“Sarah, love, remember how you asked me to tell you if I ever heard about someone’s need—something that hasn’t even been realised yet? Well, I’ve got just that,” Emily paused in the doorway of her husband’s study, looking at him hopefully.
“Colour me intrigued, Em. Go on.”
“You know what I’m desperately missing in all this online chatter?” She sat beside him and added quietly, “A kindness filter. Like a ‘light translator’ that turns rudeness, spite, and snark into something respectful and decent. So when you’re scrolling through comments or work emails, you don’t just want to bury yourself under the duvet.”
“Em, has someone upset you?”
“No, darling, not one person. But lately, whenever I’m checking socials, forums, or work chats, it feels like buckets of anger, frustration, and aggression are being dumped on me. People don’t hold back anymore—they pile on, mock, belittle. Like there’s no brake left.”
She fell silent for a moment, eyes lowered.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s me—if my nerves are shot. Maybe I’ve just grown too sensitive? But then again, is it really normal to get used to rudeness like it’s just background noise?”
James sighed. He’d seen her sifting through dozens of messages daily, analysing public reactions for her job as an analyst at a top firm.
“Thing is, love, the angriest voices always shout loudest. They’ve never been the majority, but the internet’s like a perfect incubator for them. Anonymity gives them free rein—no consequences, just raw emotion. But you’re right. The world’s turning toxic. And your idea—it’s brilliant. Tell me more. How do you see it working?”
“I’d want it as an app or extension. Imagine scrolling through YouTube comments, and they’re all automatically rewritten—not ‘you idiot,’ but ‘I don’t quite follow,’ not ‘shut up,’ but ‘maybe we could see this differently?’ See what I mean?”
“Wait, so you’re suggesting not blocking, but actually *rewriting*?”
“Exactly! But voluntarily. The user turns the filter on and chooses where it applies—certain sites, work chats where keeping things constructive matters.”
“What if it worked the other way too? Softening your own messages before you hit send?”
“That’d be perfect! Because let’s face it, we’re not always angels either. Especially on stressful days. Sometimes you just want to vent—then you read it back and cringe. But here, the filter steps in: ‘Maybe rephrase?’ or ‘Try this instead.’ Even suggests alternatives.”
“Sounds like a built-in therapist with auto-censorship. Just without the lecture.”
“Spot on! The key is keeping it seamless—no copying text into separate programs. Everything happens right there, on the same screen. Calm’s a resource too, and these days, it’s worth its weight in gold.”
James was quiet for a beat. Working in tech, he knew Emily’s idea wasn’t just clever—it could shift how people experience digital communication.
“We’ll run it by the team tomorrow. Absolutely. This isn’t just genius—it’s necessary. People need air. Without the poison.”
Emily exhaled, smiling properly for the first time all day.
“Thanks, James. Really. I was starting to think I’d lost the plot—dreaming up something impossible. But maybe kindness is just something we forgot. And it’s time to bring it back.”
He stood, pulling her into a hug.
“Right, enough doomscrolling for today. Time to switch on our personal kindness filter: quiet, cuddles, tea, and love. No strings. No arguments. No filters needed.”
She laughed, burying her face in his shoulder.
Outside, keyboards still clattered—someone typing a furious rant, another arguing till they were hoarse. But in this room, an idea was taking shape. One that might just change a tiny corner of the world. And maybe, make it a little warmer.
