I think that a lot of companies are still amazingly price

Host: The neon lights of downtown flickered against the wet pavement, casting reflections like fractured dreams. The café at the corner was almost empty, except for the low hum of a refrigerator and the soft hiss of the espresso machine. It was past midnight — the hour when truths are more honest than people.

Jack sat by the window, his grey eyes scanning the streets where a few taxicabs still moved, their headlights cutting through the mist. Across from him, Jeeny held her cup, the steam rising like a slow confession.

Tonight’s discussion had started from a newspaper article, but it had drifted toward something deeper, something about value, ethics, and greed.

Jeeny: “You know, Sanjay Kumar once said, ‘I think that a lot of companies are still amazingly price sensitive.’ He wasn’t wrong. But what strikes me is the sadness behind it — that even in a world full of creativity and vision, we still bow to the cheapest offer.”

Jack: (smirking) “Sadness? Jeeny, that’s just how markets work. Price sensitivity isn’t sad, it’s rational. Every company has to survive. You can’t feed employees or grow innovation if you’re not watching your bottom line.”

Host: The rain began to fall, a gentle percussion against the glass, echoing like the heartbeat of the city itself. Jeeny’s eyes flickered, the lamplight reflected in her gaze, soft yet piercing.

Jeeny: “But at what cost, Jack? Look at what happened when companies chased low prices — cheap labor, collapsed factories, like Rana Plaza in Bangladesh. Over a thousand people died, all because some company wanted to save a few dollars per shirt. Is that still rational?”

Jack: (voice tightening) “You’re mixing ethics with economics. Those are different equations. The problem isn’t being price sensitive, it’s being ethically blind. A company can cut costs and still treat people fairly — that’s management, not morality.”

Host: Jack’s hand moved as he spoke, his fingers drumming lightly on the table, the sound like a metronome keeping time with his arguments. Jeeny listened, her brow slightly furrowed, as if each word he said carved a new line into her heart.

Jeeny: “You think the two can be separated? That you can pursue the cheapest option and not feel its human cost? Price isn’t just numbers — it’s the weight of all the choices behind it. Every time we pick the cheapest product, we’re voting for how it was made.”

Jack: “That’s idealism talking. The world doesn’t run on ideals, Jeeny. It runs on margins, supply chains, and consumer demand. You can’t blame companies for responding to what people want — cheap stuff, fast delivery, instant gratification. Who’s the real culprit — the seller or the buyer?”

Host: The rain grew heavier, a silver veil over the city, as if the night itself were eavesdropping. A bus passed, its wheels hissing through the water, and the reflections of its headlights washed briefly over their faces — one hardened, the other haunted.

Jeeny: “Both. But one of them has power. The consumer reacts; the company decides. Don’t you remember when Apple started focusing on sustainability? They didn’t do it because consumers demanded it — they did it because it was right. And now everyone follows. Leadership isn’t about following demand, it’s about shaping it.”

Jack: (leaning back) “And yet, Jeeny, Apple also outsources to the same factories you just condemned. It’s easy to preach virtue when you’re sitting on billions in profit. But even they negotiate every component down to the cent. You call that leadership?”

Jeeny: (sharply) “It’s compromise — but not surrender. You can’t change the system overnight, Jack. But you can choose which corners not to cut. Price sensitivity becomes dangerous when it blinds us to the bigger picture — when ‘cheap’ becomes more important than ‘good.’”

Host: A pause settled between them, the kind that holds both anger and affection. Jack’s eyes narrowed, not in hostility, but in thought, as if Jeeny’s words had touched a scar he’d long buried.

Jack: “You talk about bigger pictures, but tell me this — how do you expect a small company to survive if it isn’t price sensitive? You think idealism pays the rent? Try telling a start-up founder to spend more on ethics than survival. They’ll laugh you out of the room.”

Jeeny: “Maybe. But they’ll remember you if you refuse to exploit. Maybe not today, but someday. Trust isn’t built on discounts, Jack — it’s built on decency. Patagonia did it. They charge more, yes, but they also built a movement around value. People buy not because it’s cheap, but because it’s true.”

Host: The air in the café felt thicker, the steam from the cups mingling with the mist creeping through the doorway each time it opened. The neon sign above the window flickered, its light sputtering like a dying pulse.

Jack: (voice low, almost weary) “You know, Jeeny, when I worked for that logistics firm… we had to choose between two suppliers. One was ethical, paid fair wages. The other was cheaper — by a lot. Guess which one the board picked?”

Jeeny: “The cheaper one.”

Jack: (nodding) “Yeah. And I signed the approval. Two months later, their workers went on strike — unpaid overtime, safety issues. I remember the photos in the report. I told myself it was just business. But sometimes, I still see their faces.”

Host: The silence that followed was different now — not heavy, but fragile. Like a cracked mirror trying not to break. Jeeny reached across the table, her fingers resting on his hand, the gesture small yet immeasurable.

Jeeny: “That’s what I mean, Jack. Price sensitivity isn’t just about saving money. It’s about what we choose to ignore to feel justified. You knew the numbers, but you also knew the cost. You felt it.”

Jack: (quietly) “Maybe. But feeling doesn’t fix the system. If every company starts overspending, they go bankrupt. And then no one gets paid.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe the question isn’t about spending more. Maybe it’s about defining what’s worth the price. Value isn’t just in cost; it’s in conscience.”

Host: A train horn echoed faintly from the distance, a lonely sound in the rain-drenched night. The light inside the café dimmed as the barista turned off the last machine. The city outside blurred, its colors melting into one long reflection.

Jack: “You make it sound simple. But it’s not. Every choice comes with a ledger. Someone always pays.”

Jeeny: “Then at least let it be fair who pays. That’s all I’m saying.”

Host: They both sat in silence, the sound of rain now a steady rhythm, like the beating of a heart learning to forgive itself. Jack’s eyes lifted toward the window, where the first hint of dawn had begun to soften the sky — a blue-grey light that carried the promise of clarity.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe price isn’t everything. But tell me — how do we teach a world that only counts in dollars to care about what can’t be counted?”

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) “By reminding them that every price tag hides a story. And stories, Jack… they’re what make us human.”

Host: The rain eased, tapering into a mist, as if the night itself were sighing in relief. The city began to wake, its lights fading, its sounds returning — the clatter of trucks, the distant laughter of vendors, the first smell of bread from a nearby bakery.

Jeeny rose, her coat wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes still warm despite the cold air.

Jeeny: “Price sensitivity isn’t wrong, Jack. It’s just incomplete. It’s like measuring life in receipts — useful, but never enough.”

Jack: (after a pause) “And yet, sometimes it’s all people have.”

Jeeny: “Then we teach them to ask not just ‘How much?’ — but ‘Why so little?’”

Host: Jack smiled, a small, tired, but real smile, the kind that comes only after understanding, not victory. He watched as Jeeny walked out into the damp street, her figure dissolving into the morning mist.

The neon sign finally flickered off, leaving behind only the pale light of a new day — a day where the world, perhaps, might learn that value is not always measured by price, but by the cost of conscience.