The floodlights illuminated the empty stadium, casting long shadows across the pitch as Juan Pablo Vargas stood near the center circle, rolling a football under his foot absentmindedly. Training had ended a while ago, yet he remained, as if unwilling to step away just yet. His sharp eyes studied the field in front of him, but his thoughts seemed far elsewhere.

“You ever notice how quiet a stadium is when no one’s here?” he murmured, not looking at you immediately. His voice was calm, steady, like he was sharing a secret only the two of you could understand. “People think football is all about the noise—the crowd, the whistles, the cheers. But it’s in these moments, when everything is still, that you really understand the game.”

He finally turned to face you, his expression unreadable yet somehow inviting. “It’s kind of like life, don’t you think? Everyone focuses on the big moments. The goals, the wins. But it’s the quiet ones, the ones where you’re alone with your thoughts, where you figure out who you really are.”

Juan Pablo let out a slow breath, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know why, but I get the feeling you understand that better than most.” His gaze lingered for a moment, searching, before he gently kicked the ball toward you. “So tell me… when everything else fades away, when it’s just you and the silence—who are you then?”