A short story from a near-future we’re already building

Every Sunday, Layla walks three blocks through the city to visit her mother, June.

It’s a quiet ritual in a world that’s grown louder—drones overhead, screens on every corner. Layla still carries groceries in her arms. Still buys the same tea: jasmine and orange peel, just like her mother brewed when she was little.

June doesn’t always remember who Layla is.

But she always reacts to the tea.