We women are going to bring change. We are speaking up for girls'

Host: The night hangs heavy over the small café, its dim lighting casting long shadows across the wooden tables. Outside, the wind howls, pushing rain against the windows in a steady, rhythmic beat. Jack sits at the far corner, his gaze fixed on the empty street outside, his fingers tapping lightly on his cup. Jeeny, across from him, fidgets with her sleeve, her eyes flicking to him but never fully meeting his. The air between them is charged, like the threatening storm outside, both of them caught in a quiet tension that feels as if it might spill over at any moment.

Jeeny: "Do you believe we're meant to be strong in the same way, Jack?" Her voice is soft, barely rising above the hum of the rain. "Malala says, 'We women are going to bring change. We are speaking up for girls' rights, but we must not behave like men, like they have done in the past.' You don't think there's truth in that?"

Jack: He leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Change doesn't come from pretending to be someone we're not, Jeeny. The world doesn't care about idealism or gender—it cares about power. And the truth is that, in this world, strength has always been measured by the same yardstick: dominance. You want to change things? You better play the game, not try to change it."

Jeeny: She shakes her head, her hands clenched around her cup, her eyes now full of fire. "That's the problem, Jack! The game you're talking about has been rigged for centuries. And look where it’s gotten us. We have to speak up—not by copying what men have done, but by bringing something different. Empathy, morality, a deep belief in equality. Malala gets it. She's fighting for something pure."

Jack: A dry chuckle escapes him, and he leans forward, his voice low but sharp. "Pure? Jeeny, that’s the same word that’s been used to justify all kinds of delusions. You think the world will change because a few women decide to play the moral high ground? History tells us that those who win are the ones who understand how to use power. If you want change, it has to be a strategy, not just a wish."

Host: The tension in the air thickens, a palpable silence hanging between them. Jeeny’s hands tremble slightly, her fingers tightening around her cup, her brow furrowed with a mixture of frustration and determination. Jack's jaw is tight, his gaze fixed on her, as if measuring the weight of her words against his own convictions. The rain outside continues its steady drumbeat.

Jeeny: "You can't be serious, Jack. You're telling me that to succeed we have to become like those who have always oppressed us? That we should just accept the cycle of violence, greed, and inequality because it's the way things have always been? That doesn’t sound like strength to me, that sounds like surrender."

Jack: He stands abruptly, his voice rising. "You don't understand. It's naive to think we can just change the rules. Those in power don’t care about our empathy or our morality. They're strategists, they're survivalists. If you want to get ahead, you have to understand the game. Women, men, it doesn't matter. The world has always rewarded dominance. Not goodness."

Jeeny: She stands too, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, her hands shaking at her sides. "And that's the problem, Jack. If we all keep thinking that way—thinking that we have to be like them—then we’ll never escape this cycle. We’ll just be perpetuating the same lies. No. I believe in the power of change. We don’t have to fight like men. We need to fight with heart, with purpose. Like Malala."

Host: The silence is almost unbearable now. Jack's chest rises and falls with the weight of his breaths, his hands still clenched in tight fists. Jeeny stands in front of him, her small frame brimming with a force he can't ignore. The rain outside seems to match the intensity of their exchange, the world beyond their argument nothing more than a blur of gray.

Jack: His voice cracks for the first time, barely a whisper. "But what if… what if your heart isn’t enough? What if it’s too soft, too easily broken? What happens when the world crushes it?"

Jeeny: Her eyes soften, the fire in them dimming just slightly. She steps closer to him, her voice gentle now. "Maybe it's not about being invincible, Jack. Maybe it's about being vulnerable, and strong enough to stand despite everything. Malala doesn’t fight with fists. She fights with her beliefs, with her truth. And in the end, that's what will change things."

Host: Jack’s gaze flicks away, staring out the window as the rain pounds against the glass. There’s a long pause. The world outside feels as if it’s holding its breath, the tension between them palpable. Jack looks back at Jeeny, his eyes not as sharp, but weary. The weight of her words, and the weight of his own, seem to settle into his bones.

Jack: "Maybe… Maybe there’s truth in what you’re saying. But the world doesn’t care about truth, Jeeny. It only cares about who’s left standing."

Jeeny: "Then let’s be the ones who stand differently."

Host: The café is silent, save for the sound of the rain as it begins to soften. The world outside still feels heavy, but inside, there’s a shift—something unspoken, a mutual understanding beginning to form between the two. Jack and Jeeny stand in the middle of it, not as opposites, but as two people trying to understand a world that often seems beyond their control. They may not have the answers, but they’ve found something more important: a shared belief that there is still something worth fighting for.

The rain stops.