We stand at the threshold of a radical transformation in our relationship with the internet—one that may make this decade the last in which we experience the network through the flat screens that have dominated our lives for thirty years. Having grown accustomed to clicking, scrolling, and navigating between windows confined within a glass frame, we now witness the emergence of a new paradigm rooted in the fusion of physical and digital, where the screen gradually disappears, replaced by voice interfaces, gestures, eye tracking, and augmented reality that weaves data directly into the fabric of our surroundings. The question is no longer which app to open, but which layer of reality we choose to see at any given moment. This shift is not merely about smart glasses or mixed-reality headsets; it reflects a deeper logic: the internet is evolving from a place we go to into an environment we inhabit. With the rise of large language models and autonomous agents, algorithms will increasingly act on our behalf in the background, without requiring us to request anything through a visual interface—which means the very act of “browsing” may become a historical relic. Yet this future carries profound dilemmas: when the screen vanishes, where do the boundaries of privacy lie? How do we exercise our right to attention when there is no screen to close as a declaration of disconnection? Moreover, a shift to an invisible internet will likely deepen the digital divide, separating those who can afford immersive environments from those left behind with obsolete interfaces. Still, there lies an opportunity to redesign our relationship with technology from the ground up: instead of being passive consumers of an endless content stream, we could enter an era where technology acts as a silent extension of our intentions rather than a tool for extracting attention. The most troubling scenario is that we repeat the mistakes of the screen era, transitioning from click addiction to immersion addiction without developing the necessary culture of digital literacy. But the aspirational scenario envisions that the retreat of the screen might restore something we lost: a deeper capacity for presence in the physical world, enhanced by connected intelligence that does not impose itself as a middle layer between us and reality. Thus, we are not witnessing the end of the internet, but the end of its old interface. The coming decade will not be about bigger or faster screens; it will be about a collective decision: will we allow the internet to become a transparent fabric that serves us without being seen, or will we let it evolve into a more elegant cage from which there is no escape because it no longer has a door to close? The answer will not be written by technology companies alone—it will be shaped by our habits, our laws, and our readiness to reclaim control over the terms of our connection to the digital world