The Little Prince

Scene: A Quiet Night, A Worn-Out Book, and the Weight of Simplicity Sam & Jessica Discuss The Little Prince

Sam poured the whiskey slow, watching the amber liquid catch the dim glow of the lamp. Outside, the ocean murmured against the sand, a steady rhythm that felt almost like breathing.

Jessica sat on the arm of the couch, her fingers lightly tracing the cover of a dog-eared, well-loved book. Le Petit Prince. The edges were frayed, the spine barely holding together.

Sam smirked, watching her flip through the pages. “Didn’t peg you for a children’s book type.”

Jessica scoffed. “It’s not a children’s book.”

Sam leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. “No?”

Jessica exhaled, tapping her finger against one of the pages. “It’s a story about a man who’s spent his whole life trying to be rational, serious, practical. And then a little kid—an alien prince, technically—shows him everything he’s lost.”

She looked up, eyes sharp, searching. “Tell me you don’t get it.”

Sam swirled his glass. “Oh, I get it.”

Jessica arched a brow. “Really?”

Sam smirked. “Pilot crashes in the desert, meets a weird kid who makes him question everything. Sounds familiar.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes.

Sam took a slow sip. “You ever think maybe you’re the pilot, Jess?”

Jessica scoffed, shaking her head. “No.”

Sam tilted his head. “No?”

She exhaled, flipping another page. “I’m not the one who lost anything. I never had it to begin with.”

The words sat between them.

Sam let them settle before speaking. “And what do you think the Little Prince is?”

Jessica hesitated.

She had read this book too many times, but she had never really asked herself that. The Prince wasn’t just some strange child with golden hair. He was something else.

A reminder. A ghost. A voice from before everything got complicated.

She traced the drawing of the fox with her thumb. “Maybe he’s everything you didn’t realize you needed. Until it was too late.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That’s what I always thought, too.”

Jessica’s eyes flicked up. “You’ve read it?”

Sam smirked. “Didn’t peg me for a children’s book type?”

Jessica shook her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Touché.”

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His voice was softer now. “So, if you’re not the pilot… you think you’re the Prince?”

Jessica went quiet.

Because that was the real question, wasn’t it?

The Prince wanders from planet to planet, never staying, always searching. He meets kings with no subjects, men who drink to forget, businessmen who count the stars but never look at them.

And in the end, he leaves.

Just like he always does.

Jessica exhaled. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Sam studied her for a long moment. “That’s a lonely answer.”

Jessica gave him a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah.”

They sat in silence for a while, the waves filling in the spaces where words should have been.

Then, finally, Sam said, “You know the part that stuck with me?”

Jessica raised a brow. “What?”

Sam reached for the book, flipping the pages until he found it. He tapped the passage with one finger, then slid it back to her.

Jessica read aloud.

“One sees clearly only with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”

She exhaled through her nose. “That’s the quote everyone remembers.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Because it’s true.”

Jessica turned the words over in her mind.

She had spent her whole life seeing the world for what it was—sharp, brutal, unforgiving. Facts, intelligence, evidence, tactics. That was the only thing that mattered.

But the Prince had never cared about facts.

He had cared about meaning.

Jessica swallowed, shutting the book gently. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

Sam shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Jessica smirked. “You’re getting philosophical on me.”

Sam chuckled, leaning back. “I’ve been listening to you talk about Nietzsche for a week straight. Thought I’d try something softer.”

Jessica shook her head, but she was still smiling.

She looked down at the book, running her fingers over the worn cover.

The Little Prince had loved his rose. It was just a flower, but to him, it was the only one in the universe.

He had left everything behind to find meaning in something fragile, impermanent.

Jessica set the book aside and reached for her whiskey.

Maybe she didn’t know what her rose was yet.

But maybe she was finally looking for it.