Over several decades, a wide range of technological and societal measures are used to effect change:

• The introduction of a global carbon coin as an incentive to reduce carbon emissions

• Geoengineering to reduce global temperatures, such as injecting reflective particles into the atmosphere to cool the planet, direct carbon capture and storage, or pumping out meltwater from underneath glaciers to stabilize the ice sheets

• Reforestation and ecosystem restoration

• Decentralized renewable energy

• Economic and political reforms, such as degrowth and wealth redistribution

• Direct action, including sabotage of fossil fuel infrastructure and other high-emission industries, hijacking airplanes, private jets and cargo ships, as well as targeting wealthy individuals considered climate criminals—climate terrorism

• Technological innovation, including more efficient energy storage batteries, electric vehicles, and the reintroduction of airships for transportation and cargo

• Sustainable agricultural practices, such as permaculture

• Global cooperation and governance through The Ministry for the Future, the organization that represents the rights of future generations

• Cultural and behavioural shifts, such as reducing consumption and prioritizing community and ecological well-being over profit—the 2000-Watt Society

• Adaptation measures, including preparing for extreme weather conditions, building resilient infrastructure, and relocation of vulnerable people

All of the above measures are familiar to anyone interested in climate solutions, except for three: the carbon coin, The Ministry for the Future, and climate terrorism.

The carbon coin is especially interesting to me because I work for a company that wants to create the first payment method based on renewable energy. Similar to the carbon coin, a currency based on renewable energy could incentivize the production of green energy, the construction of sustainable infrastructure, and investment in technologies like efficient battery storage. As the CEO of my company likes to say, this could create new business models in the internet of energy. I hope that we succeed in our mission!

I find the idea of The Ministry for the Future as an organization that facilitates change by advocating for the rights of future generations fascinating. Currently, I’m writing a mosaic novel, There Is Hope, about life in the year 2550 CE, exploring how the future might look if we reach 5°C of warming by the end of this century—a possible worst case scenario. It’s Dune meets Mad Max with a side of communism—I grew up under the most extreme communist regime in Europe. I’m glad that my imaginary future characters get to be represented by the equally imaginary Ministry for the Future, established at COP29 in 2024—unless I missed something, no such ministry was created in Baku, Azerbaijan, in November 2024.

Finally, the book explores climate terrorism as a measure to stop climate criminals from pursuing high-emissions activities. This isn’t the kind of climate activism that involves gluing oneself to artwork or blocking highways. Rather, it’s the CEO hunter-type of terrorism, strikingly similar to what a young man named Luigi Mangione did last December in New York, targeting the CEO of a health insurance company. Many readers found this particular ‘climate solution’ repugnant, but they may rest assured that while Kim Stanley Robinson famously said There is no planet B, he doesn’t support terrorism in real life. Even though it addresses the most urgent issue of our time, The Ministry for the Future is a work of fiction, not a climate change mitigation manual.

What about us? What climate disaster will be our Great Turn? The California fires that devastated Los Angeles, the third richest city in the world, in January 2025? The USA doesn’t seem likely to lead the revolution, I guess we’ll have to wait.

Community corner

Thank you for reading The Ministry for the Future with me! This was a summary of my conclusions and open questions after reading the book for the second time.

Now, I’d like to hear from you:

• What do you think about the book?

• Do you believe a Great Turn is inevitable in real life?

• What do you think about the idea of a carbon coin or a payment method based on renewable energy?

Finally, if you’re curious what it means to consume only 2000 Watts per year—a quarter of the average US energy consumption per person—you can read about how an environment reporter took on the challenge.

Leave a comment

Did you participate in the daily life project?

Readers of The Ministry for the Future were invited to participate in the daily life project and write an essay by the end of February. If you did, please share your essay in a comment below.

As a writer, my goal is to inspire action through fiction. I write cli-fi and speculative stories on climate change, transhumanism, and our evolving relationship with nature and technology. Subscribe to get my stories directly in your inbox! If you get a paid upgrade, you’ll get my mosaic cli-fi novel There Is Hope as an eBook in spring.

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Book giveaway

Story Voyager partnered up with Grist to offer you a chance to win a copy of Metamorphosis, a collection of climate fiction short stories and the winners of Grist’s Imagine 2200 annual cli-fi contest.

“These stories are grounded in soul, a deep communion with the belief that we can—and must—rebuild our relationship with the planet.”—Omar El Akkad, author of What Strange Paradise

Otherworldly but remarkably familiar, ancestral but firmly rooted in alternate futures, these twelve innovative stories—winners of the Imagine 2200 climate fiction contest organized by Grist—offer a glimpse of a future built on sustainability, inclusivity, and justice. A beekeeper finds purpose and new love after collaborating on a bee-based warning system for floods. An Indian family preserves its traditions through food, dance, and the latest communication fads. After an oceanic rapture, a lone survivor adapts to living in a tree on a small island with a vulture he befriends. Flickers of hope, even joy, illuminate these alternate realities.

How it works

To be eligible for the book giveaway you must subscribe to Story Voyager, like this post and leave a comment.

The book giveaway starts on 30.01.2025 and ends on 06.02.2025. The winner will be selected on 07.02.2025*. The winner will be notified via email and on Notes. Grist will ship the book two weeks after the giveaway winner is announced.

*If the first winner is a USA resident then I will select a second USA-based winner. If the first winner is international, only one winner will be selected.

‘Meet Me Under the Molokhia’ by Sage Hoffman Nadeau

This story won the 2025 Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors short story contest from Grist. Imagine 2200 celebrates stories that invite us to imagine the future we want — futures in which climate solutions flourish and we all thrive. Discover the 2025 contest winners. Or sign up for email updates to get new stories in your inbox.

The sun was setting over the molokhia fields, painting leaves in shades of pink and orange. Nadia’s pencils scratched furiously, her fingertips stained as she raced to capture the clouds bleeding on the horizon. 

She didn’t resent the molokhia, not really. Fatima al-Hamid’s discoveries had brought too much good to the world to truly hate. Relief she felt, certainly. Relief that Egypt’s discovery of bioengineered carbon sinks had turned the Southwest Asian and North African provinces from colonist-ravaged settlements to the independent countries they were today. Relief that the land repatriation acts had allowed her refugee parents to bring their children home.

But Nadia had been raised in rainy diaspora, and she’d grown up to the sounds of war over the phone. There had been so little color in that world, in that life. The sunsets had been her escape — the cotton-candy pink and bright yellow melting into bruised purple and nowhere blue at the horizon.

And now, they were growing duller as the molokhia pulled chemicals from the sky. In five years’ time, the atmosphere would be returned to its pre-industrial state, the horizon no longer a blazing riot of pollution. 

She finished her drawing right as the last of the light faded, the air instantly growing colder. She shivered, pulling her jacket closer, and wished she’d worn something warmer to work. Resting her chin on her knees, Nadia watched the night darken. 

Ten years in Lebanon and she still hadn’t learned how to feel like she was home. But out here, with the chirp of insects and the unbroken dark, she felt something close to it.

Standing, she gathered her things, the plants rustling as the haphazard rows were parted by her shoulders. These weren’t the carefully controlled molokhia fields that the al-Shami governments funded, but the experimental ones that had been abandoned during testing. 

They were flawed, but Nadia liked something about their failure to conform. There was a wildness to these fields that matched the feeling of displacement inside her. 

As she took her next step, a rope-like object smacked against the edge of Nadia’s boot and she stumbled, falling forward in the row. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew what she’d stepped on without having to look.

Slowly, she backed away from the rattle of the diamondback. After the second Gulf War, wildlife had gotten mixed up, snakes from North America sprouting on the shores of West Asia, fauna from Taiwan and China inexplicably appearing in Cameroon overnight. Nature’s way of rebelling, or so the stories went, murmured in hushed tones around dinner tables. The truth was, nobody knew why it had happened.

Nadia’s heartbeat thudded in her ears, and she cast about for a stick or a rock she could use to defend herself, but all she had was the strap of her bag in her hands.

Inching back, she prayed the snake would lose her in the dark, but she could hear its scales rasp against the dirt as it followed her. 

Khara. She must’ve stumbled across a nest. 

Something rustled in the leaves, and she ripped her gaze away from the trail, hoping it wasn’t another snake. But it didn’t sound like an animal, it sounded like footsteps.

“Hello?” she called, voice weak. “Is anyone there?”

There was no response, but between one blink and the next, the silhouette of a person appeared, crouched a few yards away. Illuminated by the faint ambient light, she watched as a hand reached for the snake, before both the shadow and the rattler were gone. Rubbing her eyes, Nadia cautiously stepped forward, waiting for a pair of fangs to sink into her ankle.

When nothing leaped out at her, she tightened her grip on the bag and sprinted the rest of the way out of the field, a shiver running down her spine. Even as she turned onto the main road, she couldn’t shake the image of what she’d seen.

Nadia was almost certain somebody had been in that field with her. 

And she’d looked like a djinn.

***

Nadia wasn’t quite sure what had made her decide to return to the molokhia so soon after her strange encounter. 

Tucking the escaped hairs from her braids behind her ears, she perched on a large, flat rock after inspecting the edges for snakes. She opened her bag and pulled out a labneh sandwich and a container of olives. Mama still insisted on packing her lunches even though she was 22 and perfectly capable of making her own, but Nadia was secretly grateful for the routine, a relic from their time abroad.

She was wiping tomato seeds off her cheek when she had the sudden, overwhelming feeling that she wasn’t alone.

It was this feeling, perhaps more than anything, that had made her return to her sketching hideaway.

Nadia cleared her throat and set the sandwich back in its wrap, looking around at the cheery green molokhia. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to summon the courage to say something.

Picking a leaf off the nearest plant, she put some of her olives on it and pushed the bundle to the far end of the stone.

“You can have some if you want,” she said, heat climbing in her face at how foolish she felt.

She waited, disappointment mounting as each moment passed without a sign she was talking to an actual person.

She was about to pack up her things when the air shifted, a fine breeze rippling across her cheek. She froze, going statue-still as something brushed across the back of her neck, warm like sandstone that had been soaking in the sun for hours. There was a slight tug against her head and then the breeze moved away, the pressure in the air dissipating. 

Gasping, Nadia turned around. The olives were gone, as was the leaf. There was a new sensation against her scalp, and running a hand over her hair, she discovered that her unraveling braids had been redone. One long plait now trailed between her shoulder blades, and as she pulled the end of it over her shoulder, she marveled at the intricacy.

A shiver rolled up her spine, and Nadia couldn’t tell if she was relieved she hadn’t imagined the djinn, or afraid. 

“Enti meen?” she whispered. 

Her words were carried away by the wind without reply. 

***

Little hands tugged at Nadia’s hair, and she set her teacup down too quickly, amber liquid splashing over the rim.

“Shoo aam taamle?” she asked, reaching over her head to extract her youngest cousin’s fingers from her braid.

Once Amar had let go, Nadia accepted a napkin from her sister, dabbing at the mint tea staining one leg of her trousers.

“I like your braid,” Amar said, coming around to place her chin on Nadia’s knee. “I want one, too.”

Nadia became suddenly aware of Fairus’ gaze burning a hole into the side of her face, and she slowly pulled her gaze away from Amar’s big brown eyes to look reluctantly at her sister.

“Who did that for you?” Fairus asked, head cocked, and Nadia felt a surge of adrenaline. 

“I did,” she replied, knowing Fairus wouldn’t believe the lie. 

“Ooh,” Amar said, bouncing up and down. “Can you do mine?”

Nadia swallowed hard, gaze darting around the courtyard to try and find someone who could come to her rescue. Unfortunately, Mama was still at work, Teta was napping, and the uncles were out of earshot, trying to fix the faulty well that was failing to water their garden.

The only other adult Nadia could see was Aami Rose. Her Baba’s youngest sister was closer to Nadia’s age than her parents’, but in the five years Rose had lived with them, they’d barely spoken.

Rose felt unreachable. Nadia’s mother said it was because she was grieving, the hit and run that killed Nadia’s father affecting everyone differently. Nadia knew better than anyone what it felt like to grieve, but Rose’s silence felt significant.

Snapping back to the present, Nadia set her tablet down, leaving her spreadsheets behind.

“Come here,” she said, pulling Amar into her lap.

Amar had inherited the big, curly hair that everyone on Mama’s side had, and when Nadia ran her hands through it, she was reminded of Fairus when she was a baby.

“Nadia?” Amar asked, and Nadia hummed in response. “Do you like growing the molokhia?”

“Yaani, I’m not the one growing it. I work in the laboratory with the seeds.”

Amar’s head bobbed, and Nadia held on tighter to the sections of her baby cousin’s hair, trying not to let the braid unravel.

“Do you think you could bring some home for us?” she asked.

“She’d get in trouble for stealing, silly,” Fairus piped up, setting down her book. “Lebnen owns all the molokhia. Nadia can’t take them with her.”

“Not all the molokhia,” Nadia said gently, tying off Amar’s braid. “Some of it grows wild. I’ll take you to see it sometime, yes?”

Amar slid off Nadia’s lap. “Okay!”

She ran off and Nadia watched her go, relieved Amar hadn’t noticed that her hair looked nothing like Nadia’s.

“What?” she asked, not having to look to know Fairus was watching her.

“Nothing.”

“Mmm.” Normally Nadia could outwait Fairus and she’d break, but today, her little sister ignored her, head bent close to her book as she read.

Nadia sighed, ruffling Fairus’ hair as she left the courtyard, grabbing her bag off the back of the chair. If she didn’t take her lunch tin out tonight, she’d forget it over the weekend.

Pawing through the contents of her backpack, Nadia searched for the familiar hard-edged form of her sketchbook, lunch container forgotten in the sink. She pulled out her pencil case and a handful of gum wrappers, but there was nothing in her bag resembling her notebook.

Nadia sat back on her heels, mentally retracing her steps between home and the molokhia field. She’d been so preoccupied with her freshly braided hair that she must’ve left it behind. She glanced out the window at the slowly sinking sun. If she ran, she could probably make it back before dark.

Thrusting her feet into a pair of shoes, Nadia raced outside, bypassing the aunties who were beginning to gather in the courtyard. She made it to the field just as the sunlight began to wane, spreading across the horizon like spilled gold. The plants rustled with her passage, a certain recklessness guiding her steps. She didn’t even stop to check for diamondbacks, just scooped up the sketchbook that was sitting where she had left it hours before.

Thumbing through the pages, she comforted herself with the sight of her drawings, unmarred by dew.

Except …

She froze, one hand holding her notebook, and stared down at the object pressed between the pages. It was the memory of a leaf, the veins and gently curved edges memorialized in the thinnest layer of gold.

Picking up the imprint, she realized that the ‘stem’ looped in on itself like the top of a necklace pendant.

Something rustled behind Nadia and she froze, suddenly feeling incredibly stupid. She’d left her phone at home, hadn’t told anyone where she was going. If she was eaten alive by some creature that had come down from the mountains, it would be hours before someone found her body.

And yet, she wasn’t afraid.

That was perhaps the worst part.

Somewhere, deep down, Nadia had been hoping for this.

She turned, and came face to face with the djinn.

***

“Ya Allah,” Nadia whispered.

The djinn was beautiful, undeniably so, and for a moment, Nadia forgot the danger. Her ahwa-black eyes sucked Nadia in, the depths seemingly bottomless, her eyelids hooded and smudged with kohl. Her skin was the color of dark sandstone, nose curving proudly toward her full mouth. A mole rested just off-center from the bow of her lips, and as Nadia watched, they pulled into a smirk.

“Hello,” the djinn said, and Nadia couldn’t help it. She screamed.

The djinn blinked, crossing her arms before her. “That wasn’t very polite,” she said, and Nadia nearly ground her teeth in frustration.

Her survival instinct was clearly broken, because she had no reason to find the djinn’s voice this entrancing.

Eyes trailed down Nadia’s face, and she shivered, feeling suddenly exposed. “You kept the braid.”

“I knew it was you!” Nadia clapped a hand over her mouth, silencing the outburst too late, not remembering that she was still holding the gold leaf. She winced as the sharp edge dug into her lip, and hurriedly dropped her hand.

Instantly, the djinn’s thumb was there, tracing the imperceptible red mark the leaf had left behind. Nadia stumbled back, but she was too late, and the djinn’s touch ghosted away as quickly as if she’d imagined it, taking the pain too.

“Enti ghareeb,” the djinn said.

“I’m not strange,” Nadia snapped, suddenly irritated. “You’ve been watching me for days!”

She expected the djinn to deny it, but she didn’t, just let her dark stare bore into Nadia.

“You think I’m a djinn,” she finally said. “Don’t you?”

Nadia’s lips parted, and a puff of air escaped her, though she didn’t have the presence of mind to form actual words. The djinn — woman — whatever she was, looked pleased with herself.

She sighed, holding out one tawny arm as if to inspect it. “I suppose you could call me such,” she said. “But I’m not a djinni like you’re thinking. I’m not bound to an object, nor am I a millennia old.”

“How old are you?” Nadia asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

The not-djinn quirked her head. “Twenty-three.”

“Why are you here?”

Finally, something other than coy amusement appeared on her face, and she glanced down, a sigh leaving her lips. “I’ve been wandering,” she said. “For a long time.” Unexpectedly, Nadia felt a tug in her chest. The way she’d worded it spoke to something in her that felt the same way.

“And this place? Jounieh?”

The not-djinn tilted her head. “You intrigued me.”

Time seemed to stand still, and Nadia’s heartbeat pattered in her ears. She suddenly became aware that she was freezing, the sky having darkened and the air growing cold.

“I should go home,” she said. “It’s late.”

Between one blink and the next the not-djinn had stepped closer, her scent wreathing in the air. Nadia’s eyes slid closed, and she inhaled warm sand and yasmeen.

There was a tug around her neck, and then she was gone, leaving only a lingering trail of warmth. When Nadia brought her hand to her clavicle, she found the gold molokhia leaf dangling from her throat by a chain so fine it felt like water.

Shaking her head, Nadia turned to go. She was nearly at the gate when something made her pause.

“Wait.” She turned, facing the black field, looking at nothing in particular. “What should I call you?”

There was a pause, and then a soft breeze blew over the plants, rustling their leaves, bringing with it a name. 

“Zahra.”

***

Nadia was quite certain she was losing her mind, because as she tossed and turned in bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about the djinn. Zahra.

It had barely been two days since they’d met. She huffed and turned over, mashing her pillow over her head. The night air was pleasantly cool, but every time a breeze gusted in from the open window, she could’ve sworn she heard her name.

When she closed her eyes, all she could see was the black flash of Zahra’s eyes, the faint smirk on her lips. There was no denying it. Nadia’s heart had been stolen by a djinn.

It wasn’t as simple as deciding to let herself fall. Baba had been killed five years after they returned to Lebanon, when she was 17 and Fairus was 8. Mama had been shattered, their entire family fracturing around the loss of their father.

Nadia would’ve done anything for them, and instead she ended up doing everything. Now she was the ripe age of 22, and she’d barely begun to learn what it meant to want something of her own.

But Zahra.

She sat up, a groan leaving her lips. It was no use. She’d never fall asleep like this.

Her feet were silent on the stone staircase as she padded downstairs. There were still embers burning in the old stone basin, and she filled the pot before placing it over the top.

Once it came to a rolling boil, she dropped some cracked cardamom pods inside, followed by a splash of rosewater and sugar. Watching as the liquid turned from amber to tan with the milk, Nadia poured the tea into a thermos and left the house. If she thought about what she was about to do, she’d come to her senses and return to bed.

The night air was soft on her skin, and she tiptoed across the courtyard, glad she was wearing black. She blended in with the night now, except for the silver thermos.

Tucking it under her arm, she reached for the latch of the gate and slipped out into the street. Or at least, she tried to, because as her foot left the threshold, she slammed headfirst into something warm and solid.

Nadia opened her mouth to scream, but before she could, the person she’d collided with clapped their hand over her mouth. She struggled, but their other arm had wrapped around her shoulders and Nadia was whisked behind the arbor before she could do anything.

The scent of night-blooming yasmeen flooded her senses, and her boot caught on a small stone. She flailed out, kicking it as hard as she could at the person holding her. A muffled grunt came from the shadows, telling her the stone had met its mark, and she felt a vicious satisfaction.

When their grip loosened, she was ready, and she blindly grabbed for the rake she knew was resting somewhere against the wall. Her fingers encountered the handle and she whipped it toward her, not caring that it left splinters in her palms. She kicked again at the legs of her attacker, fighting their grasp until she could grip the rake with two hands.

One shot, she told herself. She refused to go out this way, leaving Fairus and Mama alone.

The tool whistled as she brought it slicing through the air. She could hear the rapid breathing of whoever was in the shadows with her, and she hoped they were afraid.

A hand caught hers.

Nadia’s heart stuttered, and she dropped the rake abruptly, her fingers loosening in surprise. It clattered to the stones, muffled by the carpet of flowers, and as her heart pounded in her ears, the clouds began to part. A beam of moonlight streamed across the courtyard, illuminating the person standing before her.

“Zahra,” Nadia whispered, the hand on hers suddenly taking on a new meaning. She swallowed hard, embarrassment heating her cheeks. When she stepped back, her shoulders kissed the stones of the house, still slightly warm from daylight.

“I thought —” her gaze flitted rapidly side to side. “How are you here?”

In the moonlight, Zahra’s eyes glinted like two chips of black obsidian, her hair adorned with fallen yasmeen blossoms. Her arms were bare, and Nadia eyed the corded muscle shifting along her forearms. Zahra’s left arm was braced on the wall beside Nadia’s head, and she could hear the faint rasp of her fingertips as they scraped stone.

“You thought I couldn’t leave the molokhia field,” Zahra whispered, “and yet I told you that I am not bound to anything.”

She leaned closer, and the pulse in Nadia’s ears fluttered like the wings of a bird. 

“You don’t listen very well.”

Nadia shook her head, her hair catching on the stones behind her. Her fingers twitched, self-control hanging by a thread. She wanted to curl her fingers around Zahra’s, lean closer, and see what happened. And yet … she was afraid.

As if sensing this, Zahra’s gaze lightened, and she stepped back slightly, giving Nadia room to breathe.

“Were you coming to see me?” she asked, looking down at the thermos still clutched in Nadia’s hand.

“No,” Nadia said fiercely, but Zahra just tipped her head back and laughed, the notes musical and chiming.

Hands trembling slightly, Nadia opened the thermos and took a sip. “See?” she said, swallowing. “I was just going to drink my tea outside.”

“Mmm.”

Zahra’s gaze drifted skyward, and she gestured toward the roof. “We should sit up there.”

“Up where?”

Nadia turned, and found, to her surprise, that a sturdy wood ladder now stretched from the top of the roof to the ground. Before she could ask questions, Zahra was scaling it, and despite her best judgements, Nadia followed behind.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, taking the hand Zahra offered to step onto the roof.

Up here, she could see their neighborhood, and the glowing lights of the city beyond. She felt a lump rise in her throat.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

A slurping sound interrupted her, and she looked back to find Zahra drinking the tea.

“This is good,” she said, and Nadia sighed, sitting beside her.

“I thought you’d like it.”

She felt Zahra’s eyes on her, noting the acknowledgement that Nadia had indeed been on her way to visit, but she ignored it.

“Okay,” she said. “If you’re telling the truth —”

“I am.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” Nadia emphasized, “why are you really here?”

Zahra leaned back on the roof, resting her head on her palms and staring up at the sky. “I’m the third of seven children.”

Nadia winced instinctively.

“The al-Hachems are one of the oldest families in our village,” Zahra continued. “My great-grandparents owned tech towers before the decline. My mother has five siblings, and each of them lives in a palace in the mountains. Villagers ask about my Teta, even though she’s 87 and can barely remember their names, because they want to know how the woman who pioneered Jordan’s regenerative sumac fields is faring.”

“Enti Aardaniyye?” Nadia asked.

“Laa.” Zahra shook her head. “My mother grew up in Lebanon, and my father is from Syria. Teta Maryam, at one point, owned land from Mount Lebanon to Petra.”

“I see.”

“I had to get away, you know?”

“You had to get away, and now you’re here,” she said.

“I am.”

When Zahra tipped her head to the side, Nadia caught her gaze and held it, the silence stretching between them like a thread ready to snap. Not for the first time, Nadia wondered what would happen if she let herself fall closer, if she let go of trying to be everything for everybody and instead decided to do something just for Nadia.

She didn’t expect the decision to be so terrifying.

“Let me walk you home.”

Zahra stood above her, hand out, and Nadia blinked, not having noticed when she moved. As she stood, she realized how tired she was, and she tightened her grip on Zahra’s hand, suddenly afraid she’d tumble off the roof.

Zahra didn’t bother with the ladder, and in the time it took for a breath to leave Nadia’s lungs, they were on the front porch.

“You have to stop doing that,” Nadia breathed. “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Zahra smirked, and Nadia was torn between wanting to capture that expression with her own lips, or wiping the smugness off like a stain.

“I think you like it,” Zahra whispered.

“Maybe I do,” Nadia said, and leaned in to catch Zahra’s mouth with her own.

A finger on her lips stopped Nadia and Zahra’s expression flickered, open and a little vulnerable. She stepped back, leaving Nadia strangely bereft of warmth.

“You still haven’t decided.”

“What?”

“It’s your choice,” Zahra said, gaze lingering on hers. “But you have to know what you want.”

Nadia’s mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’t make the words come out.

“Tomorrow at sunset. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Wait!” But Zahra was gone, and Nadia’s thoughts were a messy swirl of pent-up desire and confusion.

And yet, Nadia wasn’t confused. Not if she made herself really think about what she wanted.

She wanted Zahra. She wanted to kiss her and hold her and have her, but she was afraid. Terrified to admit it to herself and even more afraid to admit to her family that she was tired, so tired of sacrificing her life to fill the hole Baba had left behind.

In the end, she was too tired to think about her future with Zahra in it, too exhausted to make it to her own bed.

Nadia fell asleep on one of the couches in the living room, the empty thermos still clutched in her hand.

***

The molokhia seeds were annoying Nadia today, and she pushed her microscope away with a huff.

“Trouble with the samples?” her lab partner asked.

“I didn’t sleep well last night,” Nadia mumbled, head in her hands. Truthfully, every time she peered through the lens, her vision blurred, overwhelmed with thoughts of a certain not-djinn girl.

“You should go home. Get some rest,” Saffiya said, looking at her watch. “The rest of us will be leaving in an hour anyway. I’ll clean up your station for you.”

“Thank you,” Nadia said gratefully, giving her friend a quick hug before gathering her things from the locker room.

She was glad to be freed from the cramped lab, but she’d almost rather still be working, just to have something to distract from the impending sunset.

Zahra’s request sat in the back of Nadia’s mind, boxed up like expensive tea. The last thing she wanted to do was open it, but she was running out of time.

When she returned home, the courtyard was empty and quiet, everyone at work or school. Teta was probably visiting her friends, of which she had more than the entire family combined.

Tossing her bag on a chair, Nadia flopped down on the tiles in the shade of the fig tree and closed her eyes. She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until a shadow crawled across her face.

Her eyelids flew open and she sat up — but it wasn’t Zahra there, but Aami Rose. 

“Looking for someone?” her aunt asked, lips twisting in a slight smile.

“No,” Nadia said, looking blearily at the sky.

Khara. She’d slept too long, the first tones of pink were creeping through the clouds, and she still hadn’t decided.

“If I may?” Rose lowered herself to the ground beside Nadia, and she looked on with surprise. 

“I saw you last night,” her aunt continued.

Thoughts flooded Nadia’s head, but Rose didn’t give her a moment to speak.

“She’s a djinn, yes?”

Nadia nodded, and Rose’s little smile became genuine.

“I’m going to give you some advice, because I think you need to hear it.”

Rose turned to look at her niece, face growing serious.

“The first and only person I ever loved was a djinn. Our family was scared of what it could mean for me, to love a djinn. That’s why I live here, because your Baba was the only one who trusted me. And then he died.”

Nadia felt tears spring to her eyes, and Rose looked away, dabbing at her cheeks with her sleeve.

“He was the one who made me feel like it was okay to love her,” she murmured. “And with him gone, I just couldn’t. I let her go, and I’ve regretted it every day since. Please.”

She turned back to Nadia, a plea in her damp gaze. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

“Ya Allah, Rose.” Nadia let out a shaky laugh. “You really were saving up your words for something important.”

Aami Rose smiled a little, but her eyes were still sad. “You have until sunset, sah?”

“How did you know?”

“If she’s been in one place for too long, her ability to stay will grow weaker with each passing day. Unless you find her first.”

Nadia stood so fast she stumbled, and Rose reached out to steady her.

“I have to go.”

The streets blurred past as she ran, all the sights and sounds that had become familiar to Nadia in the past decade. She saw children kicking a ball in the street, and one of Teta’s friends watering her garden. A sudden surge of love swelled behind her ribs, and Nadia picked up her pace, running until it felt like she was flying.

The sky was a riot of pink and orange as she skidded to a stop in the molokhia, calling Zahra’s name over the thundering of her heart.

Was she too late? Had she missed her chance? Was Zahra waiting for her somewhere completely different?

“You came.”

Nadia spun around just as Zahra stepped out of the plants, her skin radiant under the dying sun. Nadia’s chest was heaving, but she still noticed the feeling of rightness that had settled on her shoulders. Like for the first time in her 22 years, she was coming home.

“I’m here,” she said, and pulled Zahra toward her by the collar of her shirt.

Zahra’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Making my choice.”

Nadia kissed her just as the sun slipped below the horizon. She felt Zahra’s hands tangle in her hair, the press of skin against hers, the heat of the sun brushing her face. Finally, Nadia let herself choose, and she was swept away by her not-djinn girl under the setting sun to the sound of the wind in the molokhia.

The end

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About the story

This story is part of Imagine 2200: Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors, a climate-fiction contest produced by Grist Magazine. Imagine 2200 asked writers to imagine the next 180 years of equitable climate progress, and the winning stories feature intersectional worlds in which no community is left behind. Read all 12 stories in the collection.

Special thanks to this year’s judges Annalee Newitz (@annaleen.bsky.social), and Omar El Akkad (@omarelakkad).

Sage Hoffman Nadeau is an Oregon-based comparative literature student minoring in Arabic studies at the University of Oregon. She has been previously published in Queer Sci-FI’s 2022 anthology, as well as Wordcrafter’s 2022 anthology for her short stories Impact and Habibi. She is third-generation Lebanese-American and is passionate about the representation of people of color and non-western perspectives in media.

Violeta Encarnación is a Cuban, award-winning illustrator based in New York City, known for her vibrant, storytelling-driven visuals across traditional and digital media. Her work has appeared in publications like The New York Times, Sports Illustrated Kids, and The Washington Post. Her latest illustrated picture book, Together We Remember, published by Penguin Random House, is currently available for preorder. Violeta’s art often explores our connection to nature and each other, inviting viewers to reflect on these relationships.

As a writer, my goal is to inspire action through fiction. I write cli-fi and speculative stories on climate change, transhumanism, and our evolving relationship with nature and technology. Subscribe to get my stories directly in your inbox! Paid subscribers get my mosaic cli-fi novel There Is Hope as an eBook in spring. Stories can change the world.

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Hello my fellow voyagers 🖖! Last week, we kicked off our climate fiction book club with a cli-fi classic, The Ministry for the Future. This slow read will take place over the course of four months, and a small but cozy group has already gathered. If you’d like to join us, here’s the reading schedule. Also, there’s a weekly chat thread where we break down and discuss a set of chapters.

Although reading is a fantastic way to raise our climate awareness, I felt the need to take it a step further and pair the lecture with a climate-related daily life project. It’s about small but impactful ways to make a difference in your own life while reflecting on the themes of the book.

Here are a few ideas to get you started:

• Plastic-free grocery challenge: Try shopping plastic-free for the next four months and prioritize recyclable options. I did this for three months last year, and it was a true eye-opener.

• A no-shopping challenge: Buy only essentials like groceries and household products—everything else can wait. I started a one-year no-shopping challenge at the beginning of 2024, which I’ll extend until March 2025.

• Create climate awareness: Commit to reading an article or piece of news about climate change daily for the next four months and sharing it on your social media.

• A daily climate journal: As you read the book with us, commit to journaling your thoughts and reflections about living with climate change on a daily basis for the next four months. In the past years, we’ve seen devastating natural disasters, extreme droughts and heat. If you happen to live in affected areas, we’d love to hear your story.

• Energy-saving habits: Check your annual kWh consumption on your energy bill and try to reduce it by turning off appliances when not in use, changing your light bulbs, and turning off the light when leaving a room. If you have a smart meter, you can check your daily electricity consumption. I live in a small apartment with my husband, and last year, we consumed 1700 kWh. This year, I switched to a new utility that provides 100% locally produced green energy.

• Or come up with your project! Share your personal action plan with us, and let others find inspiration.

Every living organism on this planet contributes to the ecosystem by offering a service. But you’ll never find a bee wondering: What’s the use of pollinating a few flowers if I can’t pollinate all the flowers in the world? The bee simply does its part, having faith that other bees will also do their part, thus contributing to next year’s crop of flowers rich in pollen.

Our climate-related daily life projects will not save the world, but they will make it a better place. When thinking about a better future, we must start by imagining how a day in our lives would look in such a future. Will we continue consuming unlimited fast fashion? Will we shop for groceries in single-use plastic? Will we consume electricity from fossil fuels? Will we use a car every single day? We might not save the world by taking our lunch to work in a reusable Tupperware. But by doing that, we’re getting a step closer to the future in which we dream to live. And when we all dream together the same dream, we might just make it a reality.

Participants in our daily-life project are invited to submit a short essay about their experience. I'll select three to feature on Story Voyager. Interested? Publish your essay on your Substack by February 28, 2025!

Let us know in the comments what project you'll take on! We’re excited to see how you’ll make a difference.

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Our book club is free, but if you’re able, upgrading to a paid subscription helps support our efforts. You'll get access to original climate fiction and be a part of making projects like There Is Hope come to life.

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Story Voyager is one year old 💚, and it's been an incredible journey. For those who might be new to our community, Story Voyager is where we explore climate change through the lens of climate fiction or cli-fi. Under the motto Travel your imagination, we embark on a unique journey of reading, researching, writing, and exchanging ideas with like-minded individuals. Our mission is to change the narrative about the future of humankind by delving into the world of climate fiction, crafting in-depth articles, and even embracing everyday life projects. Join the conversation, and let’s change together the narrative about the future of humankind.

There is hope

As autumn slowly settles in, we look back at a summer of extreme weather events. This was the hottest summer on record in the Northern Hemisphere. In the United States and the Middle East, the humidity reached levels that scientists consider deadly. Wildfires raged over Canada, Greece and Hawaii. The average global ocean surface temperature reached an all-time high, and the list goes on.

It’s easy to lose hope in the face of so much loss and devastation when facing disasters beyond our comprehension. Planet Earth seems to buckle under the weight of our actions, but hopelessness brings with it a feeling of impending doom, and while it is hard, we must not lose hope. In the spirit of my climate fiction series, There Is Hope, I would like us to look at three things that give us hope about the future of humanity.

We are slowly restoring the ozone layer

I was born in the 1980s, the decade in which scientists realized (in 1985) that a dangerous hole in ozone was forming over the Antarctic. So the 1990s weren’t just Nirvana, Britney Spears and Spice Girls, but also the decade of the ozone-hole-over-the-Antarctic. Everyone was talking about it, and by September 2006, the ozone hole peaked at 29.6 million km². Which was alarming. By September 2022, the ozone hole's size shrank back to 23.2 million km². How did this happen?

The Scientific Assessment of Ozone Depletion released in 2022, a report of the Montreal Protocol established in September 1987 to regulate the worldwide production and consumption of 100 man-made chemicals or ozone-depleting substances (ODS), announced that the ozone layer is expected to return to the 1980s levels by 2040 globally, by 2045 over the Arctic and by 2066 over the Antarctic. Banning the production of ODS globally contributes to ozone restoration and adverts global warming of an extra 0.5–1°C by 2050. According to the United Nations, the Montreal Protocol ‘is to date one of the rare treaties to achieve universal ratification’ and proof that global cooperation is effective in tackling environmental problems.

We could save the whales to save ourselves

When discussing natural ways of reducing CO2 in the atmosphere, we usually focus on planting forests and restoring wetlands. But, a new study found that blue whales and other baleen whales play a direct and indirect role in sequestering CO2. An average great whale sequesters 30 tonnes of CO2 a year. By contrast, a tree absorbs only 22kg. The carbon contribution of a single blue whale was valued at $1.4 million. But the contribution of whales to CO2 reductions in the atmosphere doesn’t stop here.

The nutrient-rich excrements of large whales can help trap more CO2, as they are consumed by phytoplankton, which, in exchange, can stimulate carbon fixation in the oceans through a process known as nutrient cycling. The great whale conveyor belt, the migratory behavior of the whales from high-latitude nutrient-rich waters where they spend the summer to low-latitude nutrient-poor breeding ground in winter, is another contributing factor. During the breeding period, whales fast and contribute to nutrient cycling in nutrient-poor waters by inputting carcasses, urine, placenta, sloughed skin and other byproducts.

By protecting the blue carbon ecosystems and allowing the whale population around the globe to recover, we could increase the effectiveness of this nature-based solution to climate change. Could saving the whales be the second treaty to achieve global support and help us tackle the most urgent issue of our times?

We could reduce plastic pollution by 80% by 2040

According to the United Nations, 1 million plastic bottles are purchased every minute around the world, and half of the plastic production is single-use plastic. We have plastic in our forests, we have plastic in our rivers, we have plastic in our oceans, we have plastic in our bodies. All this plastic is damaging our health and the environment. But there is a way out. The United Nations laid a path to help us reduce plastic pollution by 80% by 2040.

The initiative seems to be drawing on the Japanese concept of reduce, reuse, recycle or mottainai, which translates as ‘What a waste!’. The origins of this word can be found in the Buddhist concept of mottai, which means ‘undue importance’ to which the negation nai was added, giving a deeper meaning to the phrase ‘What a waste!’, namely that by waisting something we render it meaningless. The United Nations added the concepts of reorient and diversify, which means finding alternative materials to plastic wrappers, sachets and takeaway items.

While we might render single-use plastic meaningless by throwing it away, plastic pollution is not meaningless for us. If we don’t act now, we will increase plastic pollution by 80 million metric tons by 2040. Additionally, a Center for International Environmental Law report states that the plastic industry will release up to 1.34 billion tons of CO2 annually by 2030.

A combination of government, industry and citizen action is needed to reduce plastic pollution by 80% by 2040. About 40% of the single plastic production goes into packaging, which is thrown away as soon as a purchase is made. I will be more mindful next time I go shopping!

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Reflecting on our community growth

One year ago, I embarked on this Substack adventure to amplify our voices in the battle against climate change. I started with just an idea and zero subscribers, but the past year has been a remarkable journey thanks to you, our incredible Story Voyager community. Together, we've achieved significant milestones that deserve celebration.

From those humble beginnings, we've grown to over 1,000 subscribers - a testament to your passion and dedication. I want to extend my gratitude to each and every one of you for your unwavering support. It's your subscriptions, your engagement, your likes, shares, and comments that have breathed life into Story Voyager. Thank you for being part of this incredible community. 💚

Join us in taking action

You cannot buy the revolution. You cannot make the revolution. You can only be the revolution. It is in your spirit, or it is nowhere. —Ursula K. Le Guin

These words by Ursula K. Le Guin resonate deeply with our mission here at Story Voyager. Climate change isn't just a distant challenge; it's an urgent, everyday concern. To truly make a difference, we must embody the change we wish to see in the world.

The everyday life project

An everyday life project is an experiment in which you engage in an activity for a limited time to channel attention to a specific aspect of your daily life. Examples of everyday life projects include tracking your steps with a device to ensure that you move enough or having a reading challenge on Goodreads to increase the number of books you read in a year.

With this in mind, I invite you to embark on an everyday life project alongside me. Let's explore climate change together and share our experiences. It could be reading a climate fiction book or any other activity that raises awareness about climate change in daily life.

I'll be taking on two everyday life projects:

1. I've decided not to buy any groceries wrapped in single-use plastic for the rest of the year. I'll share my progress and challenges along the way. Will you join me in this journey of discovery?

2. In the following months, I will read Dune by Frank Herbert with , and and delve into the environmental and social issues Frank Herbert weaves into his epic novel. We will exchange letters, notes and chat about Dune right here on Substack. Will you join us?

Your climate awareness exercise

Alternatively, here’s a fun little exercise you can do to create more awareness about climate change. Some months ago, I checked out Greta Thunberg’s Twitter page and saw something in her bio: Born at 375 ppm. And I thought, what a clever way of creating climate awareness! So I did it as well. If you go to my bio, you will see: Born at 340 ppm. And guess what? It worked. I was asked by several people here on Substack what that means.

So what is the exercise?

Born at 340 ppm means that in 1981, the year I was born, there was an atmospheric CO2 concentration of 340 parts per million (ppm). In 2003, when Greta Thunberg was born, the atmospheric CO2 concentration was 375 parts per million (ppm). An increase of 35 ppm in 22 years. In comparison, during the European Little Ice Age, the atmospheric CO2 concentration decreased by 7 to 10 ppm over 100 years, causing global temperatures to drop by 1°C.

Now it is your turn:

• What was the CO2 concentration in the atmosphere in your birth year? You can calculate that here. 👈

• Share your findings in the comments section.

That’s all. Take action now! 💚

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Looking ahead

Climate fiction, as we've explored together, is more than just a genre; it's a vital tool to bridge the gap between the climate crisis and our collective imagination. In the words of Amitav Ghosh, the climate crisis is not only an environmental issue but a cultural and imaginative one. As Albert Einstein once wisely said, ‘We cannot solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them’. Climate fiction offers us a fresh perspective, a new way of thinking, and a means to grapple with the most urgent issue of our times: climate change.

This is what you can expect from Story Voyager in the year ahead.

1. Completing my first book: I’m thrilled to announce that I will finish writing my climate fiction series and publish my first book here on Substack by next summer. It's a project close to my heart, and I’m excited to complete this literary journey with you.

2. Exploring our planet's history: Our series on the history of climate change in the Holocene will continue. Join me as we unravel the mysteries of our planet's past and gain insights into our present and future.

3. Sustainable practices in historical communities: A new non-fiction series is on the horizon. We'll delve into the sustainable practices of historical communities, exploring their wisdom in managing resources like water and respecting the environment. It's a journey back in time to discover alternatives to our consumerist society.

4. Growing our community: My goal for the next year is to welcome 100 paid subscribers to our community. I would like to raise money to commission illustrations for my cli-fi novel, There Is Hope. Your support keeps Story Voyager thriving, and I'm excited to embark on this journey with you.

5. New writing projects: On Story Voyager, expect new writing projects, including an AI novella and a utopian climate fiction novel. The novella will kickstart our creative exploration next summer, and the novel will debut toward the end of next year.

This is just the beginning of what promises to be an incredible year ahead, and I'm eager to hear your thoughts, suggestions, and feedback. Your insights have been instrumental in shaping the Story Voyager community. What topics, discussions, or projects do you hope to see as we move forward in the coming year?

Thank you for being a part of Story Voyager's remarkable journey. Here's to another year of exploration, discovery, and transformation. 🌍💚

With gratitude,

Claudia

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I am writing today's newsletter edition as a guest writer. My name is Fani, and I live in the Northern Colony Alliance in the year 2550 in a region known in your time as Sweden.

If you're having a moment because of my name, know that English is not the lingua franca of the 26th century. Additionally, you can go ahead and google how to pronounce Fani, a S…

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Worldbuilding is what I enjoy the most about writing.

I spend a lot of time reading books and articles and listening to podcasts about topics I enjoy. I’m pretty obsessive about things that spark my interest, and I go down the rabbit hole of research with great enthusiasm. I like to connect the dots between seemingly unrelated subjects, and writing ficti…

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