Chapter 22: The Weight of Expectations
Sheik stood at the edge of the practice field, his hands resting on his hips, eyes scanning the other players as they took their positions for the scrimmage. It was the middle of the week, and the intensity was palpable. The air was thick with expectation—the kind that hung in the air like fog, seeping into his lungs every time he breathed.
The coaches weren't yelling at them today, but their eyes were sharp, watching every move. Every pass, every touch of the ball, every sprint down the field was scrutinized. Sheik could feel the weight of it, the unspoken pressure to be perfect.
He wasn't sure when it had happened, but somehow, everything about West Bay felt more real than anything back home. The players here were good. No, better than good. They were faster, stronger, more disciplined. And every time he missed a pass, every time he tripped on the ball, he felt like he was falling further behind.
It didn't help that he couldn't get Andrea out of his head. Her voice, her smile, the way she would laugh when he'd joke about how much he hated running laps.
He'd told her he would be fine. That he'd adjust. And he would. Eventually. But it was harder than he thought.
Out here on this pristine field, surrounded by players with different dreams, different goals, he felt small.
They'd given him a chance, sure. A spot on the team, a shot to prove himself. But Sheik couldn't shake the feeling that the moment he dropped the ball—literally or figuratively—it would all slip away.
"Let's go, Jin!" Coach Valerio's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. "You're up next. Get your head in the game!"
Sheik nodded quickly, jogging to his spot. He tried to focus, tried to block out the doubt creeping in. He couldn't afford to think like this—not now.
As he lined up for the next drill, he caught a glimpse of Eli out of the corner of his eye. Eli, who had already started making connections with the other guys, laughing as they talked about the latest game they'd watched on TV. Eli, who didn't seem to care about anything except being the best.
Sheik tried to push that jealousy down, tried to convince himself that it didn't matter. But it did. It stung.
"On your marks!" the assistant coach shouted. "Get ready!"
Sheik straightened, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach.
When the whistle blew, the world became a blur of movement. He sprinted, felt the ball at his feet, moved quickly, faster than he had ever gone before. His body moved on autopilot, reacting to the drills as if it had been trained to do nothing else.
But as he approached the goal, everything slowed. He could feel the weight of the moment—the pressure to score, to show that he belonged here, that he could keep up with the others.
He took the shot.
It was off—wide left.
The groan from the other players was immediate, followed by a quick, embarrassed flush across his cheeks. He turned, his face stony, hiding the frustration.
"Come on, Jin!" Eli called out from across the field. "You had that one!"
Sheik just nodded, forcing a tight smile. But inside, the frustration was building. Why couldn't he get it right? Why was it so hard to find his rhythm here? Back home, he would've made that shot without even thinking.
As they wrapped up practice and began stretching, Sheik stayed at the edge of the field, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut. The coaches were discussing game strategies, pointing out plays on a dry-erase board, but Sheik's mind was elsewhere.
It was Andrea. She was all he could think about.
He had promised to focus, to push forward. But he couldn't help it. Every text from her felt like a lifeline—like something real he could hold on to when everything around him felt so unreal.
He pulled out his phone, quickly opening her message from the night before:
"How was today? You're gonna crush it, I know it."
The words hit him harder than they should have. He sat down on the grass, his fingers hovering over the screen, wondering if he should reply. He didn't want to seem weak. He didn't want to admit that he wasn't as strong as he had pretended to be.
But he couldn't lie to her.
"It's hard here, Andrea. It's harder than I thought. I miss you."
The response came almost immediately.
"I know. I miss you too. But don't forget—this is what you wanted. You've got this. Don't let the pressure get to you."
Her words were always the same—steady, supportive, like she could see right through him. But they didn't make him feel better. They only reminded him of how much he missed the comfort of her presence, her laugh, her quiet moments of understanding.
For the first time since he arrived, Sheik allowed himself to feel the weight of the distance between them. It wasn't just physical. It was emotional, too. The version of him that was with Andrea, the boy who teased her about her art and held her hand as they walked home from school, that part of him felt like a distant memory now.
In a way, he was grateful for her words. They anchored him to something familiar, something real. But they also reminded him that he was living in two worlds. The one where he was still Sheik Jin, the soccer player from Naga, and the one where he was trying to be Sheik Jin, the hopeful athlete at West Bay.
It felt like he was drifting, and no matter how much he pushed, the distance kept pulling him further from who he had been and closer to who he was still trying to become.
As practice ended and the other players began to filter out, Sheik stayed behind, staring at the field.
It wasn't just about the game. It wasn't just about proving he belonged here. It was about remembering who he was, remembering the people he had left behind, and finding a way to balance both worlds inside him.
He stood up, brushed off the dirt, and took a deep breath.
Maybe he wasn't failing after all.
Maybe this was just the first step. The beginning of something harder, something he would have to fight for.
But he'd fight through it.
For himself. And for her.