The biggest lesson that I've learnt is that things can change so

Host: The sky over London was a sheet of restless grey, clouds moving fast as if chased by unseen winds. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind streets slick with reflections — lights, faces, shadows — all blurred together like a painting still wet. A low rumble of buses, the hiss of tires, the distant echo of a siren — the city breathing its familiar rhythm of change.

Inside a dim studio café near Brixton, the smell of espresso hung in the air, tangled with the faint sound of a beat leaking from someone’s headphones. Jack sat near the back, his jacket still damp from the rain, his grey eyes lost in the steam rising from his cup. Across from him, Jeeny sat with her notebook, the pages bent and crinkled — a map of her thoughts.

Jeeny: “Santan Dave said something that’s been in my head all week — ‘The biggest lesson that I’ve learnt is that things can change so quickly, never get used to one thing because everything can flip on its head.’”

Host: Her voice carried both admiration and a touch of melancholy, as if the quote had walked straight out of her own life.

Jack: half-smiling “Yeah. That’s real. But it’s also kind of… exhausting, isn’t it? Living like the ground’s always about to disappear under you.”

Jeeny: “It’s the truth, though. The world never stays still — people, jobs, love, even the weather. One day you’re on top, the next you’re falling through the cracks.”

Host: A drop of rainwater slid down the window, tracing a crooked line — like time itself refusing to flow straight. Jack watched it for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Jack: “Maybe that’s the problem. Everyone’s obsessed with adapting, moving, hustling. But no one learns how to stand still. We call it survival, but sometimes it’s just fear — fear of losing the illusion of control.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe realizing that everything can flip means you stop clinging so hard. You stop trying to make life something it isn’t — predictable.”

Jack: “That sounds poetic, but try saying that when the floor actually caves in. When your job’s gone, when someone you love walks out, when the plan you built your whole life around turns to dust. Change isn’t some spiritual cleanse, Jeeny — it’s chaos.”

Host: His voice sharpened — not angry, just raw. The kind of rawness that comes from having already watched something fall apart.

Jeeny: “But it’s also creation. When things fall apart, something new can begin. Dave said it because he lived it. Think about it — from Streatham to Mercury Prizes, from pain to poetry. He’s seen both sides of the coin.”

Jack: leans forward “Yeah, and maybe that’s what scares me. How fast it all flips. One day you’re nobody, the next you’re a name. One wrong word, one wrong night — and it’s gone. How do you trust anything when it can all vanish overnight?”

Host: The music in the café shifted to a low piano track, echoing through the humming space. Jeeny turned a page in her notebook, her fingers lingering over a line of ink-stained words.

Jeeny: “You don’t trust it, Jack. You just live it. That’s the lesson. Don’t get used to the good or the bad. They’re both temporary. That’s what keeps it human — the fragility.”

Jack: “But that fragility is what breaks us. You can’t keep rebuilding every time something shifts. People burn out. You get tired of starting over.”

Jeeny: “Only if you mistake change for loss. It’s not always destruction. Sometimes it’s transformation.”

Host: The rain began again, softly — a rhythmic whisper against the window. The city lights blurred further, dissolving into abstract color.

Jack: “Transformation sounds noble until you’re the one being torn apart. You ever think of that? Change isn’t gentle. It rips, it burns, it erases.”

Jeeny: “Yes — but it also reveals. Sometimes you need the world to burn a little to see what’s real. Look at London itself — it’s been bombed, rebuilt, burned again. Still standing. Stronger even. The same streets that carried pain now carry rhythm. That’s not loss. That’s evolution.”

Host: Jack’s jaw tightened. His hands curled around the cup like it was something alive.

Jack: “So we’re supposed to thank the fire?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not thank it. But at least understand it. If you deny change, you deny life itself. Everything alive is in motion.”

Jack: “That’s easy to say when the motion’s forward.”

Jeeny: “Sometimes backward is forward. You just don’t see it yet.”

Host: The air thickened with unspoken things — memories neither of them dared to name. The rain grew heavier, drumming like an impatient heart.

Jack: after a long pause “You ever notice how people say, ‘I never saw it coming,’ right before something ends? Like endings always catch us off guard, even though they’re the most certain thing in life.”

Jeeny: “Because we forget. We build routines like they’re fortresses — the morning coffee, the same route to work, the person waiting at home. Then one small shift — and the whole system collapses. We call it tragedy, but maybe it’s just nature doing what it does best: reminding us we’re not in charge.”

Jack: “So you think we should just float through it all, no attachments?”

Jeeny: smiling sadly “No. We should attach, but lightly. Hold things like sand — with open palms. Grip too hard, and they slip away faster.”

Host: A soft silence fell. Outside, a bus rolled past, splashing through puddles, its headlights slicing through the mist. Jack watched it disappear into the curve of the street.

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s lost a lot.”

Jeeny: “I have. That’s how I know loss isn’t the end — it’s the teacher. You can’t learn the rhythm of life until you’ve danced with impermanence.”

Host: Her words hung in the air, weightless and heavy all at once. Jack looked at her — not as a skeptic this time, but as someone quietly trying to believe.

Jack: “Maybe that’s what Dave meant — not just that things change, but that they change you. Whether you like it or not.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And maybe the mistake is thinking change is the enemy. It’s not. It’s the proof that we’re still alive.”

Host: The rain began to slow, fading into a soft drizzle. The café grew quieter, emptied of the morning rush. A faint light slipped through the clouds — pale, trembling, but insistent.

Jack: softly “It’s strange. You live your whole life trying to build something stable, but the older I get, the more I think… stability’s just another illusion we sell ourselves.”

Jeeny: “It is. But it’s a comforting one. Still, I’d rather live in motion than in illusion.”

Jack: smiles faintly “You always did like chaos.”

Jeeny: “Only because it’s honest.”

Host: She said it with a quiet grin, her eyes catching the light like glass after rain. Jack leaned back, watching her — the way her words seemed to settle the storm, if only for a moment.

The camera would pull back now — the café glowing softly against the washed-out city, two people suspended in the fragile balance between certainty and surrender.

Outside, the sky began to break — streaks of pale blue threading through the clouds.

Host: In that fragile, fleeting light, Jack and Jeeny sat without speaking — two souls caught in the slow turning of the world, each quietly learning what Santan Dave already knew:

that life doesn’t warn you before it changes —
it just does.

And in that sudden, merciless flip,
we don’t lose control —
we finally remember we never had it.