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August 4, 2026.

Reem Peerzada. (Contributed photo)

The day I’m writing this. 

It also happens to be the date visionary author Ray Bradbury imagined his writing back in 1950 when he published his short story “There Will Come Soft Rains”. 

In case you have not read this Bradbury fiction, it follows a fully automated, AI-powered house after a nuclear war. Everyone who had once lived there is dead, yet the house carries on as if nothing happened. 

Breakfast is made. Bills are announced. The bath is filled. A poem is read before bed. The house continues to do exactly what it was designed to do. It never stops to question anything because questioning was never part of the program. 

Since today was the official “Day of Soft Rains”, I decided to revisit Bradbury’s work. As I read it again, the theme of never questioning and never stopping stayed with me. It made me wonder what happens when people begin to approach life with that same mindset. 

Lately, it feels as if we as a society have started treating our humanity like a flaw we’re supposed to outgrow. Just think about the compliments people give.

“She never lets her emotions get in the way.” 

“He never takes a day off.” 

“She’s always productive.”

It seems as if efficiency and perfection have become our sworn duty as individuals. So when I opened my phone and saw another headline about artificial intelligence becoming more emotionally aware, I laughed. 

We’re spending so much time teaching computers to sound like humans while telling people to stop acting like themselves. The house never cries, or hesitates, or misses anything, but it also never loves anyone. Those things come together. You don’t get one without the other. 

The poet Imru’ al-Qais begins one of the oldest surviving Arabic poems by standing in front of the ruins of a home and saying, “Qifa Nabki” or “Stop, let us weep”. Not “Let us rebuild”. But stop. Remember. Feel it. For someone writing over 1,500 years ago, that’s a surprisingly modern thing to say. 

Then I thought about “The Little Prince”. There’s a reason people still read it almost 80 years later. Throughout the story, the Little Prince keeps meeting adults who are so busy counting, measuring, and proving things that they’ve forgotten how to notice and feel the world around them. They’re successful by every standard except the one that actually matters.

Funny how stories separated by thousands of years end up asking almost the same question. What does it mean to be human? 

Bradbury reminds us that being human isn’t measured by what we’re capable of creating, but by what we’re willing to protect. We can build powerful weapons and brilliant machines, but if those inventions outlive our care for one another, we’ve been mistaken. 

Imru’ al-Qais reminds us that some places, and some people, are worth stopping for. “The Little Prince” reminds us that the things with the greatest value are usually the ones you can’t put a number on. 

Different centuries, yet the same reminder to humanity; progress means very little if we lose ourselves along the way. 

Today is August 4, 2026. 

Bradbury imagined this date as the aftermath of the end of the world. Thankfully for us it’s not. Instead it’s become a chance to ask whether progress means anything if we leave the best parts of ourselves behind. 

Technology will keep changing. But I hope we don’t become so fascinated by building something that can imitate a person that we forget what makes a person worth imitating in the first place.

Editor’s note: Reem Peerzada is a sophomore at Monte Vista High School in Danville who competes in varsity speech and has a love for writing. She is particularly interested in how literature can help us understand technology, humanity and the world around us.

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