Angel's POV.
I lay on my bed, my book open in front of me, my eyes scanning the same line over and over again without truly seeing it.
The room was quiet—too quiet.
From the outside, someone might call it a home. But to me, it felt more like something we were simply enduring.
Our old Congo house stood tired with age. The once-painted walls had long surrendered, their color peeling away in thin, curling strips. The floor tiles beneath my feet were cracked and uneven, forcing you to watch every step.
A small glass window sat at the far left corner of the room—broken at the edge, letting in both light and dust. A faded blue curtain hung loosely over it, swaying gently whenever the wind passed through. Beneath it stood a worn wooden table, its surface scratched and uneven, like it had its own story to tell.
And then there was the bed.
Our bed—made of bamboo sticks, fragile yet stubborn—creaked under the slightest movement. It wasn't comfort. It was survival.
I shifted slightly, exhaling.
My eyes burned.
I was tired.
Not just the kind of tired sleep could fix… but the kind that settled deep in your bones.
Slowly, I closed my book and placed it carefully at the top of the bed. For a moment, I stared at it—at the pages that were supposed to be my way out.
Then I lay down.
I let my body sink into the thin mattress and closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness like an old friend.
And then… I dreamed.
In my dream—
Liberia was no longer the Liberia I knew.
It was… paradise.
The air felt lighter, cleaner—as though the country itself could finally breathe. The streets stretched wide and smooth, glowing under golden light, untouched by dust or decay. Buildings rose high into the sky, shining like glass and diamonds, reflecting a future that once felt impossible.
There was no fear.
No hunger.
No corruption.
Leadership was honest. Fair. Just.
People smiled—not out of survival, but out of peace. Children laughed freely, their joy echoing through the streets. Citizens walked with pride, their heads held high, their voices strong.
They were proud to be Liberian.
Not just proud… honored.
Liberia wasn't just a country anymore.
She was a symbol. A light. The brightest star in the world.
People came from everywhere just to witness her greatness—to be part of something pure, something powerful.
And for the first time…
It felt real.
It felt possible.
---
Then—
I woke up.
My eyes snapped open, and the dream shattered into silence.
The cracked ceiling stared back at me.
The peeling walls.
The broken window.
Reality.
A sharp ache settled in my chest.
I didn't want to wake up.
I shouldn't have woken up.
I turned slightly, staring at nothing, my thoughts tangled in that perfect world I had just left behind.
"Future Liberia…"
The words echoed softly in my mind.
And no matter how hard I tried—
I couldn't stop thinking about it.