Someone once told me... 'Anh believe in your dreams!' I always

Host:
The evening air was warm and gold, filled with the scent of rain on concrete and the faraway sound of laughter from a nearby festival. The skyline shimmered, and in the last light of sunset, the glass of the city buildings looked like it was made of molten hope.

On the rooftop of a small café that overlooked it all, Jack and Jeeny sat side by side, feet propped up on the railing, two cups of coffee cooling beside them. Behind them, fairy lights hung in lazy strings, swaying gently in the breeze.

Jeeny’s notebook lay open between them, the page filled with looping handwriting. At the top, written in bold, were the words she’d copied earlier that morning:

“Someone once told me... ‘Anh, believe in your dreams!’ I always have and always will, and I think that if you follow your dreams in life, you really can live an amazing life.”
— Anh Do

The words felt like they belonged to the evening — luminous, simple, sincere.

Jeeny: (smiling) You know what I love about that? It’s not grand. It’s not “change the world.” It’s “believe.” Just… believe.

Jack: (quietly) Belief’s the hardest thing in the world.

Jeeny: (glancing at him) Only if you’ve forgotten how.

Jack: (leans forward) No — only if you’ve lived long enough to know how fragile dreams are.

Jeeny: (softly) Maybe that’s why they’re called dreams, Jack. They’re not meant to be sturdy. They’re meant to move.

Host: The wind tugged at Jeeny’s hair, blowing a few strands across her face. She didn’t brush them away. The city lights below flickered like the heartbeat of a hundred thousand stories trying to make themselves real.

Jack: (after a pause) You ever think believing in dreams is… selfish?

Jeeny: (raises an eyebrow) Selfish?

Jack: (nodding) Yeah. Everyone says “follow your dreams” like it’s holy scripture. But what if your dream means leaving people behind? Hurting someone?

Jeeny: (quietly) Then maybe your dream needs to grow up with you.

Jack: (smiles faintly) That’s not an answer.

Jeeny: (gently) It is. Dreams aren’t meant to stay innocent. They’re meant to survive you — to adapt, to learn compassion, to become bigger than your own happiness.

Jack: (softly) You make them sound alive.

Jeeny: (smiling) They are.

Host: The sky turned deep blue, the last of the sun slipping behind the horizon. The city began to hum louder now — headlights, conversations, music from an open apartment window — the collective dream of humanity in motion.

Jack: (after a while) I used to have a dream once.

Jeeny: (turning toward him) Used to?

Jack: (smiling faintly) Yeah. When I was a kid, I wanted to build things — bridges, towers, anything that connected places. Then life happened. I traded blueprints for spreadsheets.

Jeeny: (softly) You still build things, though. Just invisible ones now.

Jack: (laughs quietly) Invisible doesn’t count.

Jeeny: (shakes her head) It does. Not every dream needs steel. Some just need meaning.

Jack: (pauses, looking out at the skyline) Maybe. But meaning doesn’t pay rent.

Jeeny: (smiling sadly) Maybe not. But it pays something deeper — peace.

Host: The lights of passing airplanes crossed the sky — tiny moving dots of faith that believed in destinations they couldn’t see. Jeeny watched them with a kind of quiet reverence, like someone who’d learned to love the in-between.

Jeeny: (after a pause) You know what amazes me about people like Anh Do? It’s not the success. It’s the courage to start.

Jack: (nodding) Yeah. The first step — that’s the hardest.

Jeeny: (softly) Because that’s the step you take without proof.

Jack: (looking at her) You really think belief is enough?

Jeeny: (gently) No. But it’s the only thing that makes “enough” possible.

Jack: (smiles faintly) Sounds like something he’d say.

Jeeny: (grinning) Then he’s right twice.

Host: The wind picked up, carrying the smell of rain and jasmine from the street below. The fairy lights flickered, dimming for a heartbeat, then glowing back stronger — the same way faith always seems to.

Jack: (quietly) You ever lose a dream?

Jeeny: (pauses, then softly) Once. I wanted to be a dancer when I was a kid. I’d practice in the kitchen until my feet bruised. Then one day I stopped. I told myself I was being practical. But the truth? I was just scared.

Jack: (gently) Scared of what?

Jeeny: (looking down) Of being ordinary.

Jack: (softly) And now?

Jeeny: (smiling faintly) Now I know ordinary isn’t failure. It’s the canvas where dreams are painted.

Jack: (quietly) That’s beautiful.

Jeeny: (looking at him) It’s true. The amazing life Anh Do talks about — it’s not in the dream itself. It’s in the way we keep repainting it every time it fades.

Host: The rain began again, this time softer — the kind that doesn’t interrupt conversation, only deepens it. The city below glowed through the mist like a living mural.

Jack: (thoughtful) You know what I envy? People who never lose faith.

Jeeny: (smiling) Faith isn’t something you keep, Jack. It’s something you keep rebuilding.

Jack: (quietly) Even after it breaks?

Jeeny: (gently) Especially after it breaks.

Jack: (after a pause) So you still believe in your dreams?

Jeeny: (nodding) Always.

Jack: (softly) Why?

Jeeny: (smiling) Because every time I don’t, the world feels smaller.

Host: The rain eased, leaving the sound of dripping gutters and distant thunder. Jeeny’s voice softened, but it carried something steady — the same tone of those who have fought for light in the dark and found it again.

Jack: (after a long silence) You know, I think I want to build something again. Maybe not a bridge. Maybe something like this — a place where people talk, where they remember what belief feels like.

Jeeny: (grinning) That sounds like a dream.

Jack: (smiling back) Maybe it is.

Jeeny: (quietly) Then you better start.

Jack: (chuckling) I will.

Jeeny: (raising her cup) To belief, then.

Jack: (raising his) To belief — and to starting again.

Host: Their cups clinked softly, the sound lost in the rhythm of the rain.

Host (closing):
The city below them pulsed with life, and somewhere in its endless rhythm, someone was taking their first step toward a dream, someone was failing, and someone else was daring to try again.

“Someone once told me... ‘Anh, believe in your dreams!’ I always have and always will…”

And maybe that was the real miracle of faith —
not certainty, but continuation.
To keep believing when you’ve already learned how fragile the world is.
To start again when you’ve already fallen.
To paint, build, write, love — knowing it could all fade,
but doing it anyway.

As Jack and Jeeny watched the last drops of rain slide down the glass,
the lights of the city blurred into color — red, gold, and blue —
like strokes of a masterpiece still in progress.

And in that shimmering quiet,
they both knew what Anh Do had always meant:

that a dream isn’t something you chase once.
It’s something you live again
every time you choose
to believe.