It has been two hundred years since humans discovered that they were living in a simulation. The city pulses with life, vibrant colours bringing people into a warm embrace. Streets are lined with holographic trees programmed to sway as if in a gentle breeze, their leaves fall to the ground and slowly disappear. The bright artificial sunlight reflects across the towering steel buildings and shines through their thick glass windows. Droplets of sunlight happily warm the bustling humans below. 

A soft hum of digital birds announces the morning's arrival, they chirp to wake the humans at the same time every day, without fail of course. The people step outside their homes, illuminated by their own devices, blissfully ignorant of the world flickering to life around them, displaying updates and personal advertisements. Reality and illusion walk hand in hand, harmonious, its citizens content to move through their the city in a daze of satisfaction. 

Margot sits alone in a cafe, stirring a steaming cup of perfectly crafted coffee. Her shoulders are tight and her gaze is distant. She does not pay attention to the flashing of the surrounding billboards.

“Taste the experience of a real apple!”                                                                                                                                                                                    “New intimacy supplement to keep you loved up for days!” The holographic signs shimmer above the crowds of people weaving through the streets. Lola arrives moments later, clutching shopping bags containing boxes of flavour pills and a small glowing object. She pauses in front of Margot, hesitating before she sits down, casting a tall, shaky shadow over the table. “You didn’t order me anything?” She says lightly but there is an edge of disappointment in her voice. “I didn’t know when you’d get here.” Margot finally looks up, her expression blank. Lola shrugs, “It’s fine, I’ll grab something.” She stands again, dropping her smile as she turns to the counter.  The coffee shop robots distribute orders seamlessly, each one perfectly crafted to the consumers' specifications. In the distance, there is the sound of children racing through the streets, their laughter echoes; it was proven many years ago to boost one’s mood. They play with their digital pets that run through their legs and offer their paws when asked. Their parents allow them to dart off out of sight to greet their friends and check out the latest holograms, consoled by surveillance devices allowing them to watch their child in the form of a flashing dot on their screen, knowing exactly where they are at all times. A little boy rushes past the window next to Margot and Lola, his see-through dog racing into the park on the other side of the road. The park is a sanctuary, an escape from the overwhelming sounds of the city. Margot spends a lot of her free time there, Lola never joins her. It has become increasingly popular, with its pixelated flowers, never wilted, always perfectly vivid in colour. They emit a buzzing sound to replicate that of bees, even though nowadays only the memory of bees lives on in the digital archives. 

Lola sips her coffee, licking at the foamy moustache that has formed above her lip. “Look I got the caramel flavoured cream this time. Supposed to taste like the real thing, just no calories.” She pushes the cup towards Margot, trying to catch her eye. “It’s not real though,” Margot says quietly, stirring her coffee without drinking it, her gaze fixed on the swirling liquid as if it holds some secret. Lola’s smile falters. “Nothing is,” she replies after a beat, her voice soft. She looks away into the artificial sunlight that shines on-to the cafe floor.

As the afternoon becomes evening, the colours of the sky shift to a gradient of orange and pink. Many humans enjoy the simulated glow, watching the sun’s warm light fade away. Coffee drinkers spill onto the streets, followed by the smell of hot espresso and sweet pastries. Margot and Lola veer off from the crowd, walking side by side, an invisible wall between them. Lola glances sideways, Margot looks forward, saying nothing. She finds her mind empty most of the time. She can’t remember if the simulation made her this way, she has no desire to find out. As the cafes close the bars open their doors. The air fills with sounds of laughter mingled with clinking glass and delicate swirls of cigarette smoke accompanied by conversations flowing between the mundane and debates on whether there is any meaning in a purely fabricated existence. Even more laughter swims in the air. Margot and Lola continue walking.

Their apartment glows in the distance. Inside the silence makes the air feel weighted. Margot drops her bag on the side and looks out the window, taking in the shimmering skyline, yet numb to its grandeur. Lola lingers for a moment, watching her partner, trying to source some devotion or admiration. Failing, she retreats to another room. The white noise of the city is their only companion.

The night consumes the city in a shower of lights, soft orbs lighting the darkness, floating above the streets, following each human towards their homes. Other windows light up with snapshots of life within. Inside, around each table, Margot observes as people gather to share stories of the day just past and hopes of what will come tomorrow. A simmering jealousy bubbles inside her, Lola often tries to find a common interest between them, something that makes them compatible. There has to be something, this can’t be it. No one is alone, as each person is assigned a compatible match when they turn 21 to prevent loneliness and encourage family life. Each cosy room is decorated with digital, ever-changing art and comfy chairs adapted to its owner's body and preferred sitting position. Margot prefers the windowsill; she watches as their faces are illuminated by their glowing devices. Her reflection begins to blend in with the cityscape, as if she too, were just another fragment of the simulation.

“Margot are you still awake?” Lola whispers rolling over to face her partner. “I’m sleeping, Lola, what’s up?” Margot’s tone is flat as she turns to face the wall. “I can’t sleep,” Lola’s voice cracks. She has been tossing and turning for an hour, her mind racing in the dark. Margot huffs, turning to face her, the frustration clear in her voice, “What’s wrong, Lola?” Hesitating, Lola blurts, “Do you think we’re in love? Do you love me?” Margot groans, “For God’s sake Lola, of course I do. The system says I do. The system never lies.” Lola sits up in bed. She pulls the covers around her, the ones they’d chosen together not long after their match. She glances at Margot, her mind buzzing like the bees in the park, filled with doubts. When Lola turned 21, she was paired with Margot. She was thrilled. She recognised her, had seen her around. Margot had always seemed distant, but she was intriguing to Lola. Margot was quiet, words like withdrawn and reserved came to mind. Margot’s eyes were like abandoned wells, lost possessions floating in the darkness, no way to get them out. Months into their relationship, Margot rarely meets Lola’s gaze; her responses are cold. Lola searches for a connection but is starting to doubt if it is really there.

“Do you love me because the system says so?” Lola already knows she won’t get the response she wants, neither the one she needs. Margot stares at the ceiling. “The system’s never wrong; if it says were in love, we are.”                                                                                                                 “That’s not what I asked,” Lola presses “Do you feel it?” Margot glances at her bedside table; her gaze falls on the flavour pill dispenser. She wishes it would dispense patience. She closes her eyes, exhaling sharply, “Lola we are in love. That’s all there is to it.” Lola shuffles back down into bed, wrapping her arms around Margot. She remembers the robot barista that morning, shiny and swift, the smooth movements that no human could replicate, flawlessly crafting her coffee as if reading her mind. It was beyond her, she knows that. If machines could master coffee, why couldn’t they decode love?                                         

“You’re making me too hot” Margot mutters, pulling away. Her irritation ripples through the silence. How did she end up with Lola? Too cheery, too clingy, always needing reassurance. Margot had barely noticed her before the match, nothing special she thought. The holographic clock ticks and tocks in the silence, like a bomb waiting to explode. It bathes them in a dim light, casting shadows on their faces, Lola hates the way it distorts the room. “Margot” Lola murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she is not allowed to say this, “Do you think the system has ever been wrong?”                                                                                                                                                                                                                           “I don’t know Lola; you have the world’s knowledge in your pocket why ask me?”                                                                                                              “A robot can’t tell me if you love me or not!” Lola snaps, she leaps out of bed, unsure what she’s actually doing. “It scares me” she whispers, barely audible, backing away from the bed. Margot doesn’t want to respond, her face a mask of indifference, her mind is blank, but Lola isn’t finished; chest heaving. “You’re like a robot yourself, I might as well have one of those baristas in bed with me. You scare me.” Lola stares at her partner. Silently, she starts to cry. Margot doesn’t flinch. “Grow up, Lola.”                                                                                                                  “I’m going to sleep on the sofa,” she replies, hot tears streaming down her face. She snatches the blanket that lay strewn on the end of the bed, the one she had knitted for Margot. Dragging it downstairs, she curls up on the sofa, her tears soaking into the wool. With every sob, with every gasping inhale she smells Margot’s perfume. She is desperate to feel something, she knows it won’t come.

In the suffocating dark she holds onto hope that she would wake up to a notification: “We are sorry, Lola Fontaine, we made a mistake; Margot Carter is not your match. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.”