Our Christmas Sister Angel ·[Chapter: 17]

A gentle tale about the rebirth of mercy, second chances, the warmth of Christmas, and the meaning of being family.
 
If you’d like to walk this warm path from the very beginning and read the story from its first chapter, you can start [here] and follow the links within each part until you find your way back to this moment again.

To read the chapter that comes just before this one, kindly click [here].

Chapter [17]
The Remontada

Throughout June and July, during the World Cup, Novaris was overflowing with life.
 The city glowed endlessly — no one seemed to sleep.
 Celebrations everywhere.

 Matches, cheers, songs, fireworks…

 Between the roaring stadiums and the Pulse 5 concerts that shook the city’s ground, Novaris lived  and breathed like never before.


The ocean breeze wrapped around the streets, carrying laughter, street music, and the scent of salt.

 That summer, the seaside city of Novaris — facing the Vast Diamond Ocean — looked like an  eighteen-year-old girl, laughing freely, dancing barefoot, embracing life without fear.

Every corner was crowded with tourists who came not only to watch the World Cup matches, but  also to attend the long-awaited concerts of Pulse 5.


 Their videos were once again flooding the internet — praised for their energy, talent, and rebirth.


Many fans noticed something else too:
Sorin refused to sing that song — the foolish, scandalous one that had caused so much trouble  before.

 Some foreign fans even waved posters demanding it, but he only smiled — that calm, dazzling  smile — as if he wanted people to quietly forget
 that black dot in his past.


The restaurants, the shops, the cafés — everything was bursting with people.

 Even The Nest, that little restaurant on the far edge of Novaris, was full day and night. Angela needed two more helpers in addition to the two young men and the girl already assisting her. She was  exhausted.

Her body was weak, her steps slower every day.

After constant urging from Mom Lisa and Mr. Zack, she finally went to Healhospi Hospital — the  same one she had been visiting since she was twenty-two.


“You really must get some rest, Miss Angela,”
 said Dr. George, the doctor who had followed her case for all those long years.


Angela gave a tired, ironic laugh.
“Rest, Doctor? And what would that do — buy me a few more weeks?
 You told me years ago that no one with my condition had ever made it to forty.
 Well, I’m past forty now — months past — and still standing right in front of you.
 I guess you’ll have to write about me in your medical journals.
 Let me live the time I have left.
 I don’t want to miss a thing now — not when I finally have  people who care about me.”


Dr. George didn’t answer.
 He only changed some of her heart medications and added more supplements and vitamins — as if hoping to lend strength to this beautiful woman for whatever time she still had.


While she was still at the hospital, her phone chimed with the sound of a video call — the group chat of the five brothers, right before they were to perform their last concert for the World Cup celebrations.


Angela didn’t answer. She was afraid they’d see the hospital corridors behind her.

Instead, she sent a private message to Mr. Zack:
“I’m at the hospital. I can’t join the call. Please make up an excuse for me so the boys won’t worry  before they go on stage.”


The reply came quickly:
“Alright, my little girl. Don’t worry. Come to our house and stay the night with us. We’ll wait for you  at dinner.”

Angela smiled softly.
“Alright. I’m on my way.”




The concert began.
The five brothers were radiant on stage — a blaze of light and rhythm.
The crowd screamed, sang, danced with them, a wave of joy and sound.


The cameras swept across faces in the audience —laughter, tears, wonder.
And then,
on the giant screen,
a single image appeared that made Sorin freeze — his lips spreading into a wide, glowing smile.


There, in the middle of the crowd, were three little children dancing to the music — the same three  kids who had danced to Eternals Dreamers in the restaurant months ago.

It seemed their young father had kept his promise — rewarding them for doing well in school by  bringing them to see Pulse 5 live.


And as fate would have it, the next song on the list was Eternals Dreamers — the very one the children loved most.


The cameras caught Sorin turning to his brothers, saying something with a spark in his eyes.
They all smiled and nodded.
Sorin called over to Mr. Raphael and whispered something to him. The manager grinned widely and signaled to six bodyguards.


Then,
 to everyone’s shock and delight, Sorin stepped down from the stage — surrounded by the guards — making his way through the sea of fans toward the three children.


The audience screamed, their phones flashing like stars.

The youngest boy — that mischievous four-year-old
 who had once said, “When I grow up, I’ll be like Sorin!” —ran straight into his arms, hugging his leg tightly.

Sorin knelt down, lifted the boy into his embrace, and kissed his forehead.

Then he looked up at the stage and signaled to his brothers.
The speakers burst with the opening beats of “Eternals Dreamers.”

The crowd went wild.
Sorin lined up with the children and began dancing with them — the same choreography, the same  laughter —under the flood of lights and cheers.

People recorded the scene with trembling hands, knowing they were witnessing something special —something pure.

When Sorin returned to the stage, the brothers performed the song once more —together, as if reborn.


The sight of Sorin dancing with the children moved the entire crowd — the young and the old alike.
Within hours, the video was trending No.1 in Novaris, surpassing even Argentina’s qualification for  the final match.


The media called it:
 “The Greatest Remontada of All.”


It wasn’t just a comeback on stage —it was redemption, rebirth.



A once-shameful clip
was now replaced
by a scene of innocence and joy.
Where there had been obscene lyrics,
there were now children’s laughter.

Where there had been wild dances, there were movements that brought life again. Their return to the stage wasn’t just a performance — 
it was the return of light that had once faded,
of warmth that had once grown cold,
of purity that had once been lost.


That summer,
the breeze of the Remontada swept gently through the streets of Novaris, carrying laughter, music, and something almost sacred in the air.

It was a season of second chances — a season when purity found its home again in the hearts that had learned to shine anew.




............To be continued in “chapter : 18  ” tomorrow.
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