Aya

Metal Flowers The year 2147. In the megalopolis of Neo-Tokyo, where skyscrapers pierced the clouds and where colored neon lights illuminated the eternal night, a small flower shop still resisted modernity. Aya, the last florist in the city, maintained her little corner of nature with infinite patience. In a world where everything was artificial, her flowers were real, fragile, and precious. Few people still came to buy bouquets, preferring synthetic flowers that never faded. Yet, she continued, out of love for the ephemeral beauty of the living. One evening, while she was watering her roses under the pale glow of the holographic panels, the bell on the door rang. She turned around and saw a man enter. Well, not a man… an android. He was tall, dressed in a dark coat. His face was almost human, but his eyes, an electric blue, betrayed his artificial nature. “Can I help you?” Aya asked, intrigued. The android looked around the shop, his gaze settling on a white lily. “I would like to buy a flower,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. Aya frowned. Androids did not buy flowers. They did not need them. “For whom?” “For me.” A silence fell. Aya hesitated, then delicately picked the lily and handed it to her. The android took it cautiously, as if afraid of breaking it. “Why a flower?” she finally asked. The android looked up at her. “I want to understand.” “Understand what?” — What it’s like… to love something that can die. Aya was speechless. From that day on, he came back often. His name was ECHO-7 (echo for short) an advanced model designed to learn and evolve. Little by little, he began to help her in the shop, observing her gestures, asking questions about flowers, about nature, about the passage of time. One evening, while she was arranging a bouquet, he asked her: — Aya… what do you feel when a flower fades? She sighed. — Sadness. But also gratitude. Because it existed, even briefly.