Stay away from family when you are working on a startup.

Host: The night had settled heavy over the co-working loft, wrapping the city in a haze of neon and fatigue. The clock on the wall blinked 11:47 PM — another late one. Laptops still glowed, empty coffee cups lined the desks like little gravestones of caffeine and ambition.

Rain slicked the windowpanes, turning the view of downtown into a blurred constellation of light. The hum of servers and the low throb of bass from a nearby club bled into the silence.

Jack sat at his desk, his face pale in the cold glow of the screen, typing, erasing, typing again — his focus the kind of brittle intensity that comes from too many nights chasing something that refuses to materialize.

Jeeny entered quietly, a small takeout bag in hand. Her hair was damp from the rain, her eyes ringed with exhaustion. She’d stopped by not to fight — not tonight — but to feed him.

Jeeny: “You’ve been here for twelve hours straight.”

Jack: (without looking up) “Thirteen.”

Host: His voice was low, mechanical — like the machine he’d slowly become.

Jeeny: “Ritesh Agarwal once said, ‘Stay away from family when you are working on a startup.’ Is that your new religion now?”

Jack: (finally looking up) “It’s not religion, it’s reality. Startups need obsession. You can’t build something that changes the world and still make it home for dinner.”

Host: The fluorescent light flickered, as if protesting his logic. Jeeny set the bag down, unfolding her arms.

Jeeny: “You talk about changing the world, but you can’t even look at the people who are part of yours.”

Jack: “You don’t understand. This isn’t a job, it’s a war. Every minute counts. Someone out there is building faster, thinking sharper, moving quicker. If I slow down for one night — one moment — they win.”

Jeeny: “Then what do you win, Jack? When you finally make it — when the app is perfect, when the investors smile, when the headlines scream your name — who’s left to tell?”

Jack: “You always turn everything into a morality play. This isn’t about happiness, it’s about survival. Ritesh built OYO from nothing — because he didn’t have distractions. He said you have to cut off the noise. Even family.”

Jeeny: “You call love noise?”

Host: The rain pattered harder now, as if answering for him. Jack’s fingers tightened around the keyboard.

Jack: “When you’re chasing a dream this big, everything else is noise. Family, friends, birthdays, weekends — they pull you off track. You can’t build while you’re busy belonging.”

Jeeny: “So that’s it then. To build something, you have to break yourself.”

Jack: (scoffing) “You make it sound tragic. It’s just the price of ambition.”

Jeeny: “Ambition isn’t a price, Jack — it’s a hunger. The problem is, you keep feeding it with the wrong things.”

Host: Her words landed soft, but their weight shook the air. Jack turned, his face tense, his eyes cold but trembling beneath.

Jack: “You think I like this? You think I want to be alone here at midnight staring at code that won’t work? You think I don’t miss... the warmth of home?”

Jeeny: “Then why are you still here?”

Jack: “Because I’m scared. Scared if I stop, it all falls apart. The company. The dream. Me.”

Host: The admission hung in the room — raw, vulnerable. The sound of the rain softened, as though the storm itself leaned closer to listen.

Jeeny: “You know, every founder thinks they’re building something bigger than themselves. But the truth is, what you build isn’t the company. It’s the cage.”

Jack: “You don’t understand what it’s like to have people depending on you.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. You don’t understand what it’s like to have someone loving you who just wants you — not your product roadmap.”

Host: Her eyes shone, not with tears, but with that painful mix of care and disappointment only those closest can give.

Jack: “You think this is easy for me? I’m trying to build something that lasts. Something we can both be proud of.”

Jeeny: “Something you can be proud of. Because you can’t stand still long enough to be part of something that isn’t entirely yours.”

Jack: “It’s not ego.”

Jeeny: “It’s escape.”

Host: That word hung between them like a shadow. Jack’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickered downward, to the floor littered with sketches, empty bottles, and plans that looked more like prayers.

Jack: “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this is escape. But at least it’s one I can control.”

Jeeny: “You control nothing, Jack. The startup owns you. It decides your sleep, your hunger, your worth. You built a machine and made yourself the fuel.”

Host: The rain outside had stopped. The city lights glowed against the window, reflecting them — two figures fractured by glass and light.

Jeeny: “Ritesh said stay away from family when building a startup. Maybe he meant it as focus. But you’ve turned it into exile.”

Jack: “If exile’s what it takes, then so be it.”

Jeeny: (softly) “Then you’ll have your company — and nothing left to share it with.”

Host: The silence that followed was not empty. It was the sound of realization — slow, painful, inevitable. Jack’s hands fell from the keyboard. The screen went to sleep, its glow fading, leaving only the faint shimmer of the city outside.

Jack: “You think I can’t have both — the dream and the people I love.”

Jeeny: “No, I think you won’t let yourself.”

Host: She walked to the window, looking out at the endless sea of offices, each one lit like a confession.

Jeeny: “All those lights — all those people chasing something they’ll never touch because they’re too afraid to stop running. You call it passion. I call it loneliness with good branding.”

Jack: (quietly) “You think I’m lost.”

Jeeny: “I think you’re drowning in a dream that was never supposed to cost this much.”

Host: The rainclouds outside parted, and for a moment, the moonlight cut through the glass, landing on the takeout bag she’d brought — still warm, untouched.

Jack: (finally looking at it) “You brought dinner.”

Jeeny: “I brought a reminder.”

Jack: “Of what?”

Jeeny: “That some things can wait, and some can’t.”

Host: She turned to leave, her shadow stretching across the room — long, patient, almost tender.

Jack: “Jeeny.”

Jeeny: (stopping) “Yes?”

Jack: “If I make it… if this works…”

Jeeny: “Then I hope you still remember what ‘making it’ was supposed to mean.”

Host: The door closed softly behind her. The room was quiet now, the hum of machines filling the silence where human warmth had been.

Jack stared at the code one last time, then at his reflection in the dark glass — a tired man surrounded by everything he thought he wanted.

The cursor on the screen blinked, steady, unyielding — like a heartbeat asking the same question over and over: What are you building, and what is it costing you?

He closed the laptop. For once.

And outside, the city still burned with ambition — but for the first time in months, Jack could hear something softer beneath it — the faint, quiet sound of his own life waiting.