Chapter 23 – The Crossroads
The stadium lights flickered overhead, dimming slightly as the evening wore on. Sheik sat on the bleachers long after practice had ended, his cleats still laced, sweat clinging to his skin like a second layer. The field had emptied, the echo of shouting and whistles replaced by the occasional rustle of wind through the goal netting. He liked it like this—quiet, stripped of pressure.
His phone buzzed beside him. It was a message from Andrea:"Finished my canvas today. I think you'd like it. It's messy. Like us."He smiled softly, thumb hovering over the screen for a while before replying."Messy isn't bad. Sometimes it's honest."
He leaned back, letting his body stretch across the bleachers, staring up at the darkening sky. Lately, he had begun to ask himself questions that didn't have easy answers. What was he doing this for? Was it still his dream—or was he just afraid to let go of the version of himself everyone expected him to be?
At the same time, Andrea sat cross-legged on the floor of her tiny studio space in Naga, surrounded by streaks of blue, green, and sun-washed yellow. The painting she mentioned had dried at the edges. It was chaotic—brushstrokes twisting in multiple directions, like emotions that couldn't sit still. There were no faces, just movement. Sheik would see soccer in it. She saw longing.
She stared at the canvas, then at the phone, rereading his reply. Messy isn't bad. Sometimes it's honest. That sounded like him. Or at least the him she used to know.
She'd been offered a spot in an art collective in Manila. It was a small deal—nothing glamorous—but it meant she'd be leaving Naga too. For the first time, she wasn't just waiting for Sheik to come back. She had her own road calling. It scared her, in the same way letting go of an old photograph does. But she was ready to move forward. She just didn't know if their paths would still run side by side.
Back at West Bay, Sheik stood, stretching the tightness out of his legs. He thought about the tournament coming up, the scouts, the future. He also thought about Andrea. About the way her voice calmed him when his thoughts raced. About how she listened without trying to fix him.
He missed her—not just her presence, but the way she reminded him of who he was outside the game.
That night, he texted again:"What if we both changed, but still belonged in each other's stories?"
Andrea stared at the message. A tear slipped down her cheek—not because she was sad, but because she finally felt seen. Maybe their story wasn't about holding on too tight. Maybe it was about learning how to grow—separately—and still find their way back to each other.
They were both at a crossroads. But for the first time, they were walking toward their futures, not away from each other.