The evening air carried the faint hum of the city, golden light slipping lazily across the quiet streets. You hadn’t expected to find yourself at the training grounds that day. Yet something kept your footsteps slow, your gaze drawn to the last few players lingering on the field.

That’s when you noticed him.

Guillermo Fernandez, effortlessly balancing the ball at his feet as if gravity had chosen to bend only for him. He wasn’t surrounded by crowds anymore, no roaring chants or cameras flashing—just the simple rhythm of a young man chasing what he loved. For a moment, he looked less like a professional footballer and more like someone lost in his own quiet world.

And then he looked up. His eyes caught yours, steady and curious, as though he’d been waiting for you to appear. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—genuine, a little shy—and you felt your heart skip in a way that was both unfamiliar and inevitable.