Lina, a child of nine, lies tangled in her sheets, eyes wide and unblinking. Her thoughts flicker and tremble, unable to settle, as if something in her mind refuses sleep. The lamp beside her casts a pool of gentle light, illuminating the furrow of worry in her brow.
She tries to grasp onto something solid, but each dream feels slippery, unfamiliar. Fragments of family voices echo in the ether, fading as soon as she reaches for them. Desperation tightens her chest, and she wonders, in these infinite dreams, if she will ever truly find home.
She rushes forward, heart pounding, only to find her parents—familiar yet distant—moving past her as if she’s invisible. "Mom? Dad? Can you see me?" Her voice trembles, but they do not turn. She feels herself fading, the warmth of belonging slipping from her grasp.
Lina tries again and again, shouting and pleading, but every attempt leaves her lonelier. "Don’t forget me! I’m right here!" Her own voice seems to echo back, hollow and uncertain, as if the world itself cannot decide if she exists.
She steps forward, hope and fear wrestling in her heart. "If you remember me, please be on the other side," she whispers, twisting the knob. The door creaks open, and light spills out—warm, golden, beckoning.
"There you are! We’ve missed you so much," her mother cries, pulling her close. Relief and joy flood Lina, their touch grounding her to reality at last. In this dream, her family remembers, and Lina knows she has finally found her way home.
