I started the site when I was 19. I didn't know much about

Host: The office was mostly dark, lit only by the pale glow of monitors and the dim city light spilling through the glass walls. Rows of empty desks stretched into the quiet, each one haunted by the faint hum of machines that never slept. The hour was late — too late for work, too early for rest — that strange, electric hour where ambition and exhaustion start to blur.

At the far end of the room sat Jack, slouched in a rolling chair, hoodie up, tapping a pen against a half-empty notebook. A few lines of code blinked on his laptop screen, the cursor pulsing like a heartbeat that refused to die.

Jeeny leaned against the window, her reflection caught in the glass — city lights wrapped around her like constellations. She sipped from a cold paper cup, the kind that smelled faintly of burned coffee and sleeplessness.

Jeeny: “Mark Zuckerberg once said, ‘I started the site when I was 19. I didn’t know much about business back then.’”

Host: Jack let out a quiet laugh, the kind that came from equal parts admiration and disbelief.

Jack: “Yeah, and the kid who didn’t know business ended up building an empire that changed the definition of ‘friend.’”

Jeeny: “Funny, isn’t it? How the most powerful things often start with the least expectations.”

Jack: “Or the least understanding.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the secret. If you knew what it would take — all the pressure, the scrutiny, the weight — you might never begin.”

Host: The rain outside began to fall, soft at first, then steady, streaking the glass with silver lines. Jack watched it, eyes distant.

Jack: “You think he had any idea what he was unleashing? Billions of people living their lives through screens, measuring their worth by notifications?”

Jeeny: “No one ever sees the shadows of their own invention. He wasn’t building a monster; he was building connection.”

Jack: “Connection that turned into addiction.”

Jeeny: “True. But maybe that says more about us than about him.”

Host: The light from the monitors flickered across their faces — two silhouettes caught between nostalgia and warning.

Jack: “You know what I envy about him?”

Jeeny: “What?”

Jack: “The innocence of starting. That moment when an idea is just an idea. No investors. No algorithms. No PR statements. Just curiosity and caffeine.”

Jeeny: softly “The purity of creation before it gets contaminated by success.”

Jack: “Exactly.”

Host: Jeeny stepped closer, setting her cup down on the edge of his desk. The sound echoed faintly in the stillness.

Jeeny: “But that’s the trade, isn’t it? The moment something works, it stops belonging to the dreamer. It belongs to the world.”

Jack: “And the world doesn’t dream gently.”

Jeeny: “No. It monetizes dreams. It wraps them in data and sells them back to us with interest.”

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling hard, eyes closing for a moment.

Jack: “You ever wonder what he felt that first night? 19 years old, typing lines of code, maybe a sandwich next to the keyboard — and somewhere in that dorm room, the world was changing.”

Jeeny: “He probably didn’t feel like a revolutionary. Just a kid building something to make life a little easier, a little faster, a little more… connected.”

Jack: “And then the world mistook that simplicity for genius.”

Jeeny: “But maybe it was genius — not in the complexity of the code, but in the simplicity of the desire. To connect. To be seen.”

Host: The rain outside deepened, a steady rhythm against the glass — like time keeping score.

Jack: “You think that’s still what people want? To connect?”

Jeeny: “Always. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

Jack: “And you think technology can really give us that?”

Jeeny: “It can give us the illusion. The rest is up to us.”

Host: Jack looked at her — really looked. The city’s reflection framed her face like a painting caught between light and shadow.

Jack: “So maybe he didn’t need to know business. Maybe knowing business would’ve ruined it.”

Jeeny: smiling “Exactly. Sometimes ignorance is protection. It keeps the dream fragile long enough to become real.”

Jack: “You’re saying wisdom comes too late.”

Jeeny: “Wisdom always comes after the consequence.”

Host: The lights in the hallway flickered. Somewhere far below, a car horn echoed through the night. Jeeny’s gaze softened, and her tone shifted — quieter now, introspective.

Jeeny: “You know, there’s something beautiful about not knowing. When you’re young, you create out of instinct, not strategy. That’s why so many revolutions start by accident — art, inventions, movements. They’re built by people who were naïve enough to think they could change something.”

Jack: “And foolish enough to try.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: Jack rubbed his eyes, the exhaustion of years of late nights and unfinished projects catching up with him.

Jack: “You ever miss that? The beginning?”

Jeeny: “Every day. But you can’t stay there. The beginning is where you plant; the rest of life is learning how to tend the forest.”

Jack: “And watch it grow wild.”

Jeeny: “Yes — and sometimes burn.”

Host: The rain stopped. A faint fog rose from the streets below, the city lights breaking through in blurred halos. The silence in the room grew almost tender.

Jack: “You think Zuckerberg ever regrets it?”

Jeeny: “Regret’s the wrong word. He probably remembers. Remembers that night, that feeling of being young and infinite — before the board meetings, before the power, before the politics. That moment when creation was still love, not leverage.”

Jack: “And he was just a kid with an idea.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A kid who didn’t know business, but knew connection.”

Host: Jack smiled — that small, tired smile that comes from seeing both sides of the world and finding beauty in both.

Jack: “Maybe that’s all it takes. Not knowing enough to stop yourself from starting.”

Jeeny: “And starting anyway.”

Host: The camera pulled back slowly, framing them against the vast glass wall — the two of them surrounded by screens, reflections, and possibility.

Outside, the city shimmered — millions of windows glowing with the same light that once burned in a college dorm room.

And as the night leaned into dawn, Mark Zuckerberg’s words lingered, softly reframed by the quiet hum of their conversation:

That creation begins not in mastery,
but in wonder.

That the absence of knowledge
can sometimes be the birthplace of revolution.

And that the greatest ideas
are born not from those who know how to build empires —
but from those naïve enough
to begin.