I'm not comfortable being around too many people. I don't like

Host: The restaurant had long since emptied — the waiters clearing tables softly, chairs flipped, the hum of neon buzzing above them like the faint afterthought of the night. Through the large windows, the city lights shimmered on the rain-slicked streets. Jack sat in a booth near the back, half-shadowed, his jacket draped over the seat, his coffee untouched and cooling.

Across from him, Jeeny leaned forward on her elbows, her chin resting on her palm, her eyes thoughtful. The kind of quiet that existed between them wasn’t awkward — it was lived-in, the silence of two people who didn’t need noise to prove connection.

Jeeny: “You know what Adam Sandler once said? ‘I’m not comfortable being around too many people. I don’t like being out in public too much. I don’t like going to bars. I don’t like doing celebrity stuff. So most of the characters I play are people who don’t always feel comfortable beyond their small circle of friends.’”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “That’s honesty you don’t usually hear in Hollywood. Most people spend their lives trying to expand their circle.”

Jeeny: “And Sandler just admits his is small — and sacred.”

Jack: “Yeah. There’s a kind of courage in that. To say, ‘I’m enough, and the world can stay out there.’”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, running down the glass like melted silver. The world beyond the window blurred into light and shadow — all the noise of humanity, safely on the other side of the glass.

Jack: “You know, I think people mistake introversion for mystery. But it’s not mysterious — it’s self-preservation. You can only give so much of yourself before you start to fade.”

Jeeny: “Especially if the world keeps demanding performance.”

Jack: “Exactly. And for someone like him — fame amplifies that demand a thousandfold. The world doesn’t just want your art; it wants your personality on tap.”

Jeeny: (nodding) “And he refuses to serve it. That’s the beauty of Sandler — he’s authentic enough to make the joke, but private enough to stay whole.”

Host: A single waiter moved quietly across the floor, mopping near the bar. The reflection of his movements rippled through the puddle of light beneath the hanging lamps.

Jeeny: “You know what’s interesting? He plays ordinary people — shy, flawed, awkward, decent. And maybe that’s because he understands them. Because he is them.”

Jack: “Yeah. His characters are like him in disguise — good-hearted, uncomfortable in the spotlight, most alive when they’re left alone.”

Jeeny: “He once said that fame didn’t make him feel more seen — just more watched.”

Jack: “There’s a difference.”

Jeeny: “A massive one.”

Host: The clock on the wall ticked softly, slicing time into smaller silences. Jack traced his finger along the rim of his cup, his reflection faint in the black coffee.

Jack: “You ever feel like that? Like the world’s just too loud sometimes?”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Always. That’s why I write — to whisper back at it instead of shouting.”

Jack: “Yeah. I get that. I’m not good at crowds either. Too many faces, too many currents of emotion. I like people best in twos and threes — where silence is allowed to breathe.”

Jeeny: “Then you and Sandler would get along.”

Jack: “Maybe. We’d probably sit in the same room, say nothing, and both call it friendship.”

Host: A low laugh passed between them — soft, tired, but warm. The kind of laugh that doesn’t demand company to feel full.

Jeeny: “It’s strange, isn’t it? In a world obsessed with exposure, privacy becomes rebellion.”

Jack: “And solitude becomes luxury.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The more public the world becomes, the more sacred small circles feel.”

Host: The rain eased, its rhythm now gentle against the glass, like the world was finally taking a breath. The streetlights cast soft halos that flickered with each drop.

Jack: “You know what I think Sandler really meant? That being famous didn’t make him any less human — it just made him more careful about where he spent that humanity.”

Jeeny: “That’s it. He guards his peace. And instead of pretending to be bigger than he is, he keeps his world the right size.”

Jack: “A small circle — but a true one.”

Jeeny: “And isn’t that what most people crave? Not applause. Just authenticity. A handful of people who know you without needing a performance.”

Jack: “Yeah. The world wants you to be a spectacle. But maybe the real art is learning how to stay ordinary.”

Jeeny: “And still find joy there.”

Host: The light above their table flickered once, dimmed, then steadied. Jeeny leaned back, pulling her coat tighter, her tone soft but deliberate.

Jeeny: “You know, his words say something about the times we live in — how intimacy is shrinking while exposure grows. Everyone’s sharing, performing, posting. And yet loneliness has never been louder.”

Jack: “Because connection isn’t noise. It’s trust.”

Jeeny: “And trust can’t exist in a crowd.”

Jack: (nodding) “So we retreat. Into smaller rooms. Into smaller circles. Into the few who make us feel human again.”

Host: The sound of the doorbell rang faintly as the last customer left. The waiter dimmed the remaining lights. Only their table remained lit — a small island of warmth in a sea of shadow.

Jeeny: “You know, I used to feel guilty for wanting a smaller life. But now I see it’s not about hiding — it’s about choosing.”

Jack: “Choosing peace over performance.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe that’s what fame should mean — not attention, but authenticity. The courage to live quietly in a world addicted to noise.”

Host: Jack smiled, finishing his cold coffee with one last sip. He stood, pulling on his coat, his movements slow, deliberate — unhurried.

Jack: “You know, if peace had a face, it wouldn’t be on a billboard. It’d be someone like Sandler — sitting in a diner, wearing sweatpants, laughing with old friends.”

Jeeny: “And that’s a fame worth keeping.”

Host: They walked out together into the quiet city, the air cool and clean after the rain. The street was nearly empty, just the soft rhythm of their footsteps echoing against the buildings.

Above them, the neon signs buzzed like fading thoughts, their light bending through puddles on the street.

And as they disappeared into the night, Adam Sandler’s truth lingered softly behind them:

That fame without peace is just noise.
That greatness doesn’t need a crowd — only a circle.

And that sometimes, the most honest lives
belong not to the ones in the spotlight,
but to those who have learned
that being known
means little,
if you cannot also be at ease
in your own quiet company.