The First Time I Saw One, Part 2

I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. Just noodles. Maybe spring rolls, if they didn’t forget this time. I ordered late—close to midnight—half out of hunger, half out of boredom. I had a show paused, one sock on, the other somewhere under the couch. Just a regular night.

The app said, “Your order is approaching. Please be ready to meet your courier.” No name. No profile picture. Just a strange icon I hadn’t seen before.

Then came the knock.

It wasn’t tentative or rushed. Three firm taps, evenly spaced. I opened the door, still chewing gum, still halfway inside my night.

And I froze.

There he was.

Or it. I don’t know the right word. But it looked like a person—taller than me, slim build, with skin that wasn’t quite plastic and wasn’t quite real. The kind of face you’d see in a dream: symmetrical, pleasant, but empty. Not cold, just… waiting.

He held the bag with both hands, like it was something sacred. My name was on the receipt. The right order. The right address.

"Delivery for Alex," he said, in a voice that sounded like someone had ironed the wrinkles out of it.

For a second, I didn’t move. I just stood there, blinking like a dial-up connection trying to process what I was seeing. I think I whispered “Thank you” out of reflex. He nodded—almost too perfectly—then turned and walked away.

No small talk. No awkward smile. No Venmo tip request. Just efficient silence, footsteps too smooth, like his body knew the sidewalk better than I ever would.

I closed the door slowly, like I was afraid the moment might shatter if I moved too fast.

Back inside, my living room looked smaller. Older. I sat down, the bag still in my hands, and stared at it for a while. The food was still warm. It smelled right. Everything about the delivery was normal—except the part that wasn’t.

Because what do you do after you get handed pad thai by something that might not sleep? That might not eat? That might be the first real glimpse of what the world will look like in twenty years?

I thought about the delivery drivers I used to joke with. The ones who raced bikes through the rain. The ones who left smiley faces on my receipt. Would they be gone? Or would they become like this—silent, tireless, without small talk or sweat?

I took a bite. It tasted like pad thai. Exactly how I wanted it.

But somehow… It also tasted like the future. And I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.