How does your future look? – Special Edition 2025
Dear Impossible Readers,
“Good morning, Mara. You are late.” Her ring vibrates.
She rolls her eyes. “It is Christmas, not a board meeting.”
She steps out of bed. The floor feels comfy and warm. The new solar paint adjusted its absorption overnight, perfectly storing extra power for a cold morning like this one.
Next to her bed, The Loomer has her outfit ready for today. A freshly printed, red knitted-look jumpsuit. She puts her fresh clothes on.
“So soft and warm, hmmm,” she murmurs, and tosses her dirty pyjamas back in The Loomer.
In the kitchen, The Forge blinks green. She taps plate, fork, knife, and mug on the interface. In seconds, Mara removes her printed kitchen items from The Forge. She places the plate in the Edible Lab and sets it to avocado toast with bio-yeast spread. “Breakfast smells like Sunday morning,” she thinks to herself.
After breakfast, Mara returns the plate and cutlery to The Forge. The machine washes and recycles the materials, readying them for the next item.
Mara walks towards her front door. On the way, she picks up her exosuit.
“Commute mode,” she says.
“Confirmed,” the suit replies, tightening around her calves.
She sprints down the frosted streets and looks at the unfinished 3D-printed homes made of non-recyclable materials as she passes. Halfway to the café, her exosuit slows and flickers red on her ring.
“Damn lithium-based batteries,” she mutters as she pulls over to the sidewalk.
She taps her ring.
“Nearest available pod, please. And schedule a drone recovery for my suit.”
Moments later, a self-driving pod slid to the curb, its door opening with a quiet sigh.
“Good morning, Mara. Destination?”
“Central Café.”
“Confirmed.”
The pod glides into the flow of silent capsules, each one whispering across the city. Drones buzz sky-high throughout the city, dropping organic snowflake confetti.
At the café, she steps out to the scent of freshly printed coffee. Jin is already there, scrawling on a napkin with his smart pen.
“Still writing by hand?” she teases.
“It helps me think,” he says with a grin. “Even if the ink is virtual.”
They talk about work. The modern prostitution, as people like to call it. No one has fixed jobs anymore. Companies simply rent expertise through the global talent grid. Mara’s profile lists systems architecture and energy ethics, and this week she is working for a firm in Nairobi.
A soft ping vibrates on her ring. She opens it.
“Sister’s heart transplantation with newly printed heart: successful.”
She sighs with relief. Months of cell calibration, endless data checks, and now her sister is well.
Jin smiles. “Best Christmas ever.”
After coffee, they stroll into the Old Quarter, where the city’s annual Analogue Christmas Market shimmers with lights, wooden stalls dusted with solar snow.
“Welcome to the most futuristic, yet nostalgic Christmas market,” Jin shouts.
At the first stall, a vendor demonstrates self-inflating pod lacquer. Shimmering coatings that ripple with the slightest touch.
“Inflates on collision, seals within seconds,” the saleswoman said.
Mara laughs. She still has not upgraded her own pod.
The next booth displays some gel-based nets for doors and windows. She brushes her hand through the membrane. It feels like the mango pudding she had last Monday. The net seals itself as she removes her hand.
“Keeps out pollution and bugs,” the guy winks.
“There!” Mara says as she pulls Jin across the Christmas market. The Edible Lab printer cartridges. Mara samples a Nordic Sweet Root pastry and saves the recipe instantly to her ring. She purchases the cartridge and places it in a drone to have it delivered home.
Jin points at a booth showcasing exobots. Remote-controlled robotic suits for working anywhere.
“Oh yes,” Mara says, grinning, “they have outsourced all the robot engineers to the other side of the world. Now they just use these exobots to fix toilet problems remotely. Saves a ton on travel, apparently.”
“It really smells like Christmas,” Mara says to Jin, as she looks up. Drones glint like fireflies, delivering packages to homes across the city.
That evening, Mara returns home with her hair full of drone confetti and the smell of the Christmas market. She takes her clothes and feeds them into The Loomer. A fresh pair of soft pyjamas is already waiting, printed from the fibres of the pair she tossed in this morning. She pulls on her new, warm and cosy pyjamas and smiles.
Nearby, the exosuit has returned quietly, waiting for its overnight charging cycle. Mara stores it neatly in the corner. Her ring dims the lights and sends her sister a message:
“Merry Christmas. Cannot wait to see you swimming again.”
Outside, the drones are still dropping organic snowflake confetti from the sky, and Mara thinks, “Best Christmas ever.”
Merry Christmas,
Yours Possibly
impossibly possible 
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