first time, he’s seen her world through her eyes. Outside, the first drops of rain fall, soft and steady, like the final breath of a passing storm.

Jeeny:
(with a quiet smile, a touch of warmth in her voice)
"Sometimes, it’s about knowing when to let go of control and just let life happen."

Jack:
(nodding slowly, his voice softened)
"Maybe… maybe I’ll start believing in that kind of luck."

Host:
As the rain begins to fall, the sound of it steady and gentle, there is a sense of peace settling between them. The storm, once so threatening, now feels like it’s passed. The light shifts in the room, and for a moment, there’s only the sound of their breathing, shared in the soft, comfortable silence.

The night is still. The world outside, still turning, and the two of them, caught for a moment in time, learning the delicate balance between effort and luck.

End.