We always overestimate the change that will occur in the next two

Host: The office sat at the edge of the city skyline, a glass tower suspended in mist and the faint hum of midnight traffic below. Inside, the floor was scattered with blueprints, coffee cups, and screens still glowing with unfinished visions. The clock on the wall read 12:23 a.m., though time here had long lost its meaning — it was measured in code commits, prototypes, and the number of dreams still half-built.

Jack sat hunched over a table, his fingers drumming softly on a keyboard, his eyes sunken but alive with thought. A half-eaten sandwich rested beside a pile of notes titled “Version 3.0.” Across from him, Jeeny leaned against the window, staring out at the city lights — each one a silent testament to ambition, to the rhythm of people who refused to stop.

The neon glow from outside cut through the fog, flickering across the floor like restless ghosts of progress. The silence was broken only by the faint echo of a voice from the corner speaker — calm, confident, prophetic:

"We always overestimate the change that will occur in the next two years and underestimate the change that will occur in the next ten. Don't let yourself be lulled into inaction." — Bill Gates

Jack chuckled under his breath, rubbing his eyes.

Jack: “That quote should be printed on every startup’s death certificate.”

Jeeny: “Why?”

Jack: “Because it’s true. Everyone thinks they’re going to change the world in two years. Then the world doesn’t change — they give up before year three.”

Jeeny: “So you’re saying patience is the secret?”

Jack: “No. Stubbornness is.”

Host: Jeeny turned from the window, her reflection ghosting over the city skyline. Her eyes carried both fatigue and fire — the dual inheritance of anyone chasing a vision that won’t let them sleep.

Jeeny: “You know what I think? People don’t quit because change is slow. They quit because they don’t see it happening in themselves.”

Jack: “You think internal growth pays rent?”

Jeeny: “It’s the only thing that builds anything that lasts.”

Jack: “You sound like a philosopher trapped in a pitch meeting.”

Jeeny: (smiling) “And you sound like a cynic pretending to be a realist.”

Host: The city below pulsed with the rhythm of life — cars gliding, lights blinking, sirens fading into the distance. Somewhere out there, another team of dreamers was probably working on the same idea, hoping for the same miracle.

Jeeny walked closer to the desk, her hand brushing over the old blueprints — lines, circles, ambition turned to ink.

Jeeny: “You’ve been at this for what, seven years?”

Jack: “Eight.”

Jeeny: “And you’re still here. Still building.”

Jack: “Yeah. And sometimes I wonder if that’s perseverance or just stubborn stupidity.”

Jeeny: “Maybe both. But you’re closer now than you’ve ever been.”

Jack: “You sure about that?”

Jeeny: “Positive.”

Jack: “Because all I see is the same idea rebranded for the hundredth time.”

Jeeny: “That’s how evolution works, Jack. It’s not about replacing everything — it’s about refining what survives.”

Host: He looked up, the screen glow reflected in his eyes — small lines of code shimmering like constellations, a language only believers could read.

Jack: “You ever think about how fast everything moves? Ten years ago, we were trying to connect people. Now we’re trying to protect them from what we built.”

Jeeny: “Maybe that’s the real change — realizing progress doesn’t always mean improvement.”

Jack: “Tell that to investors.”

Jeeny: “No. Tell it to yourself.”

Host: The air thickened — not with tension, but with the unspoken weight of truth. Jack leaned back, staring at the ceiling where the fluorescent lights hummed like distant thoughts.

Jack: “I used to think I’d make it by thirty. Change the industry, revolutionize something. But here I am, older, broker, still rewriting code that’ll be obsolete by morning.”

Jeeny: “And yet, here you are — still fighting time instead of surrendering to it. That’s something.”

Jack: “You think time can be beaten?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can be partnered with.”

Jack: “That’s poetic.”

Jeeny: “No, it’s practical. The people who make real change aren’t racing time — they’re walking beside it. They plant trees knowing they’ll never sit in the shade.”

Host: Her words lingered, heavy and gentle all at once. Jack’s hand hovered over the keyboard, fingers trembling slightly. Outside, lightning flickered across the horizon — not a storm, just a warning.

Jack: “You know, when Gates said that… he wasn’t talking about optimism. He was warning us. About how easy it is to think we have time to act later.”

Jeeny: “That’s the tragedy, isn’t it? Everyone’s waiting for a sign. For ‘the right time.’ For permission.”

Jack: “And by the time they move, the world’s already changed without them.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s what he meant by inaction — it’s not laziness, it’s hesitation.”

Jack: “So what? We just keep pushing, even when we don’t know what’s next?”

Jeeny: “Especially then.”

Host: The rain outside began again, streaking the glass with lines of silver. The city lights blurred into watercolor. The office, for a moment, felt infinite — two people suspended in time, somewhere between failure and legacy.

Jack: “You ever wonder if we’ll look back ten years from now and laugh at how small this felt?”

Jeeny: “No. I think we’ll look back and realize this was the big moment — we just didn’t recognize it because it came disguised as struggle.”

Jack: “And what if we fail?”

Jeeny: “Then we start again. Because failure in motion is still better than success in pause.”

Host: The clock ticked 12:47. The glow of the monitors deepened. The hum of the servers merged with the rhythm of the rain — one heartbeat between them and the future.

Jack: “You know what I’ve learned? The future doesn’t arrive — it accumulates. Line by line, choice by choice.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s why Gates was right. We underestimate what ten years can do — because we don’t see it building while we’re too busy waiting for explosions.”

Jack: “You make it sound almost… holy.”

Jeeny: “Change always is. Creation and destruction — same rhythm, different instruments.”

Host: Jack smiled, faint but real. He turned back to his screen, his fingers moving again — slowly at first, then with momentum. Jeeny sat down beside him, sipping her coffee, her gaze steady, proud.

Jack: “So… you think we’ll still be doing this ten years from now?”

Jeeny: “If we’re lucky.”

Jack: “Lucky?”

Jeeny: “Yeah. Lucky to still care this much.”

Host: Outside, the storm cleared. The city lights sharpened again, revealing the horizon — a skyline alive, restless, endless.

Inside the glass tower, two dreamers worked in silence, not chasing change, but building it — one small, stubborn line at a time.

And as dawn began to blush faintly against the glass, Bill Gates’s words echoed softly through the room —
a reminder that the future isn’t waiting for us.

It’s being written right now.