Koran was lying on his bed, and he could sense a slight trembling in his hand, as if his heart knew what was about to occur before his mind did. In front of him was Timo, his eyes gleaming with their usual intensity, staring at him with a pure smile, as if they were about to engage in some invisible game, something that belonged only to them.
The space around them was quiet, and the morning sun crept in through an enormous window with a city view, illuminating the shiny metallic floors. Everything in the house was streamlined, hi-tech, a blend of Japanese, Asian, and American cities. every single thing had a hint of both technology and modernity fused.
Koran opened his lips to say something, to start the game they had planned since yesterday, when a voice, soft yet firm at the same time, sharply interrupted the stillness:
"Koran, Timo, come. breakfast is ready. You need to hurry and go to school."
Timo immediately lifted his head, his eyes wide with shock and a bit of annoyance, but he smiled and said in a relaxed manner:
"Okay,Ms. Deva!"
She was not his mother, but he was used to calling her so as a mark of respect for her status.
And as for Koran, he felt as if he was interrupted, as if the moment that they were about to enter the game froze, and they had to transition together into another reality. the breakfast reality of the morning, with all of its warm lights and scents of food that began filling the room.
Together, they stood up, Koran and Timo, and in him, a strange feeling crept in. it whispered that this morning did not mark the start of an everyday, but was a part of something more, a bigger game, whose rules he was yet to discover.
And when they reached the table, Koran saw that there was just one chair.
He cried out in surprise:
"Mom,where is Timo's chair?"
Ms. Deva hesitated for a second and then replied quietly:
"I'm sorry, I didn't know he would be joining us for dinner. I'll get something ready for him."
They finally took seats. There was a look of careful placement about everything on the table: the gleaming plates, the shimmering cutlery, and the small robots moving nimbly between them, carrying cups and plates without any human intervention. The smell of fried eggs and bread fresh from the oven blended and filled the place with an atmosphere of tranquility, despite tension still simmering deep within Koran.
Ms. Deva sat across from them, her eyes fixed on the big screen in the corner of the room. The news was displaying political problems, government disagreements, and diplomatic disputes. all of which seemed to weigh on her shoulders and make her hands tremble slightly as she held her cup.
Koran noticed immediately. There was something in the way she was sitting, in the manner she was gripping her spoon, that caused his heart to constrict. He could not keep quiet; he shifted his hand and hit the remote, and the television suddenly went off.
She said in a tight voice:
"Koran…
Koran tried to assuage Ms. Deva's fears, gently taking her hand in his as he said: "Don't consider these things, you'll go out of your mind. Let's just consider breakfast, this moment, not all the rest."
She looked at him with eyes he could not read, a mix of surprise, gratitude, and fear, before finally saying: "Koran, I'm going to visit the psychiatrist. You might not find me at home today."
He did not answer her and sat down to eat his breakfast slowly, glancing at her every once in a while, with this odd sensation… a sensation that what was happening on the news would not affect them here, in this house, within these high-tech walls. But, simultaneously, he could not overlook that the outside world was pressing on everyone, even on resilient people like her.
They breakfasted in haste, and Timo was laughing, grappling with his usual morning zest, as Koran dipped his hand into his pocket, trying to gather his thoughts together before going out.
Timo bade Ms. Deva farewell: "Bye, Ms. Deva!"
She smiled at him, then at Koran, a faint smile on her lips, as if to wish: "Good luck today."
They stepped out of the house together, cool air in their lungs, the modern city spreading out before them like a vibrant painting. The streets were clean, the buildings glassy and mirrored, self-driving cars slid effortlessly from lane to lane, small aircraft glided between buildings… everything was futuristic, moving, alive, as though the city itself was inhaling with them.
Their fingertips brushed against the slightly cool morning air. Before them lay the city, a living painting, with everything incredibly modern and well-ordered: glass skyscrapers reflecting sunlight, driverless cars moving around, small planes flying between skyscrapers, and interactive advertisement screens displaying changing messages and images. Everything seemed as if the future was now here.
As they were walking, a young child passed by them, laughing: "Who reads newspapers anymore these days?"
Koran smiled to himself, completely concurring with him. He was observing his environment and was thinking: everything has turned digital, even news is no longer on paper.
That's when he saw the old man, the newspaper vendor, calling out to them in a low yet piercing voice: "Hey you two! Newspaper?"
Timo snorted: "Newspapers? Who reads newspapers anymore! It's all on our phones!"
The old man smiled gently, a breeze rustling through old pages: "Oh yes… everything on your phones, yes indeed." Then he lifted a newspaper, brushing some dust off it, and spoke in a voice quite close to a whisper: "But the words written here… are real. They cannot be a lie."
Koran watched his hand as he carefully turned the pages, as if he were watching some ancient ritual; he had a strange reverence for every word inscribed.
He asked in a quiet but curious voice: "But why do you sell them, if no one cares?"
The man smiled mysteriously, a secretive glint lighting up in his eyes, and said: "I'd rather be the one telling the truth in a world of lies."
Timo laughed, taking it for a joke: "Do you think you're the hero of the world or what?"
The man was not annoyed, but smiled all the more, his eyes locked only on Koran: "You're still too young to see the world the way I see it." Then he suddenly lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret with him: "Remember… not everything you see is real. Sometimes your eyes and your mind are deceiving you." He looked at Koran and went on: "Take your friend here, for example. Is he here, or an illusion? Are you even real? You'll never know."
Koran was silent for a moment; he felt something settling inside him, as if the words were making a straight cut in his mind, a lesson that would need time to be fully learned.
Timo pulled on his arm: "Let's go, we'll be late for school… Don't listen to him, he talks too much!"
Koran inquired in a feeble voice before leaving: "What's your name?"
The man laughed, and his voice briefly resembled the wind through ribs: "You already know me." Koran looked perplexed until the man laughed as if he were joking: "I'm kidding, call me the Old Man. Here, kid, take this newspaper. It might come in useful."
He took it from him and smiled inwardly; he had the sense that a strange encounter like this one, uncomplicated as it was, carried some message he couldn't yet decode, something that planted patience, or perhaps curiosity, in a mind that didn't know how to wait.
They went on, the city all around them on all sides, its noise, moving images, and colors, but the old man's words still echoed inside Koran, building something silent that seemed more important than all the glass skyscrapers or phone screens around them.
He would have liked to read the newspaper, but Timo stopped him: "Leave that trash alone. Don't you know what the First Kingdom is famous across the universe for… for its lunatics!" And he threw the newspaper away.
They reached the school, and Koran was watching all this with his usual amazement. The building was gigantic, its walls consisting of clear glass reflecting the sun's rays in a dazzling way, and metallic components gleamed like they were specially polished to defy time. Large interactive screens displayed messages and advertisements, and even the floor gleamed with narrow lines designating paths for pedestrians and small vehicles within the school.
Guards stood at the gates, their face implacable, their black clothing impeccably tailored, their eyes focused as if examining every molecule of life. Koran noticed that some of the students stopped at the sight of them, others whispering to one another in fear. Personally, he felt a kind of inspection, as if his deepest was being measured before he had so much as entered.
Timo grasped his hand and whispered: "Don't worry, we'll get through this together."
Koran smiled silently at him, trying to take in all the details, all the edges, sounds, and shining light surrounding them.
They entered the school side by side, each step producing a muted echo on the metallic floor. Some of the other students scurried around them, trying not to glance at the guards, others eyeing Koran with a mixture of curiosity and terror in their gaze.
In the entrance hall, one of the teachers suddenly addressed everyone loudly, her voice stern and solemn, in order to get everyone's attention: "I have an important announcement you all must listen to."
They all stopped; the room fell silent, even footsteps and writing on the interactive screens ceased. Koran felt something strange entering him… a feeling that whatever was about to be said wouldn't be a regular announcement, but the beginning of something more.
He looked around and noticed the students' faces tense, whispering some, sitting on the edges of their seats cautiously, and the light projected on the walls making everything appear starker and more mysterious.
Koran knew that this announcement, routine as it had sounded, would be the beginning of a new chapter in his days… and perhaps in his entire life.