7 January 2156

As usual, I woke to the rapid beating of my heart, my breathing slightly laboured, beads of sweat glistening on my forehead. Nothing to worry about, the doctors had said. The chip in my wrist began speaking. Its voice was truly annoying.

“Good morning, miss. Staying up late on your phone is a bad habit, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” I replied, pulling back the thermal blanket. It was light despite being filled with wires.

“Give me my morning check-up results, Hoor,” I told my chip. That was its name.

“Depression level: 76.3%, within the normal range. Weight loss: 2.56 kilograms in the past three days. Shall I give you some pills to make you feel a little better? Perhaps they’ll help you feel somewhat happier. I can’t guarantee that, though.”

“Speaking of happiness, Hoor, were people happy in the past, less than two hundred years ago, in my great-grandmother’s generation?” I asked curiously.

“If we went back in time and asked them, they probably wouldn’t say yes. Human beings are naturally prone to complaining. But if we were objective and compared your life with theirs, then yes, they were happy.”

“Hmm, they certainly were happy… Anyway, what’s on my schedule today? Switch to Friend Mode and turn off Servant Mode. I’m sick of it.”

“At nine, you have a meeting with your parents. At eleven, a meeting with Phantom, the company responsible for luminous trees, regarding your foolish initiative to bring natural trees back into the city, and—”

“It isn’t foolish!” I interrupted angrily. “You’re the fools! You think the light of a few glass trees is more beautiful than the sunlight you’ve prevented from entering our skies.”

“As you wish. However, because you insisted on this yesterday, your rating has dropped to 3.2 stars. Do you realise that this will affect your job, and perhaps your entire life, if you carry on like this?”

For some reason, her tone sounded sarcastic. I did not answer. I got dressed and told her to order me a flying car. Honestly, I had never liked riding in one. The grey sky reminded me of my life, though it was still better than being stuck in a traffic jam for three hours.

I lived on the 171st floor. All the buildings were equally towering. I had read that a hundred years ago, the tallest man-made structure in the world was the Burj Khalifa, and that it had been a marvel. Now, most buildings matched its height, and some far exceeded it.

I took the lift. It took only a few seconds to reach the rooftop, where the car was already waiting in its private parking bay. As soon as I approached, the door opened automatically, and I stepped inside. Naturally, there was no driver. Imagine having a driver! Where would the privacy be?

Hoor sent the destination to the car’s navigation system, and we set off. It was comforting that there was no engine noise. I found it strange to hear Hoor tell me that aircraft in the past had been noisy, especially helicopters, whose sound had been deafening.

I gazed at the sky for a while. The sun’s rays seemed faint, almost invisible. Was it shy? No, it had simply been denied entry. I watched my world being destroyed every day while people claimed they were fixing it, and I stood helpless before them. Since the First Industrial Revolution, countries had gathered, delivered speeches, organised awareness seminars, and so on. And what had come of it? Nothing. The important thing was that we had been warned about the danger; there was no need to confront it. We could simply wait for the monster we had created to devour us.

I lowered my gaze, looking specifically at the crowded streets. What strange machines they were, all in motion! Oh, no… they were human beings. But, honestly, I did not think my description was wrong: machines of labour and production, bodies whose souls had abandoned them long ago, leaving them to wander aimlessly through their grey world.

“Those accursed trees! Do we even have the right to call them trees?” I muttered.

Whenever I saw those trees, the image of my grandfather’s mirage came to mind. Despite his intense hatred of them, he had always remained neutral and never told anyone that he was attached to a particular tree. To be precise, though, he seemed like a young man in love with a tree he had planted in a large pot. It was called a poplar.

I clearly remember the first time I asked him what its name meant. I was seven years old. I looked at the tree, then at my grandfather, whose attention was entirely devoted to his beloved. I felt a surge of irritation. I tugged at the edge of his coat and said, “Grandpa, your princess is right here!”

A tender laugh escaped his lips. Despite the pain in his back, he bent down. I felt his large hands encircle my waist and lift me until I was cradled in his arms.

“It seems my jealous princess has inherited none of her parents’ coldness,” he said, playfully touching the tip of my nose.

He fell silent for a moment, as though thinking about something, then sighed with relief.
“You can speak your mind. I hope you won’t join their procession.”

At the time, I had no idea what he meant by their procession. Only later did I understand that he was referring to the parade of bodies whose souls had abandoned them.

“Grandpa, what is it called? And why do you water it? Why… does it look more beautiful than the tree in our house?” I asked, studying the tree up close.

He stroked my head and answered, “It is a poplar. It is the freedom our age has deprived us of.”
I tilted my head, intrigued—and perhaps jealous.

“Who do you love more, me or freedom?”

I might have expected him to answer, “My princess, of course! What does freedom matter?”

Instead, he said, “This crazy old man is in love with a free princess whom he now holds in his arms. Be free, my princess. Fight for what you love.”

“Grandpa, why don’t we tell them these trees are much more beautiful? I can’t take my beautiful eyes off them!” I said with pure childish arrogance.

“Because your grandfather has been called a senile old man, a wandering madman lost in an age of ignorance. So he chose to live peacefully with what little he had left, keeping what he found beautiful to himself. But don’t become a cowardly old fool like him.”

I did not fully understand his words at the time. My father called me, and we left early that day. If my memory serves me correctly, he had an argument with my mother that day.

The next day, my grandfather died. He had left instructions for the poplar to stay with me. Naturally, no one else cared about it, so it became mine without difficulty.

In the end, perhaps the day my grandfather died was the worst day of my life. A week later, my parents separated. At the time, I was only a quarter as sad about my grandfather as I would later become. Several years passed before I understood the meaning of my grandfather’s final words and why he had left the poplar to me.

My thoughts were interrupted by the car’s navigation system.

“We have arrived, miss. I hope you had a comfortable journey.”

The landing was smooth. The door opened, and I stepped out. My steps felt heavy. I was on my way to meet the people called my father and mother.

I entered the café. It was almost empty, except for an elderly woman drinking cinnamon tea. Its fragrance filled the air. I remembered that my grandmother had loved it and used to pour me a pink cup of it. I had been her pampered princess, too.

“Wait… are those my father and mother? Are they actually talking to each other?” My eyes widened in shock.

But my brief astonishment soon faded when I realised that each of them was talking to their own chip. Oh, really! What had I expected? When they were married, their only conversation had revolved around “Good morning” and “Good evening.” Sometimes I felt that Hoor was right to call me a fool.

This was nothing more than a purely formal meeting, intended to reassure them that they had not abandoned me and that we were still a family despite the circumstances. Yes, they were perfect parents.
I approached the table. The chair slid out automatically, and I sat down after saying good morning. A heavy silence settled over us, broken only by the sound of the grandmother’s cup tapping against its glass saucer. Her cup was ornate. I bet my mother, had she noticed it, would have asked, “Where is the elegance? What are these chaotic colours?” In my mother’s view, as in the view of most people, elegance meant neutral colours and straight edges. But the cup was truly beautiful.

“How are you?” my father asked.

“Fine, thank you for asking,” I replied immediately, as though I were sitting an examination at university.
“Is your work going well?” my mother asked.

“Yes, perfectly,” I answered with a completely fake smile. Hoor might have seen through it, but my father and mother never would.

The performance of concern and perfection—or rather, the happy family gathering—continued for nearly an hour. The conversations were dry and brief, each no longer than a few lines.

The family gathering ended. Before leaving, my father placed a piece of caramel in my hand, as he always did whenever he saw me. Perhaps this was the only way he knew how to tell me that he cared. Despite everything, I did not hate my parents. I wished them happiness from afar, each of us following our own path.

I was about to leave when Hoor told me I still had some time, if I fancied a cinnamon tea. Why not? A little relaxation could not hurt.

I ordered the tea. Before I sat down, I heard a husky female voice calling me from behind.
“Hey, tree girl! Won’t you sit with me?”

It was the old woman with the ornate cup.

Wait—why had she called me tree girl? Did she know about Hoor? I composed myself and promised myself I would be polite. I sat down. Silence fell as she studied me with her eyes. Then, at last, she opened her mouth.

“You look so much like him.”

“Who?”

“Your grandfather, William.”

Did anyone besides me still remember my grandfather? I wondered as soon as I heard his name.
“Who are you?” I asked her.

“Just an old friend of the man they called a senile old fool.”

Why did her voice sound so broken?

“So, what do you intend to do about the trees?” she asked, turning her third cup of tea in her hands. Then she fixed her gaze on me and smiled—a knowing smile.

“And, more specifically, your grandfather’s bequest: Hoor.”

My eyes widened in astonishment that she knew about it. Yet I felt that if I asked her how she knew, she would not answer, so I kept my curiosity to myself.

“I have a meeting with Phantom in less than an hour,” I replied.

Her lips parted in a mocking laugh.

“Stop trying to convince people who have grown old believing that the grey world is perfection. Speak to the generations whose minds have not yet been polished smooth by numbers. William did not leave you Hoor so that you could keep her in your apartment, but so that you could begin with her.”

Her words were true. Deep down, I knew I would fail at that meeting.

The woman picked up her coat and prepared to leave. Before she went, I asked her something that had been on my mind for a long time. I felt she might be able to answer me.

“Excuse me, Grandma. May I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why did the generations before us struggle to bring us to where we are today?”

She pursed her lips into a smile that carried the wisdom of years.

“They were greedy for happiness and comfort.”

“And did we obtain them?” I raised my left eyebrow.

“Neither we nor they will ever understand them.”

It was a satisfying answer. Apart from my grandfather, she was the only person who had admitted that we were not happy.

I left the old woman and headed straight home. I rushed inside.

“What about your meeting for the trees? Have you finally given up?” Hoor asked sarcastically.
“No. I’ve simply found a more interesting way.”

“Wait. Why has your depression level dropped?”

“Nothing. I’ve decided to make the sky blue again, in my own way.”

“Why are you carrying Hoor?” Hoor asked.

“You’ll find out later.”

I ran outside and hurriedly ordered a car, heading towards the largest gathering place for children and young people. Naturally, my only option was the amusement city, especially its central park, where adults were forbidden to interfere. The park was a place for our creativity, so I found many people my age and younger there. They were intensely curious about Hoor. It seemed their instincts were still intact enough to guide them towards what their Creator, rather than humanity, had made right.

I asked them to help me, and they happily agreed.

Hoor was rather large, which explained the beads of sweat on our faces. But it was great fun. It was the first time I had enjoyed myself with people of my generation.

We finished, and Hoor stood among the artificial trees like a white water lily in muddy water, striking and enchanting.

The following day, the young people built a small fence around her. It did not hide her; instead, it highlighted and protected her. The children placed their toys around her to guard her.

The sign beside her told us of the future we wished for…

“One day, it will be blue again.”