Chapter 24 – The Offer
"West Bay's national scouts are coming next week."
Coach Mendoza's voice rang through the locker room, slicing through the usual post-practice chatter. Sheik paused mid-lace, the shoelace clenched tightly in his fist. That was sooner than he expected.
"Starting lineup decisions will be made by Thursday," the coach added. "You've got five days to prove you want this."
Sheik nodded, but his stomach tightened. It wasn't that he didn't want it—he just didn't know why anymore.
Later that night, as he sat on the edge of his bed, the offer letter from the scouting committee still fresh in his inbox, Sheik stared at the glowing screen. His name. His stats. The promise of a future. All of it right there.
But for the first time, it didn't feel like victory. It felt like weight.
He thought of Andrea again. Her soft laugh. Her fiery rants about colors and brushstrokes and the way emotions didn't always need to make sense. Her world had started growing beyond him, and strangely, he didn't feel left behind. He felt proud. Inspired, even.
Andrea, meanwhile, was packing a small duffel bag in her room. Manila wasn't far, but it felt like another universe. Her mother had hugged her that morning—tight, tearful, proud. Sheik's message was still saved on her phone."What if we both changed, but still belonged in each other's stories?"
She wanted to believe that. She chose to believe that.
As she zipped up her bag, her phone buzzed again.
Sheik:"Got the scouting email. Final match next Friday. You'll be in Manila by then, right?"
She replied instantly:"Yeah. But I'll be watching. Always."
Then, a pause—before another message:"Do it for you, Sheik. Not for anyone else."
Those words sank into him deeper than any pre-game speech ever had.
Friday. Match Day.
The stadium roared. Sheik's heartbeat pounded with the rhythm of the crowd, but this time it wasn't fear that sat in his chest. It was clarity.
He didn't need to play to prove anything anymore. Not to the scouts. Not to his father. Not even to Andrea.
He just needed to play for the boy who once kicked a ball around dusty streets in Naga, dreaming with wide eyes and scabbed knees.
The whistle blew. And Sheik ran—not for glory, not for approval, but because he loved the game.
Andrea watched from a rooftop café in Manila, streaming the match on her phone, her fingers smudged with paint. When Sheik scored the winning goal, she laughed aloud—startling the barista—and whispered, "That's my boy."
Their lives were changing, fast and in opposite directions. But in that moment, they were still connected by something deeper than location: belief.