Let me tell you something - being thought of as a beautiful woman

Host: The rain had just ended, leaving the city streets glistening like shards of glass under the dull orange streetlights. The air was thick with the smell of wet asphalt and perfume, drifting from an upscale hotel lobby where the last of the evening crowd was spilling out. A taxi honked in the distance, the sound cutting through the night like a memory refusing to fade.

Inside a small lounge across the street, the lighting was low and amber. The walls carried portraits of movie stars, their smiles frozen in eternal youth. Jack sat alone at the bar, a glass of whiskey half-finished. His eyes, grey and steady, watched the reflections of passing faces in the mirrored shelf behind the counter.

Jeeny entered quietly, her long coat still wet at the edges. She carried an air of quiet strength, her hair damp, her eyes tired but alive. She slid onto the stool beside him, her hand brushing against his glass accidentally — a faint, familiar spark in the quiet.

Jeeny: “I read something today. Halle Berry said, ‘Being thought of as a beautiful woman has spared me nothing in life. No heartache, no trouble. Love has been difficult. Beauty is essentially meaningless, and it is always transitory.’”
(She paused, letting the words rest in the dim light.)
“Do you believe that, Jack? That beauty means nothing?”

Jack: (swirls his drink) “Meaningless? No. But transitory? Absolutely. Everything fades, Jeeny — beauty, strength, love, even belief. That’s the deal we make with time.”

Jeeny: “But she wasn’t talking about time. She was talking about illusion — how the world treats beauty as a shield when it’s actually a trap.”

Jack: “Maybe it’s both. People worship beauty like it’s divine, but only because they know it dies. It’s our little rebellion against mortality.”

Host: The bartender passed silently behind them, refilling a glass. The light caught the rim and scattered across the bar like a faint halo. Jack’s face glowed briefly, then darkened again. Jeeny’s reflection in the mirror looked distant, almost ghostly — as though she were talking to someone from another time.

Jeeny: “You sound like someone who’s seen it and lost it.”

Jack: “Maybe I have. Once, I loved a woman who thought her beauty could fix everything — her career, her sadness, her need to be seen. But every compliment just carved her emptier. When the mirror stopped agreeing with her, she broke it.”

Jeeny: (softly) “And you?”

Jack: “I tried to hold her together. But you can’t love someone who only sees themselves reflected through others.”

Jeeny: “Maybe she was never taught she could be more than what was seen.”

Host: Jeeny’s words floated in the dim air, soft as the smoke rising from Jack’s cigarette. He didn’t answer at once. He watched the ash form at the tip, trembling, then fall — like something delicate losing its hold.

Jack: “You talk like beauty’s innocent. It’s not. It’s power — dangerous, manipulative power. You think the world’s kind to the plain? No. But beauty blinds people. Makes them expect perfection — and crucify you when they find out you bleed like everyone else.”

Jeeny: “That’s exactly what Halle meant, Jack. Beauty gives you attention but steals your humanity. You become an image, not a person. The world looks, but doesn’t see.”

Jack: “Still better than being invisible.”

Jeeny: (turns sharply) “Is it? To be worshiped for something you had no hand in creating? That’s not admiration. That’s objectification dressed as love.”

Jack: “Then what’s the alternative? To be ignored?”

Jeeny: “To be known. To be loved for the parts that don’t fade — your laughter, your silence, your madness. That’s the beauty that lasts.”

Host: A faint hum filled the space as the old jukebox clicked on by itself. A slow blues tune played — a voice full of ache and grit. The notes wove through their silence, touching the edges of old wounds neither had named.

Jack: “You speak like someone who’s been loved for her soul, Jeeny. But tell me, honestly — have you never used your beauty to be heard, to be noticed?”

Jeeny: (meets his gaze) “Of course I have. We all do, in one way or another. But the tragedy is when you start believing that’s all you are. I learned that the hard way.”

Jack: “Someone hurt you?”

Jeeny: “No. Someone looked at me and called it love — but what they loved was how I looked when I loved them. When I stopped smiling, they stopped seeing me.”

Jack: “That’s not love. That’s vanity feeding vanity.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. The cruelest thing beauty does is make you believe it will save you.”

Host: Jack ran a hand across his face, the lines around his eyes catching the soft light. The rain outside started again, faint but insistent — like a quiet apology from the world.

Jeeny: “Look at the past, Jack. Helen of Troy’s beauty started a war. Marilyn Monroe’s killed her in the end. People like Halle — they’re adored and destroyed in the same breath.”

Jack: “And still, people chase it. Spend fortunes on surgeries, filters, false promises. It’s not beauty they want. It’s to be loved without earning it.”

Jeeny: “But real beauty — the kind that makes you pause, breathe, ache a little — that doesn’t come from symmetry. It comes from truth. From someone who’s lived, who’s hurt, who’s still kind despite it.”

Jack: “You really think kindness outlasts beauty?”

Jeeny: “Every time. You can fall in love with a face, but you stay in love with a soul.”

Host: The song shifted, its last chord hanging like smoke before fading into silence. The bar grew quiet again, the kind of quiet that makes every heartbeat sound like thunder.

Jack: (after a long pause) “You know, when I was younger, I thought the most beautiful woman was the one everyone wanted. Now… I think it’s the one who doesn’t need to be wanted to feel real.”

Jeeny: (smiles faintly) “That’s because you finally understand what beauty costs.”

Jack: “And what’s that?”

Jeeny: “Everything. If you let it.”

Host: Jack’s hand rested on the bar, his fingers tapping absently. The light caught the faint scar on his wrist — a reminder of old mistakes. He looked at Jeeny, really looked, as if seeing her beyond the soft features, beyond the reflection in the mirror.

Jack: “You’re right. Beauty fades. But maybe that’s its mercy. If it lasted forever, we’d never learn to see anything else.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Its impermanence teaches us to look deeper. To fall in love with the passing moment, not the illusion of forever.”

Jack: “So the trick is not to mourn what fades, but to love while it lasts.”

Jeeny: “Yes. That’s what makes it beautiful in the first place — that it dies.”

Host: Outside, the rain slowed to a gentle drizzle. A couple passed by the window, their silhouettes blurred in the light. For a fleeting second, their laughter filled the space between the drops — alive, unguarded, imperfect.

Jack watched them, then turned back to Jeeny, his voice low, almost tender.

Jack: “Maybe beauty isn’t meant to save us. Maybe it’s just meant to remind us we’re alive.”

Jeeny: “Yes, Jack. A glimpse of the divine that burns out before we mistake it for eternity.”

Host: The lights dimmed slightly as the bar prepared to close. Jack finished his drink, setting the empty glass down with quiet finality. Jeeny pulled her coat tighter, her smile soft and tired, like a candle burning low.

They rose together, stepping into the night, where the rain had stopped but the air still carried its scent — clean, alive, fragile.

Above them, a single streetlight flickered, catching the last drops clinging to the leaves. They shimmered for a moment — brief, perfect, vanishing.

And in that fragile beauty that couldn’t last, they both found — finally — the meaning that did.