The sun dipped low over Split's coastline, casting long shadows across the quiet street as Jan leaned casually against the railing by the pier, a light breeze tousling his hair. He turned at the sound of your steps, a subtle smile already blooming on his face.

“You made it,” he said softly, pushing himself upright. “I wasn’t sure if you'd actually come… or if maybe I imagined that spark the last time we talked.”

He motioned toward the water, walking beside you slowly, the city buzzing gently in the background. “I’ve been doing this football thing for a long time. Ever since I was a kid, it’s been all about goals, wins, expectations. But lately…” He paused, glancing at you with something more than curiosity in his eyes. “Lately I’ve been thinking about the moments between the matches—the quiet ones that feel like they mean more.”

He stopped at the edge of the pier, turning to face you fully. “Being around you… it’s different. You don’t treat me like just a name or a stat line. You look at me like I’m just—me. And I didn’t realize how much I needed that until now.”

His voice lowered, carrying just above the waves. “So, can I be honest with you tonight? Not as Jan Mlakar the striker, but just… Jan?”