Right now, I am sitting at my desk, doing my homework.

It is summer.

Outside, it is 40 degrees.

The ground shimmers, and the air feels hot and heavy.

Suddenly, the doorbell rings.

I tap the door viewer,

and the front door becomes transparent.

Oh! It’s my grandmother.

I open the door.

“Anaa!”, my grandmother says. “Come on, let’s go outside!”

“Grandma… it’s 40 degrees,” I reply.

“Exactly! Perfect ice cream weather!” she says.

I roll my eyes.

But then my little sister Berta appears:

“Ice creaaam!!!”

Alright… let’s go.

Outside, it’s hot.

Really hot.

But Grandma knows the way,

always walking through the shady streets.

And then we arrive.

The ice cream shop.

Inside, it’s cool.

And it smells… like vanilla.

I look at the menu.

“Grandma… what is ‘Milk Ice Classic 2026’?”

The ice cream seller smiles a little.

“That’s a historical ice cream,” they say.

“That’s how ice cream used to be made… from real milk.”

“From cows?” Berta asks.

“Yes,” says Grandma.

“Cows only exist in zoos today,” the seller explains.

“A long time ago, there were many.

But then it became too hot.

There wasn’t enough water.

There were diseases.

And… too much CO₂.”

I look at my ice cream.

“And this one?” I ask.

“That’s a new recipe,” they say.

“No cows needed.”

Grandma orders three ice creams.
Of course, everything is paid digitally.

Money hasn’t existed for a long time.

I take a first bite.

…and it tastes really good.

Berta laughs.

Grandma laughs too.

And somehow, it doesn’t feel so hot anymore.

“You know,” Grandma says softly,

“a long time ago, ice cream was just… ice cream.”

I nod.

And I think:

Maybe today, the stories are sometimes more important

than what we eat.

I take another bite of my ice cream.