He glanced back at the screen as the song transitioned into its soulful bridge.

As Awurama Badu’s voice filled the room, the subtitles on the screen flickered to life. To those watching, they were just lyrics, but to Kofi, sitting in the dim light of his veranda, they were a lifeline.

Kofi smiled, reaching out to turn off the television. He didn't need the music to keep playing; the subtitles had already finished writing the story of his life across his mind.

The old mahogany radio in the corner hummed to life, and for the first time in years, the crackle was replaced by the smooth, rolling rhythm of

As the track faded out, the last line lingered on the screen:

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