Chapter 3: Getting to Know You
Ridgeview's student café was loud and packed, the air buzzing with chatter, clinking mugs, and the smell of way-too-strong espresso. Sheik Jin sat in a corner booth by the window, hood up, trying to go unnoticed. Being the campus soccer star had its perks, but peace and quiet wasn't one of them.
He glanced at his phone.
2:59 p.m.
Right on cue, Andrea Mei stepped in.
She wore a loose sweatshirt, faded jeans, and her hair was tied up in a lazy bun that somehow still looked effortlessly cool. She scanned the room, spotted him, and walked over, one brow raised.
"I didn't take you for the hide-in-a-corner type," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"I'm not," Sheik replied. "But I'm also not in the mood to get asked for another selfie while I'm trying to learn heat maps."
Andrea laughed. "Fair enough. I brought notes."
She set her bag down and pulled out a crumpled notebook and a pen. "You seriously want to learn soccer analytics?"
"I seriously want to know how you saw something in my game that my coach didn't," Sheik said, honest. "That pass I made last week—I've been replaying it in my head ever since you mentioned it."
Andrea leaned back, her smile softening. "I wasn't criticizing. It was a good pass. Safe. Just… not you."
"I've been playing safe for a while," Sheik admitted. "Too many people watching. Too many expectations."
Andrea looked at him, really looked at him, like she wasn't just hearing the words—she was reading between them.
"Must be exhausting," she said gently.
He didn't answer right away. Just nodded.
They sat there for a moment in the kind of silence that wasn't awkward at all. Outside, the wind rattled the windows. Inside, their drinks arrived—coffee for her, iced tea for him.
Andrea opened her notebook, flipping to a page filled with messy diagrams and little notes scribbled in the margins. "Alright, lesson one: spacing. You're fast, but sometimes your positioning cuts off options for your midfielders. Here—"
She started drawing a quick diagram. Sheik leaned closer, watching as she explained with a focused look on her face, eyes lighting up as she talked.
"You really love this stuff, huh?" he asked after a while.
Andrea blinked, startled. "What?"
"Soccer. Stats. The strategy. You light up when you talk about it."
Andrea looked down, a little embarrassed now. "Yeah. I guess I do. I've always liked the idea of helping players—not by playing, but by giving them better tools. Smarter systems. I want to work in team development someday. Maybe as a scout. Or an analyst."
Sheik smiled. "You'd be good at that."
"Thanks," she said, quieter now.
Their eyes met. There was something lingering in the space between them—unspoken, but real.
"So," Andrea said, clearing her throat, "what about you? Why soccer?"
Sheik looked out the window. "At first, it was just what I was good at. My dad played professionally—he kind of expected me to follow his path. I wanted to be better than him. Maybe I still do."
Andrea tilted her head. "Is that what you want, or what he wants?"
That question hit deeper than he expected. He didn't know how to answer.
"I don't know," he said finally.
Andrea nodded like she understood. "You don't have to figure it out right now."
Another silence. But this one was warm.
Sheik leaned back in his seat. "You know, I thought you were intimidating when I first met you."
Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Because I didn't swoon over your goal?"
"Exactly," he said, grinning. "You were the only one in the crowd who didn't scream when I scored."
"I don't scream for boys who expect it," she said, deadpan.
Sheik laughed, and it was the first time in days he genuinely felt lighter.
They stayed there for another hour, talking about everything and nothing—classes, favorite movies, the worst cafeteria food. No pressure, no spotlights. Just two people finding comfort in each other's company.
And when Andrea finally stood to leave, she paused.
"I'll see you around?" she asked.
"Count on it," Sheik said.
As she walked away, Sheik caught himself smiling again.
He didn't know exactly what was happening between them yet, but whatever it was—it felt real.