By Evelyn Hays-Hartwell
It’s a Saturday in 2192, and the city wakes up without much fuss. Unlike the cacophony of generations past, mornings here don’t start with blaring alarms or the roar of engines. No, the city hums like a finely-tuned machine, whispering softly as it comes to life. For Aria, this particular morning begins like most of her weekends: in quiet solitude, with a sense of familiarity draped over her shoulders like an old, comforting coat.
She lies in bed, tangled in sheets made of some advanced synthetic blend that adjusts its warmth according to the temperature in the room. Even in a future where every whim seems catered to, there’s something oddly comforting about the simplicity of a warm bed. The ceiling above her shifts from pale blue to golden yellow as the room’s automated system mimics the sun’s rise—a trick of the light to simulate a sunrise for an overcast day.
Aria stretches lazily, considering her options. For some, the weekend is an opportunity to socialize, to recharge in the company of friends, but for Aria, it’s a chance to breathe, to detach from the endless rhythm of work and the pull of expectations. She pads over to the window, which covers an entire wall, overlooking a cityscape that stretches as far as the eye can see. Buildings here aren’t the glass-and-steel monoliths of old, but rather a blend of green and glass, their surfaces embedded with flora that keeps the air clean and the city cool. Even from her modest apartment on the twenty-second floor, Aria can see green rooftops, cascading gardens, and public parks woven seamlessly into the urban fabric.
Breakfast is a casual affair. She thumbs through her options on a digital display embedded in her kitchen counter—a nutrient-dense smoothie, eggs, and synthetic bacon. Everything here is optimized for efficiency, for health, for the sustainability of the planet. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate it, but sometimes, just sometimes, she longs for something a bit messier, a bit more…real. Something that reminds her of a life less polished.
Her kitchen assistant, a compact unit named Nixie, rolls over as she prepares her meal, making soft beeping noises as if to check in. Nixie’s a modest thing, an older model that she managed to get for cheap. It isn’t fancy, and it doesn’t do much beyond basic cooking and cleaning, but Aria’s grown fond of the little machine. It feels like the closest thing to company most days.
Once breakfast is over, Aria throws on her jacket—a sturdy, dark canvas thing with pockets deep enough to hold everything from an energy bar to a small toolkit—and steps out into the city. The air outside is cool and crisp, thanks to the intricate network of climate-control systems that filter and regulate the air throughout the city. It’s hard to imagine that the air was once thick with smog, that heat waves and floods used to ravage the land. The world has come so far, and yet, as she walks the streets, she can’t shake the feeling that something essential has been lost in all the progress.
She heads to a nearby market square, one of the few places where people still gather in person, bartering for goods and exchanging pleasantries. It’s a mixed bag of sleek, metallic stalls selling everything from lab-grown vegetables to hand-crafted jewelry made by the few artisans who cling to the old ways. Aria stops by her favorite stall, run by an older woman who sells vintage books, actual paper-and-ink novels that have survived the centuries.
“Ah, Aria! Here for something to read?” The woman’s voice is warm, and she has a twinkle in her eye, a spark that Aria finds oddly reassuring. Aria nods, running her fingers over the spines of the books, savoring the texture of their covers. There’s a certain magic in these old relics, something she can’t quite put into words. She selects a battered copy of an old sci-fi novel, one about a journey to another world, and hands over a few credits.
With her new book tucked under her arm, Aria makes her way to a nearby park, one of her favorite spots to while away the hours. It’s a sprawling green space with tall trees and winding paths, and though it’s never completely empty, it’s big enough to find a quiet corner. She settles onto a bench beneath an old oak, one of the few remaining natural trees, or so the plaque beside it claims.
For a while, she loses herself in the book, the words transporting her to a world where space travel is a grand adventure, not just another industry. She lets the story take her, feeling the old ache of longing stir within her chest. There are so many places she’ll never see, so many stars she’ll never touch. And yet, the city holds her here, in this carefully curated bubble of comfort and control.
After a while, she puts the book down and pulls out a small notebook from her jacket pocket. It’s another relic from her father, who believed in keeping notes by hand, even in a time when digital memory was limitless. She flips through the pages, each one covered in neat handwriting that documents everything from maintenance tips for old machines to little observations about the world around her. She adds a new entry, a simple line that captures her mood:
“The city is beautiful, but it feels like living in a museum. Every artifact is perfect, but none of it is alive.”
The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon by the time Aria heads home, the day slipping away like sand through her fingers. She takes the long way back, meandering through the empty streets as the city’s lights begin to flicker on, casting a soft glow that feels almost like starlight. Back in her apartment, she kicks off her shoes, throws herself onto the couch, and lets out a long sigh.
It’s a quiet life she leads, this life of routines and small pleasures. There are days when she longs for something more, a spark that could set her free from the gentle grip of the city. But for now, as the lights dim and the room settles into darkness, she tells herself it’s enough. Just another weekend in the city, just another day in the future, where even dreams have their place in the grand design.