Let us be kind to one another and be slow to anger.

Host: The evening sun poured through the tall windows of a small train station café, painting the room in soft amber light. Outside, the tracks gleamed like old silver, stretching toward a horizon bruised by sunset. The air was thick with the scent of rain and coffee, and a gentle melancholy hung in the air — that tender kind of sadness that comes at the end of a long day.

At a corner table, by the window where the last light of the sun touched the wood, sat Jack and Jeeny. Between them, two cups of tea, long gone cold. They had been quiet for a while — not out of anger, but out of the quiet weight that follows too much truth spoken in one sitting.

On a folded napkin before them, Jeeny had written down a quote she’d just read on her phone:
“Let us be kind to one another and be slow to anger.” — Alaska.

Jack stared at it, frowning slightly, as though the simplicity offended him.

Jack: Skeptical, his voice low. “Kindness always sounds easy in quotes. But in practice, it’s the hardest thing people fail at.”

Jeeny: Smiling faintly, stirring her tea though it no longer steamed. “That’s because it’s not meant to be easy. It’s meant to be deliberate.”

Host: A freight train groaned in the distance, the deep vibration rattling the windows slightly. The sound filled the quiet between them — mechanical, heavy, eternal.

Jack: “Deliberate, huh? I don’t know. Kindness feels fake when you have to try at it. If it’s not instinct, it’s performance.”

Jeeny: Gently, but with conviction. “No, Jack. That’s exactly what makes it real — when you have to choose it. Instinct is just reaction. Kindness is resistance.”

Host: Jack looked at her then, his grey eyes softened by the fading light. His jaw tightened — not in defiance, but in recognition. He looked away, out the window, toward the tracks where the train’s last cars were vanishing into dusk.

Jack: “You make it sound like kindness is war.”

Jeeny: “It is. Against anger, against pride, against the impulse to win instead of understand.”

Jack: Half-smiling, his tone dry. “You should put that on a Hallmark card.”

Jeeny: Smiling back, but her eyes serious. “You joke, but it’s true. Look around — everyone’s angry. The world runs on outrage now. It’s profitable. It’s contagious. Being kind feels radical these days.”

Host: The light outside dimmed further, turning the glass into a mirror. Their reflections stared back — two tired souls, the shadows under their eyes darker than before, but the warmth between them still flickering.

Jack: “You think people are really capable of slowing their anger? It feels built-in — like gravity. Someone pushes, you push back.”

Jeeny: “That’s the trick. You don’t deny the push — you slow it. Give yourself a heartbeat before you respond. One breath can change everything.”

Jack: Leaning back, thoughtful. “You actually live like that?”

Jeeny: “I try. Doesn’t always work. Sometimes I fail spectacularly. But I keep trying. Because the alternative is living like everyone else — shouting just to be heard.”

Host: The wind picked up outside, bending the branches of a nearby tree, scattering leaves across the empty platform. The motion drew Jack’s attention — that silent choreography between movement and surrender.

Jack: “You know, when I was younger, I thought anger made you strong. You raise your voice, you take control, people listen. But lately…” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “Lately I think anger just makes you tired.”

Jeeny: Softly. “That’s because it burns everything, Jack — even the person holding it.”

Host: A long silence. Only the hum of a vending machine and the distant hiss of rain remained. The light had now dimmed completely, leaving only the soft glow of the station lamps.

Jack: Quietly, as if confessing. “You ever get scared that being kind makes you weak? That if you don’t fight back, you’ll be taken advantage of?”

Jeeny: Leaning forward, eyes unwavering. “Kindness isn’t surrender. It’s strength without cruelty. It’s saying, ‘I can fight, but I won’t unless I must.’ There’s power in that restraint — the kind that doesn’t leave you hollow afterward.”

Jack: “Restraint.” He nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s the word people forget. Everyone wants justice, but no one wants mercy.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. Mercy feels old-fashioned now, doesn’t it? But that’s what Alaska meant, I think — kindness as mercy. Choosing peace over the cheap thrill of being right.”

Host: The rain began again — soft, steady, patient. The station lights shimmered in the puddles outside. Jeeny reached across the table, her hand brushing the napkin with the quote.

Jeeny: “Imagine if everyone just lived that one sentence — ‘Be kind, and be slow to anger.’ Half the world’s noise would vanish overnight.”

Jack: Smiling faintly, almost wistfully. “And maybe we’d finally hear ourselves think.”

Host: The silence that followed was no longer heavy. It felt… cleansing. The kind of silence that doesn’t demand to be filled, only shared.

Jack: “You know, I envy people who can be gentle. It feels like a language I never learned.”

Jeeny: Softly. “It’s never too late to learn. You start with one word.”

Jack: “Which word?”

Jeeny: “Forgive.”

Host: Jack’s eyes flickered, as if something deep inside him had been quietly rearranged. Outside, a train horn sounded again — low, distant, mournful. He looked out the window, watching its lights blur into the darkness, and when he turned back, his expression was different — not softer exactly, but clearer.

Jack: “Maybe kindness isn’t weakness after all. Maybe it’s the last kind of courage left.”

Jeeny: Nods, smiling through the dim light. “Exactly. The courage to stay open in a world that keeps trying to harden you.”

Host: The camera pulled back slowly — the café, the window, the two of them sitting together in quiet understanding as the rain fell harder outside. The light shimmered off the table, off the cup, off the small napkin between them that carried the weight of a simple, world-changing truth.

Let us be kind to one another and be slow to anger.

And in that small, ordinary moment — surrounded by the sound of rain and the rhythm of breath — the words became more than a quote.

They became a choice.
A promise.
A way to begin again.