March 29, 2078
The sun hung low over the university gardens, casting long shadows across the bench where Adam waited. When Marie finally appeared, walking through the dappled light beneath the old oaks, he felt the familiar flutter—the same one he'd felt the first time she smiled at him across the library desk three years ago.
She worked in the literature department now, but some things hadn't changed. Those brown eyes still held galaxies. That energy still crackled around her like summer lightning. She was everything he wasn't: vibrant, impulsive, utterly alive.
Adam: "You won't believe what happened at the airport."
He told her about the flight, the running, the employees who couldn't understand why anyone would refuse to be tracked. When he reached the part about the woman muttering "Disgusting, these backward people," Marie laughed—a sound that still made the world feel possible.
Adam: "Marie... are you still hesitant about marriage?"
The laughter died. She looked away, up at the sky, as if searching for answers among the clouds. A long sigh escaped her.
Marie: "Not hesitant, Adam. Afraid."
He reached for her hand. "Afraid? That's the worst reason. Doubt I understand. Fear? No. Never."
Marie: "Do you know how many marriages happened in this country last year? Seventy-five. In ten years, seventy-five. Can you imagine? I don't want to be one of seventy-five. I don't want to be the backward one, the relic, the girl who still believes in fairy tales."
Adam felt the old anger rising—the same anger he'd once directed at his brother. He forced it down. "You're not backward. You're letting them define you."
Marie: "My friends were talking the other day. Their adventures, their lovers, their freedom. Then they turned to me." She pointed at herself with both hands, as if presenting evidence. "Backward. Waiting for marriage. No sex life, no experiences, never seeing my boyfriend. One of them said I'm threatening the country's identity. Because marriage is 'religious' and 'spiritual' and deepens divides. I can't bear it, Adam. I can't."
He placed his hand on her shoulder, gently. "You know what I spoke about at the conference? This. Exactly this."
FLASHBACK: The Conference, Geneva
Adam stood at the podium, his voice carrying across the vast hall.
"When news spread that I was marrying my colleague at the University of Madrid, the media came calling. TV stations, radio shows, websites—all wanting to know my 'story.'" He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Has marriage become so strange in our land that it's now a story worth telling?"
Laughter rippled through the audience. Polite. Uncomfortable.
"My girlfriend faces harassment. Ridicule. Things no one should endure." He struck the podium with his palm—a sound that cut through the murmuring. "Societies are consuming each other. The threat comes from within. I'm ringing the alarm bell today. Not for me. Not for her. For humanity."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"In 2015, France—Europe's leader in birth rates—announced a 2% decline. At the time, no one worried. Everyone was obsessed with population explosion. But look at us now. Birth rates collapsing. Homosexuality and gender transition approaching 75% in some communities." Disapproving whistles. He raised his hand. "I'm not accusing anyone. I'm talking about the refusal to marry. The refusal to have children."
"The world gave everyone their rights. Where does it stop? The problem isn't coexistence anymore. We might go extinct before we learn to coexist."
Back to the garden.
Marie: "What can you do, Adam? It's a phase. You can't force people."
Adam: "No one decided anything. Remember your friend Maya? Did she choose the boyfriend who kidnapped her? The one who demanded ransom? She met him through a dating site—recommended by algorithms. Marketing plans. Artificial intelligence. It was hypnosis, Marie. Pure hypnosis."
"I'm not saying force anyone. I'm saying let those who think like me speak. Give us the same platforms. The same reach. Because this trajectory? It leads to extinction. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next year. But soon."
Marie stood abruptly. "Let's go. I have work."
Adam: "Go, my love. That's what I admire about you—juggling a thousand things, even fitting your boyfriend into the cracks of your busy day."
She kissed his cheek and walked away, disappearing into the lengthening shadows.
Marie had been born in the heart of Madrid, into a family that was stable once—before her father fractured it. Her childhood was restless, though her studies never suffered. She collected knowledge like others collected stamps, and technology was her natural habitat. The internet was where she belonged.
She left home young, chasing something better.
Perhaps that's why Adam drew her in. He was fifteen years older—stable, safe, solid. Everything her father wasn't. In his arms, she found shelter. But shelter isn't adventure. And somewhere deep inside, she craved the storm.
September 2078
The apartment was quiet except for Ed Sheeran's voice, soft and familiar: "Thinking Out Loud." Adam sipped his coffee, letting the music wash over him, when his phone vibrated.
Adam: "Hello?"
Marc: "Mr. Adam. It's Marc. From the 'My Son' association."
Adam smiled, turning down the music. "Of course, sir. I remember."
Marc: "I'm calling about something serious."
Adam: "Tell me."
Marc: "The government is hiding news of a town that's dying. The youngest resident is sixty-five. The youth have all left. The maternity ward is closed, bolted shut. We're watching the first town die, Adam. And no one's saying a word."
Adam set down his coffee. "What are you saying?"
Marc: "There are proposals. Some want immigration. Some oppose it. But the catastrophe is bigger than one town. There are empty places everywhere now. Whole regions without children."
Adam: "I'll come to Geneva."
Marc: "I'll be waiting."
Adam ended the call and stood at the window, watching the city blur into twilight. His reflection stared back at him—a man who'd spent years warning about this moment. Now that it was here, he felt nothing but cold.
The next morning, he walked to his office through fallen leaves—yellow and orange, crunching beneath his feet. Autumn in Madrid. Beautiful. Dying.
"I must be dreaming," he whispered to himself. "A nightmare."
He sat at his desk, head in his hands. Was this the beginning of something worse?
Marie found him like that.
Marie: "Adam? What's wrong?"
Adam: "Switzerland is hiding a town with no births. The youngest person there is sixty. The youth are gone. The maternity ward is closed."
Marie laughed softly, touching his nose playfully. "Don't exaggerate, love. We used to worry about overpopulation. Fourteen billion people—that was the fear. This is good news."
Adam: "We're going to Geneva."
Marie: "Okay, my love."
At the airport, Adam scrolled news on his glasses while Marie chatted on her phone's hologram. Two different worlds, waiting for the same plane.
Geneva greeted them with clean streets and perfect weather. They took a driverless taxi—just choose your destination, and it calculates the fare.
Adam: "See how far we've come?"
Marie: "Driverless cars. Old technology. But wonderful. Fast. Safe."
Adam stared out the window. "Fast. That's what threatens the world. Speed."
They turned away from each other, lost in separate thoughts.
Marc's office was a time capsule. Dim light. The smell of old wood. Bookshelves crammed with paper volumes. Pens, papers, photographs—no screens, no holograms, no visible technology.
Adam: "My God. It's like stepping into 1999."
Marc smiled. "Inherited from my grandparents. Eighties and nineties. I still grow my own food. Still eat from the garden."
Adam walked through the space, touching everything. "You're lucky, Mr. Marc."
Marie: "An iPad 2? You kept this? It's a masterpiece!"
Marc: "Nostalgia, madam. It captures me."
Adam: "Oh—forgive me. This is Marie. My colleague. Perhaps my future wife."
Marie's eyes darkened. "What does marriage matter? Whether I'm your wife or not—what changes?"
Silence. The kind before a storm.
Marc cleared his throat. "Perhaps we focus on what matters?"
Adam: "These aren't lovers' quarrels, Marc. They're ideological battles. Ways of life."
Marie: "If you keep talking, I'll take the first plane home."
Marc: "Enough. Both of you. This isn't appropriate."
Adam: "You've terrified me, Marc. Is it really that serious?"
Marc leaned back, his face grave. "More than thirty years ago, I noticed birth rates dropping. In Switzerland. In Europe. I warned people. No one listened. They mocked me. Called me paranoid." He paused. "I have a son and daughter. My daughter lives in Russia. My son..." He hesitated. "My son is here. He's transgender."
Adam and Marie exchanged glances.
"I don't fight him. But I grieve. No one will carry my name after me. My family ends with my son."
He smiled—a sad, dignified smile.
Marie: "I'm so sorry, Mr. Marc."
Marc: "No, no. Everyone's free. Let's see where freedom takes us. After my son's transition, I founded this association. To encourage family. To remind people that raising children is joy—joy this generation has forgotten."
Adam: "Your story moves me, sir. Your courage. Your openness."
Marc: "We must examine this from all angles. Humanity studies itself by its era. When Cain killed Abel, half of humanity perished. Our ancestors survived. Noah built an ark and survived. But Adam's human isn't Noah's human. Not Stalin's. Not Zuckerberg's. Not 2080's."
Adam nodded slowly. "True, sir. For all our science—we invented medicine, yes. But we also invented nuclear bombs."
He walked through the office, touching the relics of another time. "Even love is gone, Mr. Marc." Marie watched him, waiting. "The worst kinds of love from the past don't exist anymore. Love is a commodity now. A product with a marketing plan. You enter a dating site, scroll through profiles like shopping, choose, talk, date, discard. Repeat. It's destroyed taste. Destroyed character. And here we are, reaping what we sowed."
Marie: "Clearly you're an expert on these sites, Professor."
Marc smiled. "We can fix this."
Adam: "How? You just told me a town has emptied of people. I need to see it for myself."
The three drove in Marc's old car—a 2025 relic inherited from his father. As they approached the town, silence descended. Not the peaceful silence of countryside, but something heavier. A silence that pressed against eardrums.
Supply trucks moved through empty streets. Pharmacy drones entered houses. Doctors made house calls. The government had organized everything to prevent news from spreading.
Marc: "They're hiding it. And the media—strangely silent. I don't understand."
The car stopped. They stood before a building with a massive lock and chain securing its doors. The maternity ward. Closed.
Adam touched the cold metal, searching for words that wouldn't come.
Marie: "I know this place. It was always quiet here. But not like this. My God, what's happening?"
Marc: "Problems from ignorance start big and shrink. Problems from technology and culture? They start small and grow."
He pointed at shuttered cafes and shops. "These used to bustle. Now—a dead street." He turned on the radio.
"...The Transgender Association celebrates twenty years of recognition as a third gender, remembering the struggles of their predecessors who couldn't travel, couldn't access services because their documents didn't match..."
Adam struck his hands together. "Everyone got what they wanted. But tell me—how will we continue? How will the human race survive? Wars consume us. Homosexuals are the majority. Transgender numbers grow. No one marries—for economic reasons, cultural reasons, a thousand reasons."
Marc: "We must act. Talk to the government. Find a solution."
Marie: "What if we got married here, Adam?"
Silence. Then she hugged him from behind, wrapping her arms around him as he sat in the front seat.
Marc smiled. "A beautiful moment. Congratulations."
That evening, Marie stayed at Marc's office while Adam and Marc met a government representative.
Marc: "You know what's happening in City S."
Representative: "Is that why you wanted to meet? Everything's fine. Visit if you like."
Adam leaned forward. "Sir, we're not political. I'm a sociology researcher. This is a theoretical danger—but if we don't act, if we don't encourage marriage, incentivize births—"
Representative: "Don't worry. Others share your concerns. Better ones, perhaps. You'll hear good news soon. I must go."
When they returned to the office, Adam was shaking.
Adam: "What did he mean—'good news'?"
Marc: "I don't trust them. They'll probably turn to Africa. Open immigration when they need workers. Silence the opposition."
Adam: "Africa. Always paying the world's taxes."
Marie burst in, radiant. "Everything's perfect! We'll marry soon. Marc, I've arranged everything—a holographic hall, 3D portals, guests can attend from anywhere, materialize in the room, walk around, see everything from any angle. It's almost real!"
Adam stared at her. "My God."
Marc: "How will you throw flowers?"
Marie: "Do you think any of them want to marry?"
"We'll set a date later. Don't forget, Mr. Marc—you can attend from here. Just by using your personal portal."