The sun is shining through the big windows of our apartment, and around the table sit everyone: my great-grandparents, my grandparents, my parents, my older brother—he is two years older than me—and of course, me.

In the middle of the table stands the thing.
My birthday cake.

We have already cut it, and I am eating my first piece. Strawberry. Of course strawberry.
My mom makes the best strawberry cake in the world. No one else even comes close. The strawberries are fresh, the sponge is soft, and the cream tastes like summer.

While I chew, people are talking—about the world, as usual.

My great-grandfather clears his throat. He tells stories from the past. From the time when coal and nuclear power plants pushed the world into a climate crisis.
People knew, he says. They really knew. And still, so little happened.

There were protests. Demonstrations against nuclear power. Police taking people away just because they wanted the world to stay livable.

Wow, I think.
I can’t imagine that at all.

Today, in the year 2086, everything is calm. The air is clear. The sky is blue. It feels normal—but it wasn’t normal back then.

Now Grandma speaks.
She talks about the COVID pandemic. About how suddenly everything stopped. How people started to dream again.

Wind power. Solar energy. Hope.

“For a while, people truly believed everything would change,” she says.
But then governments, car manufacturers, and many others wanted things to stay the same.

I slide my plate a little closer.
To be honest, I would really like to open my presents now.
But I stay seated.

“Mom, could I have another piece?” I ask carefully.

She smiles and cuts me a second piece of strawberry cake.
I keep listening. And eating.

Now it’s Dad’s turn.
He talks about the time after the wars in Ukraine and Iran.
European countries wanted to become independent from oil and gas—really independent.

It was an innovative time, he says.
Windows that produced electricity. Building facades that generated energy. Road surfaces that created power.

Mom interrupts him—like she always does—and adds that since then, CO₂ emissions have been negative.

“Obviously,” my brother says. “Every kid knows that.”

Then he looks at me.
“Can we talk about something else? It’s Lena’s birthday.”

Finally.

I gather my courage.
“Mom,” I ask, “when do I get my presents?”

Mom claps her hands.
“Oh yes, my sweetheart!”

We stand up and walk to the gift table. Mom has decorated it with flowers. It looks like a little piece of art.
Everyone congratulates me, hugs me, kisses me.
I feel happy and safe and full.

I have a wonderful family.

Then I’m allowed to unwrap my gifts.

The colorful paper is self-adhesive. No annoying tape anymore.
The biggest present is from my grandparents.

I tear it open.

A Lego castle. With knights. With dragons.
Exactly the one I wished for.

And it’s not made of plastic—but from some kind of new, plant-based material.
I don’t really know how it works.
I’m only 11. I don’t know much about chemistry.

From my parents I get a red bicycle. It shines beautifully.
From my brother I get the new book in my favorite series—about the Olichs, who once lived on a giant garbage dump.

Garbage dumps don’t exist anymore.
Everything is recyclable or turns back into humus.
I don’t understand that either—but I really hope my bicycle doesn’t turn into soil.

Soon I’ll ride through the city with my best friend Susi.
We have wide bike lanes everywhere and bike playgrounds.
Cars haven’t been allowed in the city for a very long time. They stay outside.

The city belongs to us.

We only have to watch out for buses—but they drive on separate roads.

I love my city.

Suddenly I think of my great-grandparents again.
They look very old. Their hands shake a little.
I am so grateful they are still here.

They visit us every week and bring fruit.
And of course—strawberries.

This year they gave me clothes:
a colorful skirt with spring flowers, matching socks, a pink shirt, and a cool cap to protect my head from the sun.

The sun is strong today.
I get headaches easily. My doctor says it’s some kind of allergy.
Since the air became so clean, many people are more sensitive to sunlight.

I don’t mind.

I’m outside every day.
On streets that aren’t streets anymore—but green paths, with meadows, trees, and small streams.
The gray asphalt roads are gone.

“Lena,” Dad calls, “come on! Let’s try your bike!”

I quickly put on my new clothes.
Then I run outside, laughing.

It is the most beautiful birthday of my life.