Remember your dreams and fight for them. You must know what you

Host: The train station was nearly empty, washed in that soft gray light that sits between night and dawn — a time too early for arrival, too late for sleep. Steam rose from the platform like memory breathing. The clock above the waiting hall ticked with deliberate rhythm, each second marking the quiet patience of dreams deferred.

Jack sat on a wooden bench, suitcase beside him, his coat open, his posture tired but alert — the look of a man who’s halfway between giving up and beginning again. The world around him was hushed, as if holding its breath.

Through the glass doors, Jeeny entered, her hair tangled from the wind, a notebook clutched under her arm. She spotted him instantly, hesitated, then walked over, her steps echoing softly across the floor.

Jeeny: sitting beside him, quietly “Paulo Coelho once said — ‘Remember your dreams and fight for them. You must know what you want from life. There is just one thing that makes your dream become impossible: the fear of failure.’”

Jack: smiling faintly, without looking at her “He makes it sound easy. Like all it takes is remembering and fighting.”

Jeeny: softly “It’s never easy. But it’s simple.”

Host: The station lights hummed faintly above them. A cleaner swept the floor near the vending machine, her slow movements adding rhythm to the silence. The scent of rain drifted through the cracked door — the scent of endings and beginnings mixed into one.

Jack: quietly “I used to dream about building something that lasted. A business. A project. A life that meant something.”

Jeeny: gently “And now?”

Jack: pausing, staring down at his hands “Now I dream of just… not failing again.”

Jeeny: nodding slowly “So you stopped dreaming of success and started dreaming of survival.”

Jack: smiling bitterly “You make it sound cowardly.”

Jeeny: softly, meeting his eyes “No. Just human.”

Host: The train outside gave a distant whistle, low and mournful. Jack turned his head toward the sound, as if listening for something only he could hear — a version of himself boarding that train long ago, fearless, determined, certain of purpose.

Jeeny: quietly “You know, fear of failure is strange. It convinces you that you’re protecting your dream, when really you’re burying it alive.”

Jack: softly “Because failure feels final.”

Jeeny: nodding “But it isn’t. Failure’s not a wall. It’s a mirror.”

Jack: frowning slightly “A mirror?”

Jeeny: gently “Yes. It shows you who you really are when your plans collapse — whether you’ll hide, or rebuild.”

Jack: leaning back, thoughtful “Then I guess my reflection’s been hiding for a while.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Then it’s time to look again.”

Host: A gust of wind swept through the station doors, scattering loose papers across the floor. One of them — an old travel brochure — landed at Jack’s feet. He picked it up absently, eyes tracing the faded picture of mountains and open sky.

Jack: quietly “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a pilot. I used to sit on the roof with my father and watch planes take off. He told me once — ‘every flight begins with fear.’ I thought he meant turbulence.”

Jeeny: softly “Maybe he meant courage.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Maybe. But I never became one. I got practical. Built a company. Made it work. Then lost it all.”

Jeeny: gently “So you stopped taking off.”

Jack: nodding “Because falling hurts more the second time.”

Jeeny: quietly “But staying on the ground hurts forever.”

Host: Her words hung in the air — fragile, dangerous, true. Jack stared at her for a long moment, as though searching for anger, then found only recognition.

Jack: softly “You talk like someone who’s never failed.”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “I fail every day. I just decided not to name it failure anymore. I call it rehearsal.”

Jack: letting out a quiet laugh “Rehearsal for what?”

Jeeny: with conviction “For becoming the person my dreams are waiting for.”

Host: The clock struck six. The platform lights flickered brighter as the first train of the morning rolled in — its wheels clattering, its engine breathing mist. A few early passengers stirred, clutching bags, rubbing sleep from their eyes.

Jeeny: softly “Coelho’s right, you know. Fear of failure is the only real obstacle. Because dreams are patient — they’ll wait for you to remember them. But fear doesn’t wait. It moves in and makes itself at home.”

Jack: after a pause “And the longer you let it stay, the more it convinces you that the world outside isn’t safe.”

Jeeny: nodding “Exactly. But safety and purpose don’t live in the same place.”

Host: Jack stood slowly, picking up his suitcase. He looked toward the arriving train — its windows glowing like small promises.

Jack: quietly “You think it’s possible to start again? After everything?”

Jeeny: smiling softly “It’s not just possible. It’s the only thing that makes us alive. Remember your dream, Jack. Even if it scares you. Especially if it scares you.”

Jack: nodding, half to himself “Then maybe fear’s not the enemy. Maybe it’s just the test.”

Jeeny: softly “Exactly. It’s the universe asking, ‘How badly do you want this?’”

Host: The doors of the train hissed open. Steam coiled around their feet like breath. Jack looked back at Jeeny — not as a question, but as a quiet goodbye between two people who understood the same ache.

Jack: smiling faintly “Remember your dreams and fight for them.”

Jeeny: nodding “And never let fear convince you that you can’t.”

Host: He stepped onto the train. The doors closed with a soft click, and the world outside began to move. Jeeny watched as it rolled away, the hum of the engine blending into the rhythm of her heartbeat.

She smiled — not with sadness, but with faith — and whispered to no one in particular:

“He remembered.”

The camera followed the train into the sunrise — rails gleaming, sky opening wide — and as the light filled the screen, Paulo Coelho’s words echoed softly, like a promise reborn:

“Remember your dreams and fight for them. You must know what you want from life. There is just one thing that makes your dream become impossible: the fear of failure.”

Because fear is not the enemy —
it is the compass.

Every dream waits
on the other side of trembling.

And courage is not the absence of fear,
but the quiet decision
to board the train anyway.

The world changes
not through the dreams we speak,
but through the ones we chase,
even when our hands shake.

And somewhere between
the fear of falling
and the faith of flying,
a life begins —
not in safety,
but in the beautiful danger of trying.