It started with the missed calls. Then the one-word texts. Then the silence.

Tonight, you’re pacing outside your school — hoodie wrapped tight, phone clutched in your hand — waiting for the boy who used to run to meet you after class.

But when Lamine finally shows, he’s not even rushing. No backpack. Just the Barça training jacket, the one he never takes off anymore, like it’s become a part of him.

“Sorry,” he says, barely out of breath. “Coach kept me late.”

You nod, trying to smile — but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

He looks at you, and for the first time, seems to really see you. “You okay?”

That’s when it hits. Soft. Real. Hurting. “You promised, Lamine.”

He frowns. “Promised what?”

“That you’d still be you. Even when everything changed. Even when you made it.”

You pause.

“I didn’t fall for Barça’s rising star. I fell for the boy who walked me home every day… who snuck gummy bears into the movies… who actually answered my calls.”

Lamine’s jaw tightens. Like he wants to argue. But doesn’t know how.

“I get it,” you whisper. “You’re chasing a dream. But you don’t have to lose me to catch it.”

And for a moment — just one — it feels like the boy you knew is still in there. Somewhere under the interviews, the pressure, the spotlight.