Arya wandered through the Agora, the morning sun casting long shadows across the plaza. The space thrummed with quiet energy, clusters of children, teens, and adults forming and reforming like eddies in a stream. There were no bells, no schedules—just a persistent, gentle sense of discovery.

Her AI assistant, Nia, murmured softly. “Morning, Arya. The History Puzzle has just started in the East Pavilion. A sports team in the park is short one player if you’re interested. Also, Kiran’s group is rebuilding their factory design.”

Arya paused, considering the options. “Not sports today,” she said, imagining herself dodging sweaty nine-year-olds. She made her way toward the East Pavilion instead, passing a group of older children who were weaving an enormous net in the shade of the mulberry tree. A digital sign nearby flickered: “Help us design traps for deep-sea exploration!”

As Arya entered the pavilion, she found a dozen children gathered around a table, its surface alive with glowing models of factories and cityscapes. They were immersed in a simulation of 19th-century England. The game was already underway, its rules dictated by historical constraints: labor laws, industrial capacity, economic conditions. Kiran sat near the edge, twisting a piece of his hair as he studied the table.

“Morning!” Arya said, sliding onto a cushion next to him.

“Kiran’s leading our textile mill,” Felix, a boy about her brother’s age, said with a grin. He glanced briefly at Arya before turning back to the display. Felix’s AI sat silently by his shoulder, adjusting its recommendations to his specific needs—minimal sensory input, clear visual pathways. He tapped his decision: installing a new steam engine. The table responded with a flash of light and a satisfying mechanical whir.

“Nice call,” Arya said, and Kiran beamed. Felix, usually shy in larger groups, seemed completely at ease in the game, his contributions seamlessly integrated into the team’s efforts.

Arya was tempted to stay, but the distant sound of music drew her away. As she wandered toward the Reflection Tent, she passed an impromptu orchestra forming on the central lawn, a mix of flutes, drums, and AI-assisted instruments that hummed with otherworldly tones. She smiled as her friend Jamila waved her over, holding up a violin. Arya waved back but gestured toward the tent, mouthing, “Next time.”

Inside the Reflection Tent, Mr. Cheng was perched on a low stool, explaining the principles of biomimicry to a group of children. His AI assistant projected images of bird wings and termite mounds, highlighting how their structures had inspired cutting-edge engineering. Arya slipped in at the back, captivated.

“Nature is our greatest teacher,” Mr. Cheng was saying. “If you’re stuck, look at how a tree holds its branches, or how a shell absorbs impact. There’s always a lesson.”

The group broke into smaller clusters to brainstorm designs for a project: a bridge that could withstand earthquakes. Arya joined a table of younger children, sketching ideas while their AI tools turned their concepts into real-time 3D models.

“Mr. Cheng,” one child asked, “how do you know so much?”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ve had a long life to learn. And now, I get to pass it on.”

Lunch was a joyous, sprawling affair. Families arrived with picnic baskets, sharing everything from homemade bread to virtual recipes projected onto communal tables. Arya’s mother waved at her from across the lawn, engrossed in a lively conversation with Selina, the Navigator.

“Having fun?” her mother called.

“Of course!” Arya replied, grabbing a piece of flatbread from a passing tray.

Above them, the Story Fire flickered to life, its digital flames leaping as reflections from other Agoras around the world streamed in. One message, from a group in Kyoto, described their progress on a global biodiversity mapping project. Another, from a remote community in Alaska, shared their adaptation of renewable energy systems for harsh climates. Arya stared in awe at the sheer variety of ideas crackling through the flames.

Selina approached, carrying a basket of paints. “I thought you might like this,” she said, holding out a brush. Arya nodded, following her to a nearby canvas where other children were adding their visions of the day. Felix was there too, quietly painting an intricate factory scene beside Kiran’s colourful, chaotic swirls.

As the day wound down, Arya stood before the Story Fire, holding her own reflection in her hands. It was a short piece she’d written about Mr. Cheng’s biomimicry talk and the idea of learning from nature. The flame flickered as she fed her message in, its light growing brighter as her words joined the global network.

She watched for a moment as the fire danced, then turned to Selina. “Do you think they’ll like it?”

Selina smiled. “It’s not about them liking it. It’s about the ideas we share, and how they inspire new ones. You’ve added something beautiful to the world.”

As Arya walked home that evening, the Agora still buzzed with activity. Somewhere, the orchestra was playing a final tune. Children shouted and laughed as they tested their earthquake-resistant bridge designs in a virtual storm. And Felix’s factory glowed softly in the East Pavilion, a testament to teamwork and a world where everyone could find their place.

Analysis

The Agora scenario invites us to imagine a world where education, as we know it, has been reimagined, challenged, and dismantled—not out of rebellion, but as a natural evolution prompted by technological progress and societal need. When we hold it up against our current system of schooling, its implications are quietly radical. The structures that have shaped education for centuries—the rigid age bands, centralised curricula, and reliance on testing—begin to dissolve when we consider what might emerge if learning could truly be personalised, fluid, and joyful.

At the heart of this transformation lies the personal AI assistant. These AI companions act not as authoritarian instructors but as enablers of exploration and creativity. For Arya, Kiran, and the others in the Agora, learning is no longer a rigid schedule of prescribed activities but a vibrant, living process. Challenges emerge organically—an invitation to join a history simulation, an impromptu music collaboration, or a problem-solving design lab—and individuals are drawn into these experiences by curiosity rather than obligation. In this world, education isn’t something to endure; it’s something to relish.

When we compare this vision to the current reality of schooling, the contrast is stark. Today’s education systems are, by and large, built around efficiency—large groups of children are taught the same material at the same pace, assessed against the same metrics, and moved through the same stages regardless of individual readiness or interest. Personal AI fundamentally upends this model. It shifts the focus from teaching to learning, from standardisation to individuality. With AI’s capacity to know each learner intimately—what excites them, what frustrates them, and how they best absorb information—education becomes as unique as the person experiencing it. Instead of trying to fit the students to the system, the system emerges from the students.

This adaptability has profound implications. The hard edges of schooling begin to blur. Why must learning be confined to specific hours, specific places, or specific ages? In the Agora, education is not a phase of life but a continual, lifelong endeavour. Children and adults coexist in the same space, sharing knowledge and experiences, each contributing to and drawing from the collective pool. This erosion of boundaries mirrors what work could one day become: a series of collaborative challenges and pursuits, indistinguishable from the joy of creating and solving problems together.

Yet the Agora’s inclusivity goes beyond simply inviting all ages to participate. It also provides an environment where neurodivergent individuals and those with special learning needs are seamlessly included. Felix, with his need for a quieter, sensory-friendly experience, is fully engaged in the History Puzzle—not through a separate, stigmatised program, but as an integral member of the group. His AI assistant supports him unobtrusively, ensuring that his contributions are visible and valued. The Agora demonstrates how advanced technology can be a tool for inclusion, creating spaces where everyone, regardless of their starting point, can thrive.

This reimagined approach raises important questions about assessment. Our current reliance on exams and qualifications serves a purpose: to measure and compare capabilities, to determine who progresses and who is deemed ready for specific roles in society. But this process inevitably reduces individuals to a narrow set of metrics, often at the expense of their unique strengths and potential. The Agora proposes a gentler, more expansive alternative. Instead of exams, students contribute to projects, create artefacts, and share reflections. Their achievements are not distilled into blunt grades but captured in all their complexity and nuance.

This shift has far-reaching implications for fairness and equity. Imagine a world where each person’s abilities and contributions are recognised in their full variety—not measured against a single yardstick but valued for their uniqueness. AI makes this not only possible but scalable, enabling us to move beyond the industrial model of education into something more humane. Instead of competing for slots in a predetermined hierarchy, individuals chart their own paths, supported by a system that honours their individuality.

But what does this mean for the role of teachers? In the Agora, teachers are no longer at the centre of a hierarchical classroom. Instead, they are Navigators, mentors who guide, encourage, and connect. Their role is less about delivering knowledge—which AI can do more effectively—and more about fostering relationships, creating safe and inspiring spaces, and helping students find meaning in their pursuits. This shift aligns with what many educators already intuit: the most important lessons are not in the curriculum but in the connections made along the way.

Ultimately, the Agora reflects a profound shift in how we understand education. It challenges the idea that learning is something to be “delivered” or “completed.” Instead, it becomes a shared, ongoing process of growth and discovery. The Agora is not a utopia—it still grapples with the complexities of collaboration, the challenges of balancing individual freedom with collective responsibility, and the task of navigating a world shaped by rapid change. But it offers a glimpse of what could be possible when we allow ourselves to think beyond the limitations of our current systems.

The Agora’s strength lies in its ability to dissolve boundaries without losing structure, to include without diluting, and to inspire without overwhelming. It invites us to imagine a world where learning is not something we have to do but something we get to do—a continuous, joyous process that enriches everyone it touches. In this world, school is not a place but a living, breathing community, open to all who seek to learn and grow.

Thinking points