Certainly, the man who has the fortune to pause and reflect on his life, recognizing both his mistakes and his virtues, is truly fortunate. But what is fortune? I have heard that many of those born into abundance feel an emptiness that’s hard to fill. They search for something more, though they don’t know what it is, and in that search, they get lost. The same happens with those born into lack: they face difficulties, but they also feel life has taken something from them. Those of us in the middle, perhaps, are the truly fortunate ones. It’s said that extremes are never good, and I tend to believe that. Life is like a scale, with moments of abundance and scarcity, allowing us to appreciate both experiences.

These reflections come to me often, and I wonder if the truly fortunate are the ones who never feel the need to question everything.

On the morning of September 26, 2022, at 7 a.m., I walked down Peel Street in Adelaide. As always at that hour, my only desire was a good cup of coffee to clear my mind. I entered La Moka, a place with a vintage touch, a blend of rustic and modern that made me feel like I was in another time. In the background, Josef Salvat’s "Open Season" played, a nostalgic tune that transported me to moments long past. I ordered a coffee, something simple yet comforting, the kind of drink that, for its familiar taste, always made me feel closer to home.

The atmosphere, warm and relaxing, was complemented by tall lamps hanging as though from a magical place, casting soft, enchanting light. I made my way to the second floor, my private refuge, where I intended to work. It was then that a man, perhaps twenty years older than me, approached and, without warning, grabbed my arm.

The grip was firm but not threatening. A strange vibration filled my chest, something I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t fear, but it was a palpable discomfort, a sensation that made me forget the coffee I had barely touched. I stood still, trapped by his intense gaze. I didn’t know what to do or think. When had he gotten so close? What did he want from me?

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

With a calm, yet unsettling voice, the man broke the silence:

—It’s okay. You don’t have to worry, but I need you to stay calm. I know you don’t know me, but I have something for you. A letter. I don’t know what’s inside or who sent it. I just know it’s important for you.

With that, he stood up and walked down the stairs without another word. The letter was left on the table, beside the coffee and my growing confusion. My body still wasn’t responding; my mind was trying to make sense of what had just happened. I wanted to follow him, but my legs felt heavy, like they were anchored to the ground by an invisible force. When I finally stood up, he was already gone.

I stepped outside, looking in every direction, but there was no trace of him. I went back to the café and asked the employees if they had seen him. They looked at me with curiosity.

—You’re the only one who’s been upstairs —they said—. Do you need help?

There was no crime to explain, just an unexplainable situation I couldn’t put into words. I told them no, that it wasn’t necessary.

I returned to my table. The letter was still there, and now I felt a strange connection to it. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was as if I had been waiting for it, as if something inside me recognized it. I touched it with the tips of my fingers, feeling a slight electricity, something I couldn’t tell if it was real or just a sensation of my own.

The letter’s material was different from anything I had ever touched: solid, resistant, as though it required a specific method to open it. In the center, there was a seal with futuristic typography: X.E.R.O.X.

A shiver ran down my spine. The name echoed in my mind, like a distant memory, something forgotten but at the same time familiar. The firmness of his grip, the metallic sound of his coat… Everything was starting to connect in an unsettling way.

My thoughts flew back to my university days, to robotics projects, neuroscience, and theories about artificial consciousness. What once seemed like science fiction was now chillingly plausible.

Before leaving, Xerox had given me one final sentence that echoed in my mind with every beat of my heart:

—We’ll meet where you least expect it.

I pushed the coffee aside and, with trembling hands, prepared to open the letter.