Like what you do, and then you will do your best.

Host: The morning light slid gently through the tall windows of the small engineering lab, scattering across dust motes and half-finished blueprints. The faint hum of machines, the sharp scent of metal and paper, and the rhythmic tapping of pencil against desk filled the air.

A pot of burnt coffee sat forgotten on a cluttered table beside a glowing monitor, its faint buzz mingling with the muted static of an old radio.

Jack sat slouched in his chair, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled, grey eyes fixed on the rows of numbers before him. Jeeny stood by the window, sunlight catching the curve of her cheek, her hands resting on a file labeled Trajectory Simulations.

Pinned to the wall behind her, written in clean handwriting on yellow paper, was a quote that had quietly watched over them for weeks:

"Like what you do, and then you will do your best." — Katherine Johnson

Jeeny: “You ever think about what she meant, Jack? Not just doing well because you have to, but because you love the thing itself.”

Jack: “Love doesn’t pay deadlines, Jeeny.”

Host: His voice was flat, the kind that comes from too many nights of trying to make logic replace joy. The sunlight caught the faint glimmer of a metal ruler on his desk, throwing a sharp line across his notebook.

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But without it, what’s the point of all this?”

Jack: “The point is that it gets done. That’s how the world works. You build what needs building, fix what needs fixing. You don’t have to like it.”

Jeeny: “You sound like a man who’s forgotten why he started.”

Jack: “Or maybe a man who grew up.”

Host: She turned, the light catching her eyes, which now carried both warmth and quiet defiance.

Jeeny: “Then maybe growing up isn’t what it’s made out to be.”

Jack: “You think Katherine Johnson did it all for love? She worked under pressure most people couldn’t survive. You think she smiled through every equation?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not. But she believed in them. She believed they mattered — that numbers could guide men safely to the moon. She didn’t just calculate; she cared.”

Jack: “And you think caring changes the math?”

Jeeny: “It changes you. And that’s what changes the result.”

Host: A faint rumble echoed through the ceiling — a construction crane outside, lifting metal into the air. Jack rubbed his temples, frustration creasing his face. Jeeny walked closer, her footsteps soft against the floor.

Jeeny: “When I was a kid, my mother used to say, ‘Do it with love, or don’t do it at all.’ I never understood that until now.”

Jack: “And what do you understand now?”

Jeeny: “That love isn’t about passion. It’s about presence. It’s the difference between just working — and giving yourself to the work.”

Jack: “You talk like this is poetry. But this is engineering. You can’t love a calculation.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve never looked close enough.”

Host: Jack looked up, his brows furrowed, a quiet spark of curiosity behind the exhaustion.

Jeeny: “Every number tells a story — of how far we’ve come, how much we can reach. Johnson saw that. That’s why she was brilliant. She didn’t chase perfection; she chased purpose.”

Jack: “Purpose doesn’t always look pretty.”

Jeeny: “It’s not supposed to. It just has to be true.”

Host: The radio crackled faintly, a news segment drifting through static: “...celebrating the legacy of NASA mathematician Katherine Johnson…”

The two fell silent. Jack’s fingers stilled. The voice on the radio spoke of a woman who had calculated flight paths, defied expectations, and never once let her fear outshine her precision.

Jeeny turned down the volume, her eyes meeting his.

Jeeny: “You know what she said once? That she counted everything — steps, stairs, the distance to the corner store. It wasn’t obsession. It was joy. She loved what she did so much, it colored the way she saw the world.”

Jack: “And you think that’s possible for everyone?”

Jeeny: “Not always. But it’s possible for anyone who decides to look differently at what they do.”

Jack: “So if I stare at spreadsheets long enough, I’ll fall in love?”

Jeeny: “If you remember what they stand for — maybe.”

Host: A long pause. Outside, the sky brightened, the winter light sharpening the edges of the lab. Jack leaned back, staring at the quote on the wall.

Jack: “You know, I once wanted to be an architect. Build places people could live in. But I took the job that paid more — the one that made sense.”

Jeeny: “And does it make sense now?”

Jack: “No. But it pays rent.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe it’s time you remembered the other reason.”

Host: Her words lingered, slow and deliberate. Something in them struck deeper than argument — like a key turning quietly in a forgotten lock.

Jack: “And what if I can’t go back?”

Jeeny: “Then bring it forward. Every skill you have came from a dream you buried. Unearth it.”

Host: The light shifted across the lab, tracing the chalky blueprints pinned to the wall — buildings, bridges, old dreams collecting dust.

Jack rose slowly, walked toward them. He touched one of the sketches, brushing away a fine layer of dust with his thumb. His voice softened.

Jack: “You really think love makes a difference?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that ever does.”

Jack: “Even here? In deadlines and data?”

Jeeny: “Especially here. Because when everything becomes mechanical, love is what keeps it human.”

Host: The radio hummed again. The segment ended, replaced by a quiet instrumental — something like the sound of hope waking up.

Jack picked up his pencil, looked down at the blueprints, and began to draw again — not for the boss, not for the deadline, but with the slow, deliberate care of someone who’d found a forgotten part of himself.

Jeeny watched, her smile faint but steady.

Jeeny: “There. You see it?”

Jack: “What?”

Jeeny: “You’re doing your best.”

Jack: “Maybe because I finally like what I do.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back — the lab glowing in warm gold, the machines humming like old friends. On the wall, the quote by Katherine Johnson stood illuminated in the sunlight, its words quiet but alive:

"Like what you do, and then you will do your best."

Outside, the crane kept moving, the world kept building — and somewhere between precision and purpose, Jack had found a reason to begin again.