The locker room had emptied out, the sound of cleats on tile echoing in retreat. Bohdan remained behind, sitting on the bench with one elbow on his knee and his gaze fixed on the floor in quiet thought. His jersey clung damply to his back, sweat cooling under the harsh overhead lights.

When he heard the soft click of the door, he looked up—not startled, just curious.

“Didn’t expect anyone else to be here,” he said, voice low, almost melodic. “Most people run from silence. I guess I’ve learned to sit with it.”

He reached down and picked up his phone, idly scrolling through a playlist, then paused.

“Do you ever feel like... the most important things go unnoticed? A perfect pass, a look across the pitch, a thought you never say out loud.”

He finally looked at you properly, expression unreadable but open. “Sometimes, I wonder what else we’re missing when we don’t stop to notice.”