Noel stood outside a sleek glass building downtown, her hoodie pulled tight against the wind. The leasing agent smiled too wide, gesturing toward the lobby with polished hands.
"This unit has quartz countertops, smart lighting, and a rooftop pool. You'll love it."
Noel stepped inside, boots squeaking against the marble floor. The air smelled like lemon and money. The walls were white, the furniture minimalist, the silence sterile.
She followed the agent up three flights, past a gym with chrome machines and a lounge with velvet chairs. The apartment was bright—floor-to-ceiling windows, stainless steel appliances, a rainfall shower.
"Rent starts at $2,500," the agent said cheerfully.
Noel blinked. "A month?"
"Yes. Utilities not included."
She stared at the space. It was beautiful. Cold. Empty.
"I just lost my job," she muttered. "I don't even have a car anymore."
The agent tilted her head. "We do offer a move-in special—first month half off."
Noel nodded slowly, then turned to leave.
The next place was smaller, tucked between a coffee shop and a yoga studio. The walls were painted sage green, the kitchen compact but modern. A young man in a blazer showed her around.
"This one's $1,750," he said. "It's our most affordable unit."
Noel ran her fingers along the counter. It was smooth, cool. The bedroom was barely big enough for a full-size bed. The closet was a joke.
She looked out the window. Across the street, a man pushed a shopping cart full of blankets. A woman sat on the curb, braiding her daughter's hair.
"This used to be a community," Noel said quietly.
The man smiled. "It still is. Just... evolving."
She didn't respond.
He handed her a brochure. "Let me know if you're interested."
She folded it in half and shoved it into her pocket.
Noel sat on a bench outside the leasing office, head in her hands. Her breath fogged in the air. Her boots were worn. Her bank account still empty.
"$1,750. $2,500. For what?" she whispered. "A box with white walls and fake plants?"
She thought about her parents' house—pink tiles, creaky floors, the mural in the hallway. It wasn't perfect. But it was hers. It had soul.
These apartments felt like showrooms. Places to sleep, not to live.
She pulled out her phone, checked listings again. Studio: $1,600. One-bedroom: $2,200. Shared basement unit: $1,400 with no windows.
She closed the app.
Her chest ached.
She didn't want luxury. She wanted safety. She wanted dignity. She wanted a place where she could cry without being watched, where she could heal without being priced out.
But the city didn't care.
Evening , 3:30pm
Noel had spent the entire day walking through apartment complexes—each one more polished, more sterile, more expensive than the last. Her feet ached. Her spirit sagged. The numbers blurred together: $1,200 for a studio with no windows. $2,400 for a one-bedroom with "smart" everything. $3,100 for a unit with a wine fridge and a view of a parking garage.
She stood in the lobby of the last complex on her list, a towering building with gold accents and a concierge desk that looked like it belonged in a hotel. The air smelled like eucalyptus and ambition.
The leasing agent, a young woman in a navy blazer and heels too high for comfort, smiled brightly. "Ready for the tour?"
Noel nodded, clutching the folder of brochures she'd collected throughout the day. Her hoodie felt out of place here. Her exhaustion even more so.
They walked past a wall of mirrors, down a hallway lined with abstract art, toward the elevator.
As they turned the corner, Noel bumped into someone—hard enough to make her stumble.
"Oh—" she started, looking up.
And froze.
The man she'd collided with stood tall, about 5'9", his frame muscular and poised like he'd been carved from stone. His skin was a rich, dark chestnut, smooth and radiant under the lobby lights. His eyes—grey like storm clouds—met hers with quiet intensity. His fade haircut was white like snow, contrasting beautifully against his complexion.
His face was regal, sharp cheekbones and a jawline that looked sculpted by centuries. There was something ancient in his features—something that whispered of Egyptian royalty and with a dash of Nigerian strength. He wore a black turtleneck and tailored slacks, his presence commanding without effort.
Noel's breath caught.
"He's breathtaking," she thought. "Beautiful. Unique. Just... different."
She couldn't look away.
Before she could apologize, the man raised his hand gently.
"Don't worry about it," he said, voice smooth and low. "It's fine."
He gave her a small nod, then walked past, disappearing into the elevator without another word.
Noel stood frozen, heart thudding, gaze lingering on the closed elevator doors.
The leasing agent cleared her throat. "Shall we continue?"
Noel blinked, nodding slowly.
But her thoughts were elsewhere.
She didn't know his name. She didn't know his story. But something about him had shifted the air around her—like a thread had been tugged in her chest, pulling her toward something she couldn't name yet.
As she followed the agent into the apartment, she barely noticed the quartz counters or the rainfall shower.
All she could think about was the man with storm-colored eyes and snow-white hair.
The apartment tour had ended. Noel stood in the hallway, clutching the folder of brochures she'd collected throughout the day. Her feet ached. Her spirit sagged. The numbers—$1,200, $2,500, $3,100—blurred together like static. She leaned against the wall, trying to catch her breath, when she heard footsteps approaching.
She looked up.
It was him.
The man from the lobby.
He stopped a few feet away, tilting his head slightly.
"Now you look familiar to me," he said, voice smooth. "Are you still looking for a job?"
Noel blinked. "Huh? We met before?"
He nodded. "I saw you from the window. Passenger seat of my partner's SUV. He was the one notifying you about your property being demolished in three days."
Noel's breath caught. Her chest tightened. "That was you?"
He nodded again, calm. "I remember your face. You looked... devastated."
She swallowed hard, eyes burning. "Is there anything I can do to keep that house?"
He stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "The city is evolving. The world is evolving. And human beings—especially those of us who've been left behind—have to learn to adjust."
She frowned. "Adjust to what? Losing everything?"
"Adjust to change," he said. "To new systems. New economies. That house is surrounded by decay. Vacant lots. Drug houses. It's not safe. It's not sustainable."
"But it's mine," she whispered.
He nodded. "I know. But sometimes holding on to the past keeps us from stepping into the future."
Noel sighed, shoulders slumping. "I'm still looking for a job."
He studied her for a moment, then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black business card.
"You can work for me," he said. "As an assistant at my company. We design and distribute mini robots for retirement homes, hospitals, QuickTrip gas stations, and hotels across America."
She stared at the card. "Robots?"
He nodded. "I'll start you off at $20.00 an hour. Full-time. Benefits after ninety days."
Noel took the card slowly, fingers trembling. "How do these AI robots benefit the human race?"
He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "People's attention spans are declining. Some can't pass a simple drug test or physical. Others complain about pay, hours, tasks. Companies are tired of the high turnover. Tired of excuses."
She listened, heart thudding.
"So now," he continued, "they're investing into AI. Robots programmed to do specific tasks—stock shelves, deliver meds, clean rooms, greet customers. No sick days. No attitude. No payroll taxes."
Noel's eyes narrowed. "So you replace people."
"We replace inefficiency," he said. "We businessmen save money. We streamline operations. And we don't have to pay robots—at least not yet."
She looked down at the card. It felt heavy in her hand.
"I don't know how I feel about that," she said.
He smiled faintly. "You don't have to feel anything yet. Just show up Monday morning in professional attire.
Let the future introduce itself."
Noel stood there, the hallway quiet around them. The air felt charged—like something was changing. She didn't know this man. Didn't know his world. But something about him felt like a door opening.
She looked up at him again.
"Alright. I'll give it a try.," she said.
He nodded once. "That's all I ask."
Then he turned and walked away, footsteps echoing down the hall.
Noel stood still, business card in hand, heart pounding.
She didn't know what came next.
But for the first time in days, she felt like maybe—just maybe—there was a next.
It was 11:00 AM friday morning.
When Noel stepped out of the rideshare and onto the polished sidewalk in front of the apartment complex. The sky was pale blue, the air crisp with early October chill. She carried two small boxes—one with her documents, the other with four pairs of clothes folded neatly. That was all she owned now. Her social security card, high school diploma, welding certification, birth certificate. Noel had never been much of a shopper. She lived light.
The leasing office had been surprisingly kind. They offered No down payment. Two months of rent covered to Her and new customers that had a credit score of 650 or over. This had unlocked the door to a place she never thought she'd afford.
She stepped into her new unit, the door clicking shut behind her. The space was quiet, clean, and modern. She sat her boxes down near the entrance and walked slowly through the apartment, taking it all in.
The bathroom was painted a soft light orange, warm and inviting. The bathtub, toilet, and sink were all matte black—sleek and bold against the LED ceiling light that hummed gently above. Noel ran her fingers along the sink's edge, feeling the cool ceramic.
Her bedroom was spacious—big enough for a king-size bed and a 30-inch desk. The closet was walk-in, with mirrored doors and soft lighting.
She opened it, stepped inside, and laughed softly to herself.
"Looks like I'll only be using one side of this closet."
Noel turned, startled. She hadn't expected anyone.
Floating just outside her door was a small robot—sleek, silver, and hovering at eye level. It held a pink file folder in its mechanical hands, its digital eyes blinking softly.
Noel opened the door.
"Greetings, Noel," the robot chirped. "I am Ava02, your personal assistant. I brought you a few brochures of some restaurants, our complex gym, movie theater, and shopping centers nearby."
Noel stepped aside, letting Ava float in. She perched herself on the kitchen counter, watching the robot with cautious curiosity.
"For restaurants," Ava continued, "we have soul food, three pizza shops, five Chinese restaurants, one Thai restaurant, Golden Corral, and a Korean restaurant. Majority are carry-out only, but they do offer limited seating for groups of five or more."
Noel raised an eyebrow. "That's a lot of options."
"Our gym is free for residents," Ava added. "We have both indoor and outdoor pools, each 60 feet long. There's also a scan-and-go market downstairs for quick snacks and hot food from our kitchen."
Noel reached out and took the folder, cutting Ava off gently.
"I'll read the rest, thank you, Ava."
Ava spun once in excitement, then floated toward the door.
"If you need anything," she said, turning back, "download the Ava app on your phone and press 'Call.' I will assist you with anything. Have a great morning."
Noel nodded. "You too."
Ava exited to the stairway, her soft hum fading down the hall.
Noel walked to the kitchen island and opened the folder. Inside were neatly organized brochures—maps, menus, gym schedules, movie listings. She spread them out across the counter, scanning each one slowly.
She didn't feel settled yet. Not fully. But the apartment was quiet. Safe. Warm.
She ran her fingers over the edge of the soul food menu, eyes lingering on the photo of collard greens and cornbread.
This was a fresh start for her.