It would be an amazing superpower to be able to make every person

Host: The city evening hummed like a tired song — neon signs blinking through a thin mist, car headlights sliding like white ribbons down slick streets. Somewhere, a saxophonist played under the awning of a closed café, his notes curling through the air like smoke — blue, gentle, eternal.

Inside that café, half in shadow, Jack sat at a small table by the window, hands wrapped around a mug, the steam fogging his reflection. Jeeny sat across from him, coat draped over her chair, her face warm and intent in the soft lamplight. Between them: two cups, half-finished pastries, and the quiet kind of conversation that only happens after dark.

Jeeny: “Elijah Wood once said, ‘It would be an amazing superpower to be able to make every person you meet feel better about the thing that makes them insecure.’”

Jack: (smiling faintly) “That’s… oddly beautiful. Not flashy like flight or invisibility — just kindness with precision.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Imagine that — walking through the world and instantly easing the one ache no one talks about. That’s not just power. That’s healing.”

Host: The rain started, soft against the window, making the streetlights shimmer like liquid stars. The saxophone outside slowed, the last note hanging — fragile and gold — before dissolving into the night.

Jack: “You know, it’s strange. Superpowers are always about domination — flying faster, lifting heavier, fighting stronger. But this? This one’s about connection.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because the real battles aren’t in the sky or the streets — they’re inside people. In those small, private wars with self-doubt.”

Jack: “And he’s right — everyone has something. Some corner of themselves they flinch away from.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And we spend our lives learning to hide it. But imagine if one person could look at you and say something — one small thing — and suddenly, the weight lifted.”

Host: The café door opened, a burst of wind scattering napkins, then shut again. A stranger took a seat near the counter, shaking rain from his hair. The world outside kept moving, unaware that inside, two people were quietly dissecting the architecture of compassion.

Jack: “You think anyone’s ever had that power? Even without knowing it?”

Jeeny: “Of course. Every teacher who believed in a struggling student. Every friend who said, ‘You’re enough.’ Every stranger who smiled at the exact right moment. Small miracles happen every day. We just don’t name them.”

Jack: “So, Elijah’s describing the most human form of magic — empathy with aim.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Not the vague kind that feels good in theory, but the kind that lands — that meets someone exactly where they hurt.”

Host: The steam from the cups curled upward, twisting in the lamplight like invisible handwriting. Jeeny leaned forward, her voice quieter, more intimate.

Jeeny: “You know what amazes me about that quote? It’s not just kindness — it’s understanding. To make someone feel better about their insecurity, you first have to see it. And most people don’t see. They only look.”

Jack: “Because seeing means paying attention. And paying attention means caring.”

Jeeny: “Yes. And that’s the real superpower — noticing without judgment.”

Jack: “The rarest art form of all.”

Host: Outside, the rain grew heavier, running down the glass in slow rivers. The lights blurred into a watercolor of motion and melancholy. Jack watched it, lost in thought.

Jack: “You know, there’s something paradoxical about it — to have that power, you’d have to walk through the world open enough to feel everyone’s pain, but strong enough not to drown in it.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Empathy hurts. That’s why most people keep their hearts armored. But the people who don’t — they become lanterns. They burn, but they light the way.”

Jack: “You sound like you’ve met one.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Maybe I have.”

Host: The waitress passed, refilling their cups. The smell of coffee rose again — earthy, grounding. The moment felt suspended, like a breath that didn’t want to end.

Jack: “You ever think that’s what art tries to do? What music, film, writing — all of it — really aims for? To make people feel less insecure about being human?”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly it. Every song that says, ‘You’re not alone.’ Every movie that says, ‘You’re flawed but beautiful.’ That’s the superpower, passed around through art because no one person can hold it.”

Jack: “So art becomes the collective empathy we wish we could offer one by one.”

Jeeny: “Yes. A shared antidote to shame.”

Host: The camera focused on Jeeny’s face — her eyes reflecting the flicker of candlelight, her expression soft and sure.

Jeeny: “You see, Elijah’s quote isn’t about fixing people. It’s about freeing them. To feel better about what they hide is to become lighter — closer to themselves again.”

Jack: “And the world would be gentler if everyone carried that kind of grace.”

Jeeny: “Grace. That’s the word. The quiet miracle of understanding.”

Host: The rain softened, easing into mist. The saxophone started again outside, slow and low, a lullaby for a city that never truly sleeps.

Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

Jack: “You know, I think we all have that power — just not all the time. We catch flashes of it. Moments where we say the right thing without knowing why. Or smile at someone who’s about to break.”

Jeeny: “Yes. It’s not a superpower. It’s a reminder — that the potential for gentleness is built into us. We just forget to use it.”

Jack: “And maybe that’s why people like Elijah Wood stand out — not because they act in movies, but because they see humanity in the smallest gestures.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. It takes strength to look at a wound and want to soothe it instead of avoid it.”

Host: The camera slowly panned out — the café now a small island of warmth in a dark, rainwashed world. The reflections on the window looked like stars that had fallen to street level.

Jeeny smiled, tracing the rim of her cup with her finger.

Jeeny: “You know, if someone actually had that power — to make people feel better about what makes them insecure — the world wouldn’t need heroes. Just conversations.”

Jack: (smiling back) “Conversations like this.”

Jeeny: “Exactly.”

Host: The music outside faded, replaced by the steady rhythm of rain. Jack and Jeeny sat quietly, the silence between them glowing with unspoken understanding.

And in that stillness, Elijah Wood’s words floated like a benediction — soft, hopeful, impossible and yet utterly human:

That the greatest superpower isn’t to fly or vanish,
but to see someone completely —
to look at what they hide and make it feel beautiful again.

Because the most amazing magic
isn’t in the impossible —
it’s in the moments
when one heart reminds another
that it was never broken,
just waiting to be seen.