Part of the success of Girls Who Code is that I am a hustler.

Host:
The city buzzed with its usual evening rhythm — a thousand lights flickering on as the sky dimmed from gold to violet. Somewhere between the glass towers and the sidewalks glittering with rain, there was the hum of ambition — the sound of footsteps chasing futures, the whisper of dreams negotiating with fear.

In the corner of a small co-working loft, lit by fairy lights and the glow of laptop screens, Jack and Jeeny sat across from each other. Jack’s sleeves were rolled up, his grey eyes tired but alive, a coffee mug in one hand and an open laptop full of notes before him. Jeeny, her hair tied in a loose braid, leaned forward on her elbows, her brown eyes shining with that fierce, unstoppable energy that comes when conviction meets caffeine.

On the whiteboard behind them, phrases were scrawled in bright marker: “Launch Plan,” “Mentorship Network,” “Fundraising Pipeline.” And beneath it all, a single quote written in bold red:

"Part of the success of Girls Who Code is that I am a hustler. When people ask what my biggest strength is, it's that I'm shameless. I will ask people for help even when I don't know them." — Reshma Saujani

Jeeny:
(smiling)
You know, people underestimate that — the courage to ask.

Jack:
(raises an eyebrow)
You call it courage. Most call it discomfort.

Jeeny:
Exactly. That’s why it’s powerful. Because most people let pride keep them from progress.

Jack:
(chuckles)
So, shamelessness as strategy.

Jeeny:
(sharply)
Not as strategy — as survival. You can’t build something new if you’re waiting for permission.

Jack:
(leans back)
Fair. But there’s a thin line between persistence and desperation.

Jeeny:
(grinning)
Maybe. But the line moves depending on who’s asking. Men are called driven. Women are called desperate.

Jack:
(pointedly)
You’re saying the difference is perception, not principle.

Jeeny:
Exactly. The world forgives ambition when it wears a tie, not when it wears lipstick.

Host:
The light from her laptop screen glowed across her face — a soft blue halo that made her look part human, part spark. Jack watched her for a long moment, the corners of his mouth twitching in reluctant admiration.

Jack:
You remind me of her.

Jeeny:
Reshma?

Jack:
Yeah. Shameless. Relentless. Not waiting for approval before acting.

Jeeny:
(smiles faintly)
That’s not shamelessness. That’s self-trust.

Jack:
Self-trust can look like arrogance from the outside.

Jeeny:
Only to people who never had to fight to believe in themselves.

Jack:
(quietly)
Touché.

Host:
The room hummed with the faint noise of keyboards, the clicking of someone typing nearby, the heartbeat of creation in motion. Outside, a bus hissed to a stop. Inside, the air smelled of coffee, effort, and the thin wire of hope that connects the exhausted and the inspired.

Jeeny:
You know what I love about that quote? She admits it. She doesn’t sugarcoat the grind. She calls herself a hustler.

Jack:
That’s the part most people hide — the hustle. They talk about vision, but never the sleepless nights and begging for help.

Jeeny:
And yet, that’s the real story of success. Not genius. Not luck. Just… stamina.

Jack:
And shamelessness.

Jeeny:
(laughs)
Exactly. The refusal to apologize for wanting more.

Jack:
Still, I wonder. Does that ever wear on you? Constantly asking, constantly pushing?

Jeeny:
(pauses)
It does. But exhaustion is easier to live with than regret.

Host:
Her words landed like a quiet hammer — deliberate, certain. Jack’s gaze dropped to the floor, his reflection caught faintly in the glossy tiles. The sound of rain returned outside, gentle, rhythmic, steady.

Jack:
You think we’ve glamorized the hustle too much?

Jeeny:
No. We’ve glamorized the results. The hustle’s still ugly. It’s phone calls that go unanswered. Emails that vanish. People who tell you “we’ll get back to you” and never do.

Jack:
(smiling wryly)
Sounds familiar.

Jeeny:
(grinning)
It should. You’ve lived it.

Jack:
Yeah. But somewhere along the line, I stopped asking for help.

Jeeny:
(softly)
That’s when people start dying quietly — when they stop asking.

Jack:
(chuckles, but it’s heavy)
So shamelessness is a kind of resurrection.

Jeeny:
Exactly. Every “ask” is a refusal to disappear.

Host:
The rain outside thickened, the sound of drops against glass becoming a kind of music — steady, defiant. Jeeny’s fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup, while Jack stared out the window, lost in something deeper than business plans.

Jack:
You ever think vulnerability’s just another form of strength?

Jeeny:
(smiling)
That’s the paradox, isn’t it? You have to reveal your weakness to access your power.

Jack:
And that’s what asking for help really is — an act of bravery disguised as need.

Jeeny:
Exactly. That’s why I love her word: shameless. It’s not defiance, it’s freedom. The freedom to say, “I can’t do this alone, but I’ll do it anyway.”

Jack:
You think that’s something you’re born with or something you learn?

Jeeny:
(pauses)
You learn it the hard way. The world teaches you shame — but the dream teaches you to outgrow it.

Host:
The light flickered again as the building’s old wiring hummed under the weight of too many late-night startups. Outside, a neon sign blinked “OPEN,” its red glow painting the room in soft defiance.

Jack:
You ever afraid you’ll run out of courage?

Jeeny:
(smiles gently)
Courage doesn’t run out. It just gets quieter. But it’s always there — waiting for you to use it again.

Jack:
(softly)
You make it sound like faith.

Jeeny:
It is faith — in yourself, in people, in possibility. You don’t have to know how it’ll work. You just have to believe it might.

Jack:
And be willing to ask.

Jeeny:
Even when it scares you. Especially then.

Host:
Their voices faded into the hum of the city. Beyond the window, headlights smeared across the wet pavement, reflections stretching like ribbons of light across the street — constant motion, constant risk, constant hope.

Jeeny:
You know what’s funny? Every time I ask for help, I expect rejection — but every time someone says yes, I’m reminded that people want to be part of something.

Jack:
Maybe asking isn’t weakness at all. Maybe it’s an invitation — a way of saying, “Join me in this fight.”

Jeeny:
Exactly. Because strength shared is strength multiplied.

Jack:
So shamelessness isn’t selfish — it’s communal.

Jeeny:
(smiling warmly)
And that’s how movements are born.

Host:
The clock on the wall read midnight. The coffee was gone. The rain had stopped. But the air still shimmered with the charge of something unfinished — an idea not yet asleep, a conviction not yet spent.

Host:
And in that small loft above the sleepless city, Reshma Saujani’s words came alive — not as a quote, but as a manifesto for the relentless:

That hustle is not desperation,
but devotion —
the daily act of refusing to quit.

That shamelessness is not arrogance,
but authentic courage —
the strength to reach out,
to ask, to build, to connect.

That success is never born in solitude,
but in the spaces where vulnerability becomes collaboration,
where dreams stop whispering and start asking aloud.

And that true power
is not in never needing help,
but in believing that asking for it
does not make you smaller —
it makes you unstoppable.

The city lights burned on outside,
reflected in their tired, determined eyes.
Two souls still awake,
still building something worth believing in.

And in that shared silence —
you could almost hear it:
the quiet, steady heartbeat of every hustler who dared
to ask.