I think everybody should have the same anger towards the

Host: The city had just begun to exhale. The day’s noise — sirens, protests, car horns, voices — had faded into a low, exhausted hum. Rain had fallen an hour ago, leaving the streets slick and reflective, like dark mirrors catching the stray light of passing cars. In the corner of a small café, the kind that never closes, Jack and Jeeny sat facing each other — two souls lit by a single candle that trembled between them.

The television above the counter played the news in muted color: crowds marching, tears, fire, hands raised — humanity at war with itself again. The subtitle on the screen quoted Ellen DeGeneres:

“I think everybody should have the same anger towards the injustice that's happening and the hatred that's happening, and just fight it with love and compassion.”

Jack stirred his coffee, his reflection rippling in the dark surface. Jeeny watched him, her hands wrapped around her cup like someone holding something fragile.

Jeeny: “She’s right, you know. Anger without love just burns holes in the world. But love — love can rebuild what anger tears apart.”

Jack: “Love doesn’t stop bullets, Jeeny. It doesn’t change laws. Compassion doesn’t make tyrants step down. Sometimes anger has to be more than a feeling — it has to become fire.”

Host: The rain began again, a soft rhythm on the window, like quiet applause for the storm of their words. The city lights shimmered beyond the glass — fractured, restless, alive.

Jeeny: “But fire destroys, Jack. You think it purifies, but it consumes everything. You can’t fight hate with the same weapon. That’s like trying to wash blood with blood.”

Jack: “Then what do you suggest? Smile at injustice until it feels guilty and stops?”

Jeeny: “No. But you face it without becoming it. That’s the only real rebellion.”

Jack: “You sound like Gandhi with better lighting.”

Jeeny: “And you sound like a man who thinks cynicism is courage.”

Host: A flicker of lightning lit the café for an instant — silver light brushing over their faces, their differences carved deep and vivid. Then the thunder rolled, long and patient, like an old teacher.

Jack: “You think love is enough because it’s poetic. But ask history — love didn’t end slavery, or stop fascism, or topple dictators. Anger did.”

Jeeny: “Anger might have started it, but compassion finished it. You think Martin Luther King led with rage? He led with conviction wrapped in grace. The world listened because his anger had purpose — not poison.”

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t protect you when they shoot. History isn’t written by the gentle.”

Jeeny: “No, but it’s remembered by them. The gentle are the ones who keep humanity human after the warriors are done.”

Host: The barista behind the counter turned off the espresso machine. The hiss of steam died away, leaving only the rain. Outside, a single protester’s sign leaned against the wall — soaked, unreadable, but still standing.

Jack: “You ever notice that the people preaching love the loudest are usually the ones safest from hate? Ellen can afford to love her enemies. Most can’t.”

Jeeny: “That’s not fair. Compassion isn’t privilege; it’s strength. It’s easy to hate. Anyone can clench a fist. It takes courage to open your hand.”

Jack: “You really believe that? Even when people destroy what you love? When they spit on the things you stand for?”

Jeeny: “Especially then. Because if you stop loving, they’ve already won.”

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling a long, weary breath. The candle’s flame flickered wildly in the draft, its shadow dancing like a heartbeat between them.

Jack: “You talk like a saint, Jeeny. But I’ve seen the world eat saints alive. Sometimes I think compassion is just another word for surrender.”

Jeeny: “Only if you mistake peace for weakness. Compassion doesn’t mean you stop fighting — it means you fight differently. You strike without hatred, speak without venom, resist without losing your humanity.”

Jack: “That sounds noble. Impossible, but noble.”

Jeeny: “So was forgiveness once.”

Host: The rain softened. The city’s glow turned warmer — the light from streetlamps now blurred by the fog of the night. The air inside the café felt heavy, thick with everything unspoken.

Jeeny: “Tell me, Jack. When was the last time anger ever healed you?”

Jack: quietly “It kept me alive.”

Jeeny: “Alive isn’t the same as whole.”

Jack: “And love doesn’t make you invincible.”

Jeeny: “It makes you infinite.”

Host: The candle burned lower, its wax pooling slowly like time melting. Jack’s eyes softened — still sharp, still questioning, but with the faintest tremor of doubt.

Jack: “You think people can really fight hate with love? That we can stare into cruelty and still stay kind?”

Jeeny: “I don’t think — I know. Because every act of hate is a confession of fear, and love is the only thing brave enough to listen.”

Jack: “And if the world doesn’t listen back?”

Jeeny: “Then at least you spoke truth instead of noise.”

Host: The rain stopped completely now. The world outside was clean again — still flawed, but washed. Jeeny stood and moved to the window, her fingers tracing the trail of a raindrop. The candle’s reflection shimmered beside hers, two flickers in the glass.

Jeeny: “Anger is a language the world already knows. Love is the one it’s forgotten. Someone has to keep teaching it.”

Jack: “And you think we can change the world with empathy?”

Jeeny: “No. But we can keep it from ending that way.”

Host: She turned, her eyes soft but fierce — like someone who had already forgiven the world a thousand times and still believed it could do better. Jack watched her for a moment, the silence between them no longer hostile, but thoughtful — a quiet truce born of exhaustion and hope.

Jack: “You really think compassion is a weapon?”

Jeeny: “No. It’s a shield. But sometimes that’s the stronger thing.”

Jack: nodding slowly “Maybe you’re right. Maybe anger gets us to the battlefield, but love decides whether we build graves or gardens afterward.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Anger starts revolutions. Love sustains them.”

Host: The camera would pull back then — the flickering candlelight reflected in the café window, the city beyond, glistening and bruised but still breathing.

On the TV, the news looped again — the same images of protest, grief, and human noise. But this time, the quote on the screen seemed to glow brighter, not like an ideal, but a dare:

“Everybody should have the same anger towards the injustice that’s happening and the hatred that’s happening, and just fight it with love and compassion.”

Host: The scene closed on their faces — Jack’s guarded and introspective, Jeeny’s luminous and defiant — as the candle flame steadied, refusing to flicker.

Outside, the first hint of dawn stretched across the skyline — faint, fragile, but certain.

And for a fleeting moment, the world felt like it might — just might — learn to love again.