People won't have time for you if you are always angry or

Host: The afternoon light slanted through the café window, warm and forgiving. Dust floated lazily in the air, tiny motes of gold suspended between time and thought. Outside, the city pulsed — horns, footsteps, chatter — but inside, everything was muted, like the world had agreed to hush just for a little while.

The café smelled of espresso, old paper, and rain-damp coats. A half-played jazz record murmured in the corner, the kind of music that makes you think of afternoons that almost didn’t happen.

At a corner table by the window sat Jack, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup gone cold, his eyes fixed somewhere past the glass — past the street, past the day. Across from him, Jeeny stirred her tea with deliberate calm, her gaze fixed gently on him. Between them, a scrap of paper sat on the table — something she had written down and slid toward him earlier.

It read:

"People won’t have time for you if you are always angry or complaining." — Stephen Hawking

The words rested between them like a mirror neither wanted to look into yet.

Jeeny: (softly) I think he meant that as compassion, not condemnation.

Jack: (half-smiling) Compassion? Sounds more like a warning.

Jeeny: (shrugs) Maybe both. Sometimes warnings are just compassion that’s tired of being ignored.

Jack: (leans back) Easy for him to say. He was… well, Stephen Hawking. He had reasons to complain and didn’t. Makes the rest of us look like amateurs.

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) Or maybe that’s exactly why it matters when he says it. Because he knew what real suffering was — and still chose wonder over bitterness.

Jack: (dryly) Yeah, well. Some of us aren’t wired for wonder.

Jeeny: (gently) No one is. We build it — or we lose it.

Host: The coffee machine hissed, releasing a cloud of steam that briefly blurred the room. When it cleared, their faces reemerged — two silhouettes caught between cynicism and hope.

Jack: (sighing) You think anger and complaining are the same thing?

Jeeny: (shakes her head) No. Anger can be righteous. Complaint can be necessary. But if they’re all you have, people stop hearing you. They stop seeing you.

Jack: (quietly) Maybe they just don’t want to deal with what’s real.

Jeeny: (softly) Or maybe they’ve run out of room to hold someone else’s storm.

Jack: (pauses) That’s the thing, isn’t it? You hold it in, people tell you you’re too quiet. You let it out, and they tell you you’re too much.

Jeeny: (leans forward) Then stop living for “they.” Find balance for you.

Jack: (half-smiles) Balance sounds nice. Fictional, but nice.

Host: A soft chime rang as the café door opened, letting in a brief gust of wind and the faint smell of rain on asphalt. The moment shifted, but not enough to break.

Jeeny: (quietly) Jack, you’ve been angry for a long time. I don’t mean just lately — I mean years.

Jack: (looking away) You say that like it’s a secret.

Jeeny: (gently) It’s not. It’s a habit.

Jack: (half-laughs) And complaining?

Jeeny: (smiles sadly) That’s the language anger speaks when it’s lonely.

Jack: (quietly) You think that’s what I am? Lonely?

Jeeny: (after a moment) I think anger’s what we use when we don’t know how to say we’re hurt. And complaining’s what we do when we forget that saying it once should’ve been enough.

Jack: (softly) You make it sound like I’m just stuck in translation.

Jeeny: (nods) Maybe you are. Maybe that’s what Hawking meant — that the more time we spend translating our pain into noise, the less anyone can actually hear us.

Host: The rain began outside — soft, rhythmic, steady — each drop catching the window in small bursts of light. Inside, the café grew warmer, quieter, like the world had decided to listen again.

Jack: (after a pause) You ever think complaining is just a way of trying to make the world care?

Jeeny: (softly) Maybe. But the world doesn’t respond to noise. It responds to movement.

Jack: (nodding) So act instead of complain. Sounds simple when you say it.

Jeeny: (smiling) Simple doesn’t mean easy. It just means clear.

Jack: (quietly) What if acting doesn’t change anything?

Jeeny: (gently) Then at least it changes you. And that’s already something.

Jack: (leans forward, thoughtful) You think that’s what kept him going — Hawking, I mean? The idea that even if the universe doesn’t care, we should still move, still wonder?

Jeeny: (nodding) Yes. Because he understood what most of us forget — that complaining stops motion. Wonder creates it.

Host: The rainfall intensified briefly, hammering against the window. Jack’s reflection blurred, and for a moment, it was impossible to tell whether the streaks were water or tears.

Jack: (softly) You ever feel like people stop listening because you’ve said too much?

Jeeny: (gently) No. People stop listening when what you say stops being new.

Jack: (quietly) So what do I do with everything inside me — all the anger, all the noise?

Jeeny: (after a moment) Turn it into something else. Build something with it. Music. Words. Silence. But not walls.

Jack: (smiles faintly) Silence. That’s your favorite cure for everything.

Jeeny: (smiling back) Silence isn’t the cure. It’s the room where the cure can grow.

Host: The jazz record shifted to a slower tune — the kind that sounds like forgiveness learning to hum. The rain eased, tapering into the soft hiss of calm.

Jack: (after a long silence) Maybe I don’t know who I am without the anger.

Jeeny: (softly) Then maybe it’s time to find out.

Jack: (looks at her) And if no one sticks around while I do?

Jeeny: (gently) Then you’ll finally learn the difference between being alone and being empty.

Jack: (smiles faintly) You think people can really start over like that?

Jeeny: (quietly) I think people stop running out of time the moment they stop wasting it on fury.

Host: The clouds broke, sunlight piercing through, turning the wet streets into a mosaic of light and glass. Inside the café, the world seemed to breathe again.

Jack looked down at the paper with Hawking’s quote, tracing it with his finger as if it might leave a mark on his skin.

Jack: (softly) “People won’t have time for you if you’re always angry or complaining.” Feels harsh, but true.

Jeeny: (nods) It’s not about time, Jack. It’s about space. People only make room for what lifts them. Not what drains them.

Jack: (quietly) And I’ve been the drain.

Jeeny: (smiles gently) You’ve been hurting. That’s different. But now you know — and knowing is the start of choosing differently.

Jack: (looks at her) So what now?

Jeeny: (smiling) Now you stop shouting at the universe and start listening to it again.

Host: The sunlight caught her face, turning her hair into gold for a moment. Jack smiled — small, real, almost new. The kind of smile that carries a beginning inside it.

Outside, the city moved again, alive and kind.

Host (closing):
The paper on the table fluttered once in the breeze before Jeeny picked it up, folding it carefully.

Hawking’s words lingered in the air, no longer a warning — but a map:

“People won’t have time for you if you are always angry or complaining.”

Because life is not measured by how loudly we rage at it —
but by how gently we learn to move with it.

And as Jack and Jeeny stepped out into the bright, wet street,
the world seemed wider —
not because it had changed,
but because they had finally made space inside themselves to belong to it again.