Remember, each one of us has the power to change the world. Just

Host: The afternoon light fell softly over the city park, spilling across the pavement like liquid gold. Autumn leaves drifted through the air, landing on benches, shoes, and the still surface of a pond that mirrored the sky. Children’s laughter echoed in the distance, mingling with the faint notes of a guitar played by a street musician.

Jack sat on the edge of a fountain, his elbows on his knees, eyes lost in the rippling water. Jeeny stood nearby, her hands clasped, her face calm yet alight with that quiet certainty she carried like a second skin. A small pigeon landed between them, pecking at invisible crumbs.

Host: The air was heavy with the scent of wet grass and sunlight, that fragile moment when the day is about to turn, and the world, if only for a breath, feels almost gentle.

Jeeny: “Yoko Ono said — ‘Remember, each one of us has the power to change the world. Just start thinking peace, and the message will spread quicker than you think.’ Do you believe that, Jack?”

Jack: (half-smiling) “Peace by thinking about it? That’s like fixing a leaking roof by hoping for sun.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about wishing, Jack. It’s about resonance. Energy. Thought.”

Jack: “Thought doesn’t stop wars. Action does. And even then, it’s rarely clean.”

Jeeny: “But every action begins as a thought. Even yours.”

Host: A breeze stirred the water, scattering the reflection of the sky into a thousand broken fragments.

Jack: “Peace is an illusion, Jeeny. We’re wired for conflict — from the schoolyard to the senate. History’s been one long experiment in proving that.”

Jeeny: “History’s been one long failure in imagination. Every empire fell not because of power, but because people forgot how to imagine peace.”

Jack: “Peace doesn’t pay the bills. Nations don’t run on meditation and smiles.”

Jeeny: “And yet, the cost of war is always paid in silence — the kind that never ends.”

Host: A child’s ball rolled to Jack’s feet. He picked it up, its rubber surface still warm from the sun, and handed it back to a small boy who grinned and ran off.

Jack watched him for a long moment.

Jack: “You think thinking peace would stop a dictator? Stop greed? Stop bullets?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not immediately. But it might stop us from becoming like them. Peace starts small — in how we treat a stranger, in how we argue, in how we listen.”

Jack: “That sounds like a self-help book.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “Maybe that’s how revolutions begin — one sentence at a time.”

Host: The light shifted, touching Jeeny’s hair, turning it to threads of amber in the sun. Jack’s shadow stretched long behind him, as if reaching for something unseen.

Jeeny: “When John Lennon and Yoko Ono staged their bed-in for peace, people laughed. They called it naive. But the image — two people lying in bed, singing about peace — it traveled the world faster than a bullet.”

Jack: “And yet, war didn’t stop.”

Jeeny: “No. But maybe, somewhere, someone hesitated. And sometimes, hesitation is the beginning of peace.”

Jack: “You really think we can think our way to a better world?”

Jeeny: “I think we can believe our way there. Thought is the seed. Belief is the soil. Action is what grows.”

Jack: “And cynicism?”

Jeeny: “The drought.”

Host: A dog barked, chasing its own tail, and for a moment, even Jack’s smile broke through his usual hardness. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes narrowing toward the sky.

Jack: “You know, sometimes I envy your faith. You talk about peace like it’s inevitable. Like the universe is secretly conspiring for it.”

Jeeny: “Maybe it is. Maybe the world bends toward peace the way light bends toward warmth — but only if we stop casting shadows.”

Jack: “You really think one person can change the world?”

Jeeny: “Every world that ever changed began with one.”

Host: She took a few slow steps toward him, her footsteps barely audible on the gravel.

Jeeny: “Think about it. Gandhi started with a refusal to obey. Martin Luther King started with a dream. Malala started with a notebook. Lennon started with a song. Every revolution is a whisper before it’s a roar.”

Jack: “And every whisper gets drowned out by the roar of guns.”

Jeeny: “Only if we stop whispering.”

Host: The fountain’s water fell in a rhythmic cascade, like rain learning to sing. A plane flew overhead, carving the sky open with a thin line of white.

Jack: “You know what I think, Jeeny? People talk about peace because they’re afraid of fighting, but peace isn’t natural. Conflict is. Evolution demands it. Competition builds progress.”

Jeeny: “So you think destruction is destiny?”

Jack: “I think it’s inevitable.”

Jeeny: “Then you’ve already surrendered.”

Jack: “No, I’ve accepted the truth.”

Jeeny: “Truth without hope is just despair in disguise.”

Jack: (leaning back, exhaling smoke) “Maybe peace is just the world’s longest-held lie.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe war is.”

Host: A pause — deep, quiet, stretching like a held breath between them. The city sounds faded, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves.

Jeeny: “Do you remember that photo — the one of the soldier putting flowers in the barrels of rifles during the Vietnam protest?”

Jack: “Yeah. Boston, 1967. I’ve seen it.”

Jeeny: “That wasn’t power. That was peace — unarmed, unafraid, unrelenting. And it didn’t end the war that day, but it changed the way the world saw it. That’s how peace spreads — image by image, heart by heart.”

Jack: (quietly) “It’s fragile.”

Jeeny: “So are we. That’s why it matters.”

Host: The light dimmed into golden dusk. The city’s noise grew distant, replaced by the hum of streetlamps flickering on, one by one, like cautious stars.

Jack: “You ever wonder if peace is just… waiting? Like it’s out there, watching, hoping we’ll finally shut up long enough to notice it?”

Jeeny: “Yes. I think peace is patient. I think it waits in every choice we make — whether to hate, or to listen.”

Jack: “Then maybe I’ve ignored it too long.”

Jeeny: “You haven’t ignored it, Jack. You’ve feared it.”

Jack: “Feared peace?”

Jeeny: “Because peace means surrendering the armor. And you’ve worn yours too long.”

Host: Her words landed softly but deep, like a hand pressed to a wound. He looked at her, eyes softening, a lifetime of defense cracking under the weight of stillness.

Jack: “Maybe thinking peace isn’t about pretending the world’s kind. Maybe it’s choosing kindness anyway.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s how the message spreads — not through words, but through example.”

Jack: “You make it sound like a virus.”

Jeeny: “It is. A beautiful one.”

Host: A laugh escaped him, quiet and real — the kind that comes when truth and disbelief finally meet in the middle.

Jack: “Alright then. I’ll start small. I’ll think peace tonight. Just for a minute.”

Jeeny: “That’s all it takes. The world hears every thought, Jack. It echoes.”

Host: She smiled, and the last light of day fell across her face, golden and soft. The city exhaled — cars slowed, children’s laughter faded, the air turned cool and still.

Jack looked at the sky, now painted with streaks of rose and violet, and whispered — not to her, but to something greater:

Jack: “Then let it echo.”

Host: And in that moment — brief, tender, almost invisible — something unseen shifted. Not the world yet, but the space inside it. The kind of shift that begins quietly, before anyone notices, before headlines catch up —

— when two people stop arguing long enough to believe that peace, perhaps, is not a fantasy,
but a decision waiting to be made.

The fountain whispered. The light faded. And somewhere in the gathering dark, the message began to spread.