Chapter 25 – The Fall
The air was electric, the kind of match that felt bigger than just a game. Scouts lined the sidelines, clipboards in hand. Sheik was in his element—focused, fluid, his body syncing with the rhythm of the game like it was second nature.
Andrea watched from her phone in Manila, half-listening to the gallery owner explaining the lineup for their art exhibit. Her heart pounded not for her own nerves, but for Sheik. He looked alive out there—sharp, confident. Like all his doubts had burned off under the stadium lights.
Then it happened.
The ball came down from a high arc. Sheik leapt to intercept it mid-air. A player from the opposing team collided into him mid-jump—knee to thigh, shoulder to chest. Sheik twisted awkwardly in the air, crashing down hard.
The sound of him hitting the ground was sickening, followed by silence so thick it drowned out even the referee's whistle. Sheik didn't move.
Andrea's phone slipped from her hand.
Back in the stadium, Sheik stared up at the night sky, his breath shallow. Pain tore through his leg like fire. The medic crouched beside him, trying to keep him still. His knee felt wrong—off, disconnected. Panic surged faster than the pain.
"Don't move," the medic ordered.
He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain dropped him back to the turf. His chest tightened—not just from the injury, but from the flood of thoughts:Not now. Not like this.
His coach looked on, lips pressed into a thin line. The scouts exchanged murmurs. Sheik saw it all through a haze—his future, hanging by a thread.
Andrea waited hours for an update. When the message finally came from one of Sheik's teammates, her hands trembled reading it:
"Dislocated kneecap. Possible ligament damage. He's out for the season."
Andrea didn't hesitate. She caught the next bus back to Naga.
Two Days Later
Sheik sat on the edge of his hospital bed, leg in a brace, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. His dream, so close, now felt like it had shattered mid-air.
When Andrea walked in, windblown and quiet, he looked up in disbelief. "You're here."
"I told you," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm always watching. And I wasn't about to do it from a screen this time."
She sat beside him, brushing a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Sheik."
He let the walls fall for the first time in weeks. "I don't know who I am if I'm not playing."
Andrea didn't offer hollow encouragement. Instead, she leaned in close and whispered, "You're still you. The boy who plays because he loves it. That hasn't changed. You're allowed to fall, Sheik. Just don't stay down."
He blinked back tears he hadn't meant to show.
In that moment, with the sound of the heart monitor ticking beside him and Andrea's hand in his, Sheik realized something deeper than any goal he'd ever scored—he wasn't alone in this fall.