Year 2124 – Cairo, Egypt

As the glass doors rolled shut over the simulation pods, the students shuffled into a comfortable position. The TeacherBot[1]  introduced a heritage studies lesson on stolen artefacts. The students’ minds cast back to the year 2044. The simulation provided the chance to learn from the lives of those who came before them.

Static noise filled the air, and the students were transported back in time…

Year 2044 – Cairo, Egypt

In 2044, much of the world had fallen into a cycle of conflicts. News coverage churned through crisis after crisis, each tragedy briefly touching the public’s mind before fading into the shadows of memory. But for the Palestinian refugees who managed to cross the border, those years were an unhealed rupture, a tear in the fabric of their lives that no amount of progress could mend. While the world around them started to advance with AI-driven automation, the refugee camps remained almost unchanged. Minor improvements, like solar power for electricity and water pumps, were the only signs of progress.

For Fatima, the events of those years shaped everything that followed. At the heart of her story was an ancient artefact, e Remembering Stone, a stela inscribed in Kufic script[2], which had survived centuries of conflict and now exile. The stone was more than a relic to the Palestinian refugees. It was a lifeline, a piece of their history that connected them to a distant past and reminded them of a heritage that violence could not erase.

Aged 45, Fatima had become the stone’s guardian, inheriting it from Maher, who had facilitated its transport out of Gaza, as he whispered blessings into its inscriptions as they crossed the border. But as much as the stone symbolised resistance, it became a point of conflict and tension within the camp and the world beyond. Now a teacher of heritage studies in the camp, Fatima used the stone and other artefacts to keep Palestinian history alive for the younger generation born in the refugee camp. Her storytelling sessions by the Stone were more than lessons. They were acts of cultural preservation. She taught the second-generation refugees about their ancestors’ scripts, traditions, and resilience in these gatherings. Sometimes, her students’ questions would drift from the lesson, leading her to recount how she arrived in the refugee camp. A story they never tired of hearing.

Fatima started the story where she always did…

“All those years ago, in 2024, leaving Gaza was nearly impossible for most of us. e Rafah border was our only way out, but it cost so much money—more than any family had. Only a few of us, those who could get others to help pay, could make the crossing.

For me, it was Maher, a kind elder from our village, who helped. His family, all the way in America, raised the money we needed – $5,000 – so I could escape. I was the only one left from my family after terrible bombings in the south of Gaza, and Maher took me in and cared for me like I was his own.

When we crossed, I thought things would get better. But once we were over the border, we were on our own. e humanitarian organisations didn’t recognise us as refugees because we hadn’t crossed ‘ocially,’ so there was no support, no help waiting for us.

And that was just the start of our journey. It was hard, so hard, to build a life beyond Palestine. But this is why we hold on to our stories and our history. ey’re like a light that keeps us going, reminding us where we come from and why we stay strong.”

By 2044, Egypt’s government announced its plans to clear the refugee camps along the border with Rafah, making way for new developments of urban growth and a vision of automation that left no space for those displaced within its borders. They were calling them “Smart Cities”. Under pressure from international observers, Egypt promised to construct a few “integrated communities” for refugees, places that would supposedly provide them with safety and stability. But everyone in the camp knew these promises were hollow, a convenient story for the outside world. The plan was to scatter the

Palestinians once again, driving their people further into invisibility. A quiet fear began to spread through the camp that Egyptian authorities intended to take cultural items, including the “Remembering Stone”. The government hopes to place these items in a national museum, stripping them of their identity and rebranding them as pieces of Islamic heritage. As part of Egypt’s “Patrimony in Peril” project, the stela was to join a “do not miss” collection. This carefully curated exhibit would be part of a grand museum dedicated to preserving the Arabic culture and heritage eroded by regional conflicts and wars.

Fatima could not stand for this appropriation. Appreciating the concept of a sanctuary for artefacts threatened by violence and displacement, Fatima believed that its sanctuary should be with them, the Palestinian people who survived, to carry its meaning and lessons alongside it. But standing against the authorities came with grave risks. Resistance could lead to arrest, separation from her people within the camp, or retaliation from the government. Her protests would be branded as dangerous defiance against the state, jeopardising everyone in the camp. Yet, if she allowed the stone to be taken, she feared they would lose more than a piece of their history. They would lose a symbol of their survival.

While recounting her story, Fatima was startled by the sound of trucks rolling into the camp. She looked up from the group of students. Ocials from the government rarely visit the camp on the far outskirts of the city. Fatima rushed to the front of the school hall. When she got outside, the officials moved towards the village’s centre, the community’s hub where meetings, celebrations and cultural events are held. The government officials moved with calculated indifference to the centre circle where the Remembering Stone was mounted on a raised platform. Snapping photos, taking notes, and making arrangements for its transfer to the new museum in the city. Fatima watched them, her heart pounding, her hands clenched at her sides. She felt helpless, anger simmering under the surface. The stone had been the only constant through years of displacement, a reminder of home, a legacy of those who had come before. If it was taken, what would be left?

After the government left that night, Fatima gathered the community at the Stone for a storytelling session, where she shared a lesson on perseverance and unity. Young and old alike listen intently, some finding meaning that resonates with their struggles, while others gain inspiration from the collective spirit around them. She told them what was happening under the glowing light reflecting from the Remembering Stone, watching as anger and sadness flitted across their faces. “This stone is our story”, she said, her voice trembling. “It holds the memory of all who have suered, all who have lived and died under oppression. If we let it go, we lose more than just a piece of rock”. The elders muttered in agreement, but some of the younger refugees questioned her resolve. “It’s just a stone, Fatima”, one of the boys muttered. “They can take it and place it in their museum, but we must consider our own lives. If we resist, they will make things worse for us”. Fatima looked at him, seeing herself in his eyes – the same fear she’d felt as a young woman. But she could not let this slip away. Not this time.

As they disperse, the boy who initially doubted the stone’s significance approaches Fatima with questions, curious to learn more. Over the following days, he becomes involved in preserving the stories, helping others see the stone not just as a relic but as a source of strength and solidarity.

Fatima devised a plan with the elders. They would hide the stone, moving it through an underground network of sympathisers who had been helping Palestinian refugees for years. But as they made their preparations, Fatima’s resolve was tested. She was warned by a friend who worked as an informant within the local government that if the stone disappeared, Egyptian authorities would retaliate, cracking down even harder on the camps, possibly dismantling them altogether in aid of their new “Smart Cities”. She had to choose: protect the stone and risk endangering everyone in the camp, or let it go and preserve a fragile peace.

Sitting in the centre square, Fatima often came to the stone to do her best thinking. It made her feel closer to her family, to Maher and to all those who shared the experiences she endured. Remembering what her mother told her all those years ago,

you must fight for what is right. You must fight for what is ours”. Fatima decided to risk everything. She gathered a small group of trusted friends, and under the cover of darkness, they moved the stone out of the camp and into the back of a dilapidated truck. Her heart raced as they drove through deserted roads, making their way to a safe house several miles away. The operation was fraught with tension; they could be discovered anytime. If caught, they would face immediate arrest, and the stone would be lost forever.

They arrived just before dawn, hiding the stone in the basement of a rundown building occupied by a network of local activists sympathetic to the Palestinian cause. For now, the stone was safe, hidden away from prying eyes. But Fatima knew the hardest part lay ahead: keeping it secret, preserving its meaning, even as the authorities intensified their search.

When government authorities arrived to collect the stone, they found only an empty platform in the centre of the camp. Outraged, the ocers questioned everyone, searching tents and makeshift shelters and interrogating Fatima and anyone they suspected of helping her. Some were detained, others threatened. Fatima endured sleepless nights, her heart heavy with guilt for the hardships her actions had brought, yet strengthened by the knowledge that The Remembering Stone was still theirs, a legacy that could not be taken.

The authorities might forget. The world might look away. But they would carry on. Because the stone, like their Palestinian land, belonged to them.

A static sound filled the air once again…

Year 2124 – Cairo, Egypt

Covering their eyes as the bright light flooded the room. The students stepped out of the pods and towards their seats. The TeacherBot powered down the simulation pods. Each student placed their learning headsets back on. “Ok, students, who can tell me three challenges that Fatima had to overcome in her fight to keep her heritage alive?”. As the students thought about their responses, their thoughts translated into text that flooded the learning board projected in the middle of the room. As the TeacherBot interpreted their responses, it clarified, “In our time, e Remembering Stone is digitally preserved, but Fatima’s memory brings it alive in a way that data alone cannot. While we learn differently now, I want you all to think about how storytelling connects us to our past in a way data cannot”. One of the students looked up to the TeacherBot and thought to himself “ماذا حدث لفاطمة، ھل قامت“ بحمایة حجر التذكار ” (What happened to Fatima, did she protect the Remembering Stone?”), without pause the TeacherBot responded, “All to be revealed in tomorrow’s simulation, please be sure to arrive on time”. The TeacherBot returned to its charging dock and went dark.

The students filed out of the sleek, silver classroom with the learning board still glowing with text. In silence, they returned to normal life in the year 2124. All students were left wondering what happened to Fatima and the Remembering Stone.