The sky this evening is utterly dismal, with vibrant blues merging into streaks resembling turbulent sea water on the horizon, the sun setting against its distorted reflections. The tide rhythmically rolls onto the shore—1, 2, 3 splashes of sand. 1, 2, 3, 4—leaving bubbles in its wake.

Tao Yi sits cross-legged, toying with a nearly empty beer bottle. Long shadows stretch from the sandstone cliffs surrounding her. In this hidden cove, shielded by crimson-hued cliffs, the others remain unseen but their laughter and chatter resonating as they gather driftwood for a bonfire.

She reluctantly allowed Navin to convince her to come here—a mix of obligation and familiarity. This routine unfolds every New Year’s Eve: Zack hosts a party, and missing it would feel wrong.

The bottle feels chillingly cold against her hand, unaffected by her warmth. She brings it to her lips, the last sip burning her throat. The sea’s surface is rippled and opaque, resembling a silken dress blowing in the wind. Awaiting a gust to tousle her hair, she finds only stillness; Gaia’s air isn’t stagnant like a subway tunnel.

The sound of grass rustling in the sand indicates Navin’s approach. He seems almost a stranger now—tall and lean in a short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants, with a messy fringe cascading across his forehead, flashing a charming smile. He extends a fresh beer bottle toward her.

“It tastes awful,” she replies, shaking her head. “Though better than last year.”

She manages a grin, recalling Zack’s experimental brew.

“Come back,” he urges, fingers brushing her hairline. “Help me with the fire.”

Tao Yi lets him assist her to stand. She follows him out of the cove and along the shoreline, carefully sidestepping the rocky formations. His shirt hangs loosely, catching on the edges of his shoulder blades. She longs to touch that downward curve, to confirm it’s real.

Others are filling shallow pits between the dunes and the ocean with driftwood. A dozen or so well-educated twenty-somethings like her and Navin, all lively and engaged in clever banter. They belong to a fortunate generation—born into movement, brimming with opportunities, navigating waves of transformation.

Zack glides effortlessly through the group, drawing others to him like moths to a flame. He appears particularly youthful in his orange shirt and sarong. Leaning over the driftwood, he holds a lit match between his long fingers, like a conductor with a baton. Joyous cries erupt as the flames ignite. If you follow the method, a second attempt won’t be necessary.

Tao Yi activates the live interface. A neon countdown in her peripheral vision reads: December 31, 2087, 9 p.m. Just 3 hours to go! A steady stream of status updates overlays the beach scene, mostly brief four-second video snippets that vanish as soon as she focuses on them. Friends dancing at an open-air concert, racing go-karts beneath digital fireworks, and the exhilarating sound of Stimshots pulsating through a heavy beat.

Evelyn approaches. Tao Yi closes the countdown and snippets. Tonight, her petite friend appears slightly transformed. Clad in a pastel dress typical of her, her dark hair woven into a braid adorned with gothic decals on her cheeks. It’s charming, like a puppy striving for attention.

Evelyn nudges her hip against Tao Yi’s waist. “Flash?” “I’m alright. Why?”

“You seem a bit distant.”

Tao Yi wraps her hand around her elbow, feeling the symmetrical dip behind the joint. “Yeah, just taking a breather. It’s been an eventful day at work.”

“Oh, right. You’re the featured authenticity consultant now,” Evelyn chuckles, elongating the syllables.

Even after six months in this role, the title still sounds peculiar to Tao Yi. She aims to transition from marketing strategies driving consumerism to organizations like True You that steer lost souls towards their genuine selves.

“People are infatuated with their avatars. They want to ensure they’re as distinctive as everyone else.”

“Come on, Tao Yi, don’t play the cynic. I know you’re kind at heart,” Evelyn teases. “Just wait a few more months, and you’ll be spreading the mantra that’ll have you feeling as good as your boss. What’s his name again? Andy? Gary?”

“Griffin. Not even close.”

“That’s it! You know what he told me at the party you took me to last month? With his wide eyes and serious expression: ‘You need to find your own path.’”

“Oh, yeah. He repeats that daily. It’s just my brain filtering him out right now.”

“I told him I was using Google Maps. He didn’t even crack a smile.”

Tao Yi chuckles. “But he’s effective at his job. Want to set up an appointment?”

“No thanks – you all should steer clear of my virtual stuff.”

Tao Yi laughs again, then turns her gaze toward the fire. Evelyn’s attention lingers on Zack. The bonfire’s glow warms his tanned skin, illuminating his sparkling dark eyes and expressive mouth.

For a moment, Tao Yi observes Evelyn fixated on him. Then she soon slips away.

every version of you Written by Grace Chan (Verve Books) is the New Scientist Book Club’s November 2025 read. Sign up to read together here.