The sun set across the horizon, emitting a soft, orange glow as he stayed in his own world, assuming no one would approach him.

Bachira was sitting against a brick wall in an area just under the bridge, hands clenching around his dirty and worn down football. He sat with both his knees up, his head down as he was lost in a sea of his own thoughts.

He just didn't understand why people could be so cruel to him. Was it because of his eccentric personality and skill in football? Was it because he was just a bit 'different' from regular people? All he wanted was to play soccer with someone, but the thing was that not one person wanted to be friends with him.

He stared at the dirty football in his hands, just wishing that someone would play with him. He didn't like the feeling of being alone, but he knew he had to endure it.