Those are my dreams. Buy mum a house, build a school in Rwanda.

Host:
The evening sky shimmered with streetlight gold and the faint hum of laughter spilling from nearby cafés. The city was alive — alive in that fragile, hopeful way it always seemed to be on a Friday night, when everyone believed, just for a moment, that tomorrow would be kind.

Through the window of a small coffee shop, two figures sat facing each other at a corner table. Jack, coat draped over his chair, leaned back with his usual air of skeptical calm, his grey eyes sharp but tired. Across from him sat Jeeny, her dark eyes bright, her hands cradling a mug of tea as if holding something sacred.

The soft murmur of conversation filled the space — the rhythm of lives unfolding — but between them, on the table, lay a phone screen glowing with a single quote.

“Those are my dreams. Buy mum a house, build a school in Rwanda. Then carry on making enough money to buy soaps from Lush.”
— Ncuti Gatwa

Jeeny read it aloud once more, smiling as she did. The words were humble, human — the kind that disarm cynicism with sincerity.

Jeeny: smiling softly “You see? That’s what I love — the honesty of it. There’s no grandeur, no arrogance. Just… heart. He wants to give back, and still live simply. That balance — that’s rare.”

Jack: half-smiling, stirring his coffee absently “Yeah. Sounds sweet enough to make a cynic diabetic.”

Jeeny: rolling her eyes, laughing “Oh, come on. Not everything sincere is sentimental. Don’t you see the beauty in it? The way he strings those three dreams together — they move from selflessness to simplicity. It’s like a poem about gratitude.”

Jack: leaning forward, voice calm but thoughtful “Sure. But it’s also an admission. He’s telling us he doesn’t need to conquer the world — just contribute to it. That’s humility, not ambition. And that’s both beautiful… and dangerous.”

Jeeny: frowning slightly “Dangerous?”

Jack: nodding slowly “Yeah. Because the world doesn’t reward humility. It eats it alive. People like him — dreamers with decency — they burn out trying to do good while everyone else races for profit. ‘Buy mum a house, build a school’ — those are dreams that don’t scale in a system built on greed.”

Jeeny: quietly “But they matter. That’s the point. You can’t measure worth by scale. You measure it by sincerity. By how much love sits behind the intent.”

Host:
The rain began — soft at first, brushing the windows like fingertips. The glow from passing cars reflected off the glass, puddles trembling under the streetlights. Inside, the warmth of the café deepened, the hum of voices fading beneath the pull of their conversation.

Jeeny: softly “He said, ‘Buy mum a house.’ That’s love speaking before ambition. It’s gratitude in motion — the kind that remembers where it came from.”

Jack: smirking faintly “Yeah. And then ‘build a school in Rwanda’ — that’s legacy. A need to give what he once lacked. It’s noble.”

Jeeny: nodding, smiling gently “And then the last line — ‘buy soaps from Lush’ — that’s the punchline, isn’t it? It’s grounding. He dreams big but still holds onto the little joys. It’s his way of saying, ‘I want to do good, but I also want to smell nice while doing it.’”

Jack: chuckling “You make it sound like a philosophy of soap and salvation.”

Jeeny: grinning “Maybe it is. Maybe that’s the secret — kindness and self-care. You change the world without forgetting to care for yourself.”

Host:
The light flickered briefly, reflecting in their eyes like the spark of two ideas colliding. The rain outside thickened, turning the city into a soft blur of motion and reflection.

Jack: sober now “You know what strikes me about that quote? It’s rooted in reality. He’s not dreaming of owning islands or empires. He’s dreaming of balance — of giving and living in equal measure. That’s the rarest kind of ambition.”

Jeeny: smiling “Because it’s not about power. It’s about connection. Every dream on that list ties him back to someone — his mother, his homeland, himself. There’s no ego in it. Just belonging.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “Belonging. Yeah. That’s the one thing no system can sell you.”

Host:
The sound of rain deepened, drumming gently against the glass. The city seemed to shrink around them, becoming an intimate world of light and shadow.

Jeeny: “You ever think about your own dreams, Jack? Not the big ones — the small, human ones. The ones that fit into sentences like his?”

Jack: after a pause “Maybe once. But life teaches you to dream strategically. You stop saying, ‘I’ll build a school,’ and start saying, ‘I’ll pay the bills.’ It’s not poetry — it’s survival.”

Jeeny: softly “And maybe that’s why people like him matter. Because they remind us that dreaming doesn’t have to die with adulthood — it just has to stay honest.”

Jack: looking at her now, eyes softer “Honest dreams. That’s a dangerous luxury too.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Then maybe that’s what courage looks like — having the audacity to keep your dreams kind.”

Host:
The barista dimmed the lights, signaling closing time. The smell of roasted coffee and cinnamon filled the air. Jack and Jeeny lingered, unwilling to break the fragile spell of the moment.

Jeeny: whispering “Buy mum a house, build a school, buy soaps from Lush. That’s a roadmap for a life with balance — gratitude, generosity, and joy.”

Jack: smiling now, with warmth that wasn’t cynicism “Yeah. Maybe that’s all any of us are really trying to do — repay love, repair the world, and still find something gentle to hold on to.”

Host:
The rain slowed, turning to mist. The last customers left. The world outside was quiet again, its noise swallowed by the promise of morning. Jeeny stood, wrapped her scarf, and looked back at Jack.

Jeeny: softly “Maybe that’s the future — not the billionaires, not the politicians — but the ones who dream in kindness.”

Jack: smiling faintly “Then the future might actually deserve to exist.”

Host:
They left the café together, stepping into the wet glow of the street. The city breathed around them — alive, weary, hopeful. The puddles caught their reflections as they walked: two silhouettes in step, framed by the faint hum of rain and neon.

And as they disappeared down the glistening street, the narrator’s voice — calm, luminous, and true — rose like a prayer for all dreamers who still dare to believe in small things:

That dreams need not be vast to be noble.
That love and laughter are the quiet architects of a better world.
That the soul of humanity lives not in its wealth,
but in its willingness to care.

And perhaps Ncuti Gatwa’s words were not a statement of ambition,
but a map for meaning —
a reminder that the greatest dreams
begin not in grandeur,
but in gratitude.

Host:
And so, under the rainlit glow of the city,
Jack and Jeeny walked on —
two hearts softened by the humility of hope,
two souls carrying the quiet truth
that sometimes the most revolutionary dream
is simply to do good,
give back,
and still find joy in the small, sweet things of being alive.