Starting a new business will take its toll on your time and

Host: The city was asleep, yet its lights still burned — a constellation of ambition and fatigue scattered across the skyline. The rain had just ended, leaving the streets glistening like wet glass. The air was heavy with the scent of coffee, asphalt, and quiet disappointment. Inside a 24-hour diner, a neon sign flickered — OPEN ALL NIGHT — its red glow pulsing like a heartbeat. Jack sat in a corner booth, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, his laptop half-open beside a cold cup of espresso. Across from him, Jeeny watched the steam curl from her tea, her eyes tracing his tired face with concern that she tried — and failed — to hide.

Jeeny: “Fabrizio Moreira once said, ‘Starting a new business will take its toll on your time and energy, and this can place strain on family and social relationships, depending on their expectations and how open you are in your communication with them.’ It’s true, Jack. I’ve been watching you live that quote for months now.”

Jack: without looking up “I don’t need a quote, Jeeny. I need time. And that’s the one thing I can’t afford.”

Host: The diners around them murmured softly, a low chorus of late-night workers, dreamers, and people running from sleep. A jukebox in the corner played an old blues song, its melody slow, aching, and human. Jack’s fingers moved restlessly — not on the keyboard, but against the table, tapping to a rhythm only he could hear.

Jeeny: “You’ve been chasing this startup like it’s oxygen. But you’re forgetting — oxygen feeds a flame, Jack. It doesn’t stop it from burning everything else.”

Jack: finally looking up, voice low, sharp “You think I don’t know that? Every minute I spend here, I feel it. My father stopped calling. My friends stopped asking me out. Even my sister said I’m becoming a ghost. But I can’t stop now. This —” he gestures to the laptop “— is all I’ve got left that makes sense.”

Host: The fluorescent light above them buzzed faintly, catching in the circles beneath Jack’s eyes. Jeeny’s gaze softened, but there was steel beneath her gentleness — the kind of strength that comes from watching someone you care for unravel piece by piece.

Jeeny: “But at what cost? You think success will bring them back? It won’t. You can’t negotiate love, Jack. It doesn’t scale.”

Jack: leaning back, exhausted “You always talk like feelings are currency. They’re not. You can’t build a future on emotions. You build it on sacrifice.”

Jeeny: “Sacrifice is noble when it’s shared, not when it isolates you. What’s the point of building a future if you destroy the present getting there?”

Host: The rain began again, faintly at first — just a whisper against the windows. Jack looked outside, where headlights streaked by, vanishing into the dark. For a moment, he said nothing. His silence was a weight — the sound of someone counting everything he’d lost and realizing it was heavier than what he’d gained.

Jack: “Do you know what it’s like to wake up and feel like you’re already behind? Investors breathing down your neck, clients waiting, code crashing, deadlines stacking? You can’t slow down. The world doesn’t wait for dreamers.”

Jeeny: softly “No, it doesn’t. But it does wait for humans — the ones who remember who they are when the lights go out. You’re not behind, Jack. You’re just... lost.”

Host: A truck horn blared somewhere far away, a deep groan of life continuing outside their bubble of fluorescent loneliness. Jack’s expression flickered — a crack of pain quickly hidden behind his usual cynicism.

Jack: “You sound like my mother. She used to say the same thing. Then she’d ask why I missed another dinner, why I wasn’t at my cousin’s wedding, why I couldn’t just relax. I told her I’d make her proud one day. Now she barely answers my calls.”

Jeeny: “Because she doesn’t want pride, Jack. She wants presence.”

Host: The rain grew heavier, drumming against the windows like a warning. Jeeny’s voice cut through the rhythm — calm but unyielding.

Jeeny: “Fabrizio was right. Starting something new always takes something from you. The question is — how much are you willing to give? Time? Energy? Your soul?”

Jack: staring at his laptop “Everything. Because that’s what it takes.”

Jeeny: “Then what will be left of you when you get it?”

Host: The question hit like a stone dropped into deep water. Jack’s eyes lifted — tired, hollow, reflecting the neon red glow of the sign above. He wanted to answer, but his throat tightened. Jeeny’s reflection shimmered in the window, framed by rain, and for the first time, he saw what she saw — not a visionary, but a man disappearing behind his own creation.

Jack: hoarse “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t miss them?”

Jeeny: “I think you’ve forgotten how to tell them that you do. You can work fourteen hours a day, Jack, but you can’t communicate fourteen minutes of honesty.”

Jack: slamming his palm lightly on the table “And what would you have me do? Drop everything? Tell my investors I need a family hug before the next funding round?”

Jeeny: “No. I’d have you tell them you’re still human. That you bleed. That you care. Because business may demand your energy, but only you decide who gets your soul.”

Host: A long silence settled between them, broken only by the steady beat of rain. The waitress refilled their cups and left quietly. The steam rose again, blurring the space between them. Jack finally closed the laptop — the sound of it shutting seemed to echo louder than the rain.

Jack: “Do you think they’d understand? The people waiting for me — investors, clients, even my team — if I told them I needed to slow down?”

Jeeny: “They might not. But your family would. And if they don’t — if they can’t — then talk to them until they do. That’s what openness means. Not perfection. Not constant communication. Just honesty.”

Jack: rubbing his eyes “God, I can’t remember the last time I had dinner without checking my phone.”

Jeeny: “Then start there. One meal. One conversation. No screens, no excuses. Just... breathe.”

Host: The neon sign outside blinked erratically, its light spilling across their faces, red and tired but alive. Jack’s hands loosened around his cup, his shoulders dropping for the first time that night. Jeeny smiled faintly — not triumphant, but relieved, as if she’d reached the edge of his stubborn heart.

Jack: quietly “You know, I thought success would make me feel powerful. But it just makes me feel... lonely.”

Jeeny: “That’s because success is loud, Jack. But peace — peace is quiet. And it’s waiting for you, if you just go home once in a while.”

Host: The rain softened, becoming a hush. Jack looked at the window, where the reflections of city lights blurred into one gentle glow. He reached for his phone, typed a message, then stopped — and turned it face down instead.

Jack: smiling faintly “I’ll call her tomorrow. My mom. Maybe I’ll even cook.”

Jeeny: grinning “Cooking is ambitious for you. Maybe start with showing up.”

Host: They both laughed — softly, like two people rediscovering the sound of something familiar. Outside, the clouds began to break, revealing a sliver of dawn at the horizon. The city, ever restless, breathed a new rhythm.

Jack: “You’re right. Maybe building something isn’t about giving everything away. Maybe it’s about learning what not to lose.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A business is only worth what you can keep human in it.”

Host: The camera of life pulled back — two figures in a diner booth, surrounded by rain, neon light, and the fragile beginnings of self-forgiveness. The world outside was still chaotic, demanding, alive. But for now, in that small, flickering space, there was a kind of peace — the kind that comes not from victory, but from choosing to go home before dawn.

And as the first light of morning touched the window, Jack whispered to himself, almost like a vow —
“From now on, I’ll build, but I’ll also belong.”