I've learned that while I'd be a fool not to stay open to the

Host: The evening sky hung heavy over the city, a deep violet bruised by streaks of orange. Rain had just passed, leaving the pavement slick and glittering beneath the glow of streetlights. Somewhere between the hiss of tires and the distant echo of a saxophone from an open bar window, two figures sat on the steps of an old theater — Jack and Jeeny.

Host: The poster beside them, half-torn and fluttering, read “Voices of Influence: A Talk on Mentorship and Identity.” Inside, the event had ended an hour ago, but they hadn’t gone home. They sat in the quiet aftermath, watching their reflections ripple in a puddle near their feet.

Host: The quote from the night’s keynote speaker — Alicia Keys — still floated between them like the lingering echo of truth:

“I’ve learned that while I’d be a fool not to stay open to the advice and experiences of the smart, amazing people in my life, I also need to listen to what I have to say.”

Host: The words hit different in the dark — softer, heavier, personal.

Jeeny: quietly “You ever notice how everyone talks about listening? But no one teaches you how?”

Jack: exhales smoke into the night “Because most people don’t actually listen. They just wait for their turn to speak.”

Jeeny: “I’m not talking about listening to others. I mean listening to yourself. It’s harder.”

Jack: grins faintly “Oh, it’s easy for you. You actually like what you hear in your head.”

Jeeny: smirking “Don’t be so sure. Half the time it’s chaos. But somewhere in the noise, there’s truth. And if I don’t hear it, someone else will tell me what I am — and I’ll start to believe them.”

Jack: leans back against the step, staring at the sky “Yeah, but isn’t that the point of listening to others? To find the voices that know better?”

Jeeny: gently “Better at what, though? Living my life or theirs?”

Host: A gust of wind rolled through, carrying the smell of wet asphalt and coffee from a nearby kiosk. A bus rumbled by, its lights cutting briefly across their faces — fleeting, cinematic, intimate.

Jack: “I’ve spent years listening to people smarter than me. Mentors, bosses, people with résumés longer than novels. They tell you to work harder, plan smarter, compromise less. But they never tell you how to sleep at night when none of it feels right.”

Jeeny: softly “Because only your own voice can answer that.”

Jack: chuckles bitterly “You sound like a self-help book.”

Jeeny: smiling “And you sound like a man who’s afraid he might be wrong.”

Jack: “No, I’m afraid of being right—and realizing I’ve been living for everyone else’s applause.”

Host: The silence that followed was thick and tender. The kind that doesn’t need to be filled — only felt.

Jeeny: “Alicia’s right, though. You’d be a fool not to listen to wise people. We all need mirrors to see ourselves clearly. But mirrors don’t speak; they reflect. The danger is when reflection turns into replacement.”

Jack: “Meaning?”

Jeeny: “Meaning if you keep letting other people define you — even the good ones — you forget the sound of your own voice. And once you lose that, you start living by echo.”

Jack: thoughtful “You ever lose yours?”

Jeeny: “Once. For a long time. After my dad died, everyone told me how to grieve — what to do, how to move on. They meant well, but their advice was like wallpaper over a crack. It looked fine from a distance, but the wall underneath was still broken.”

Jack: softly “What fixed it?”

Jeeny: pauses “Silence. I stopped asking for directions and started listening to what hurt. It was messy, but eventually… I started hearing myself again.”

Jack: nods slowly “That’s brave.”

Jeeny: “No. That’s human.”

Host: The rain returned, light at first — a whisper against their coats. Jeeny lifted her face to the sky, raindrops glimmering in her hair, while Jack lit another cigarette just to keep his hands busy.

Jack: “You think everyone’s born knowing their voice?”

Jeeny: “No. I think we’re born with it, but the world teaches us to mute it. School, work, love — everyone tells you what you should want. The real rebellion is remembering what you wanted before they told you otherwise.”

Jack: half-laughs “And what if your own voice is just… wrong?”

Jeeny: gently “Then it’ll teach you through failure. But at least it’ll be your failure. That’s worth something.”

Jack: blowing smoke, looking at her “You really believe in this self-truth thing, don’t you?”

Jeeny: “I believe in balance. You learn from others so you can learn how to trust yourself better. One doesn’t cancel the other. It’s like music — harmony only works when both notes exist.”

Host: The city lights shimmered on the wet pavement, reflecting the gold and blue glow of passing cars. For a moment, everything looked doubled — real and reflected, as if the world itself were reminding them of her point.

Jack: “You know, I once had a boss who said, ‘Surround yourself with people smarter than you.’ I did. And then I stopped recognizing the sound of my own thoughts. Every decision felt like an echo of someone else’s idea.”

Jeeny: smiling softly “Then you learned the wrong half of the advice.”

Jack: raising an eyebrow “And the right half is?”

Jeeny: “Surround yourself with people who make you smarter, not smaller.”

Jack: after a pause “That’s good.”

Jeeny: “It’s true. The wrong kind of advice can turn into noise — even if it comes from people you admire. Sometimes love disguises control.”

Jack: “And sometimes advice disguises fear.”

Jeeny: meeting his eyes “Exactly.”

Host: The rain stopped, leaving a faint mist. The streetlamps flickered, throwing long shadows that swayed across the theater walls. Jack stubbed out his cigarette, his expression softer now, less defensive.

Jack: quietly “So, what does your voice tell you tonight?”

Jeeny: pausing, thoughtful “That I’m done seeking permission to exist.”

Jack: smiles faintly “And mine says… maybe I’ve been pretending my silence was wisdom when it was just fear.”

Jeeny: gently “Then maybe tonight’s the first time you’ve really listened.”

Host: A bus passed again, its reflection breaking apart in the puddle at their feet, rippling, reforming.

Jack: “It’s strange. I used to think listening to others was humility. But maybe it’s only half the truth. Maybe the other half is courage — to trust what you hear inside.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Humility listens outward. Courage listens inward.”

Jack: grinning “You really could write a book.”

Jeeny: “No. I’d rather keep living one.”

Host: The city had grown quieter. Somewhere, a window slammed shut. Somewhere else, laughter drifted across the street.

Host: Jack stood, offering Jeeny his hand. She took it, rising slowly, brushing the damp from her coat. They began to walk down the empty street, their footsteps echoing softly against the walls.

Jack: after a moment “You know, Alicia was right. Listening to yourself doesn’t mean ignoring others — it just means not forgetting you’re part of the conversation.”

Jeeny: smiling “Yes. Wisdom isn’t a chorus. It’s a duet.”

Host: The camera would pull back now, framing them from above — two figures walking beneath the glimmering streetlamps, their shadows overlapping, their conversation fading into the hum of the city.

Host: The final image: their reflections in the puddle — wavering, imperfect, but walking in rhythm.

Host: Because that’s what it means to truly listen —
to take in the world without losing yourself,
to honor the voices around you,
and still trust the quiet one that rises from within.

Host: The night deepened. The rain returned, soft and forgiving.

Host: And in its rhythm — somewhere between humility and courage —
the world whispered back:

“Your voice matters too.”