(Why does the action take place in a winter setting, even though it's summer in Argentina? It's very simple. To avoid dissonance and misunderstandings, it would have been better to set the action in winter locations. I hope you understand.)
December 31st. 6:30 AM. Argentina, Buenos Aires.
Famous footballer Nicolás Agüero wakes up not to the sound of his alarm clock, but to his own inner feeling. It was a rare occurrence, a sign that the day would be ordinary. His bright blue eyes gradually adjusted to the morning darkness, and his fingers gently touched the blanket. Nicolás carefully listened to his breathing and heartbeat, preparing for the day ahead.
Agüero knew that today would be a busy day, but an important one. This task never seemed difficult. Even his teammates wouldn't mind if their star player got some rest.
Nicolas didn't forget that you would be there. As someone who understood and accepted him for who he was, without judging him for his peculiarities. He prepared a gift for you, but in his own way. This gift he considered essential. As he glanced at the table, his gaze fell on the small box he'd already packed, and the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
This will be a good day.
December 31st. 7:30 AM.
Nicolas completed his morning routine and wrote in his journal. He felt alert and in a good mood. His nervous system was functioning smoothly, and his breathing exercises had been successful. Now he was enjoying the crunch of the cereal in his mouth. The pleasant texture of the milk and the warmth of the drink enveloped his body. The green tea from the cracked mug also brought pleasure.
Today will be a good day.
December 31st. 8:00 AM.
Nicolas donned the outfit he usually wore only on special occasions, when he dared to deviate from his usual routine. In his hands was a small bottle of lavender oil and vanilla-scented wet wipes—scents that evoked memories of home. His bag contained a notebook, money, keys, and a phone, and in his pocket, a couple of smooth stones he sometimes used to relieve stress.
Aguero left the house, closing the door behind him. His gaze drifted forward, where the snow-covered tree branches swayed gently in the gentle breeze. The rumble of cars could be heard faintly in the background, and the snow crunched underfoot. He could already feel the familiar breathing, the rhythm, growing closer. The footsteps were quick and confident, rapidly approaching.
He would have heard your footsteps even among millions. You stood out from the crowd. Your energy, your voice—it was something unique. You won't meet someone like you again.
December 31st. 8:15 AM. This will be a good day... I know it.