I'm thankful to my family, friends, and fans for all of their

Host: The room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering flames of a fire that crackles softly in the hearth. Outside, the wind howls, as if in a violent conversation with the night. The shadows stretch long and thin across the wooden floor, the silence palpable, except for the occasional shift of the chairs. Jack sits near the window, his face barely visible in the half-darkness. His fingers trace the rim of a glass, the surface of the liquid inside reflecting faint sparks of fire. Jeeny, across from him, stares ahead, her expression lost in thought, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The air between them is heavy — a silent tension that has been building for hours. Neither of them speaks.

Then, Jeeny finally breaks the silence.

Jeeny: “I’ve been thinking about something. A quote I heard from Serena Williams, after her retirement. She said, ‘I’m thankful to my family, friends, and fans for all of their support.’” She looks at Jack, her voice soft, almost reverent. “It made me wonder… what does support really mean?”

Jack: He raises an eyebrow, his voice low, carrying that familiar edge of skepticism. “Support? It’s a transaction, Jeeny. People help because they want something in return — recognition, gratitude, maybe just a feeling of doing good. It’s all about mutual benefit. What’s so special about that?”

Jeeny: “You really think that?” Her eyes search his face, soft but sharp in their intensity. “Do you honestly believe that everyone who supports you has some self-serving motive? Isn’t it possible that, sometimes, people help because they believe in you? Because they care?”

Host: The fire crackles louder for a moment, the low hum of the storm outside drowning out their voices. Jack shifts slightly in his seat, his expression hardening.

Jack: “Care? That’s just a romanticized idea, Jeeny. Emotions are fleeting, and relationships are transactional, whether we want to admit it or not. Look at history — all those supposed acts of love and support. People rallying behind a cause only for it to fall apart the moment it stops being convenient. Take politics, for instance. They say they’re helping the masses, but what happens when the vote comes in? It’s about power, not care.”

Jeeny: “So, you think everyone who supports you is looking for something in return? There’s no pure generosity? No such thing as unconditional love?” Her voice rises, the hurt in it now unavoidable. “What about parents who love their children, even when they’re struggling? Or friends who stand by you when you have nothing left to offer them?”

Jack: “I’m not saying there aren’t exceptions, Jeeny. But they’re just that — exceptions. Humanity isn’t built on pure selflessness. We’re hardwired to seek our own interests.” He leans forward, his grey eyes locking onto hers, his voice cutting. “You think people who helped Serena Williams were doing it out of selflessness? She’s an icon. She gives them visibility, status. Of course they’re thankful — but not in the way you think.”

Host: The flames in the fire dance higher, casting shifting shadows across the room. Jeeny’s face is now shadowed, her lips tight, but her eyes are still steady, unwavering.

Jeeny: “Maybe I’m a dreamer, but I think there’s more to it than that. There’s a depth to love, to support, that goes beyond what’s tangible. True support isn’t about what you get back; it’s about being there for someone when they need it the most, with no expectation of anything in return.” Her voice is quieter now, more pained. “You know that, Jack. You’ve had people be there for you, even when you pushed them away.”

Jack: His jaw tightens, the sharpness of his words catching in his throat. “I’ve had people who were there, yes. But did they stay when the glory faded? When the struggle got real?” He turns his gaze away from her, staring out the window at the storm, his voice rough. “People leave, Jeeny. Everyone leaves, eventually.”

Jeeny: Her eyes flicker with hurt, but she doesn't look away. She leans forward, almost softening her tone. “But isn’t that the point? People leave, but it doesn’t mean their support was empty. True support isn’t about holding on forever; it’s about showing up when it matters most.” She pauses, her voice barely above a whisper. “Isn’t that what family is? Even when they can’t fix you, they’re still there. Not for what they can gain, but because they believe in you. They believe in who you can be.”

Host: The firelight casts a warm glow on Jeeny’s face as she speaks. Her hands are clasped together, her fingers trembling slightly. Jack, however, remains still, his face set in stone, but the tension in his body speaks volumes.

Jack: “I don’t know… Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been too cold.” His voice is lower now, a touch of vulnerability creeping in. “But I’ve seen too many people get burned by their own idealism. When you expect the world to be full of unconditional support, you end up disappointed.”

Jeeny: She nods, her voice gentle. “I understand that, Jack. But sometimes, even if it’s not perfect, the support we give each other is what saves us. Even if it’s just for a moment.” She pauses, her gaze never leaving his. “And maybe that’s enough.”

Host: The wind howls outside, and for a moment, the room is silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Jack’s expression softens, just slightly, as if something within him has shifted. He takes a slow breath, his shoulders relaxing.

Jack: “I guess I’ve been afraid… afraid to believe in something that might not be real.” He sighs, rubbing his temple. “Maybe it’s time to stop being so skeptical about what people do for each other.”

Jeeny: She smiles, a quiet understanding passing between them. “Maybe we all just need a little more faith in each other.”

Host: The storm outside begins to fade, the rain lessening, the winds dying down. The fire’s glow now warms the room, casting a peaceful light across the two of them. Jack and Jeeny sit in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, but a subtle reconciliation has begun. As the night deepens, the storm gives way to the quiet, the calm that follows after the turbulence.

The world outside is still, but inside, there is a new understanding, a shift in the air — a quiet, unspoken agreement that support, in its purest form, may be more than just an exchange.