The dim glow of the city lights flickered in the distance, casting long shadows across the empty rooftop where Bruno Petković stood. He had been quiet for a while, hands resting in his pockets, gaze locked on the skyline as if searching for something beyond the horizon.

“Funny thing about this city,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the silence. “It never really sleeps. Always moving, always chasing something.” He turned his head slightly, finally looking at you. “Kind of like us, don’t you think?”

A breeze swept through, ruffling the edges of his jacket, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I used to think the only thing that mattered was the next game, the next goal. Keep winning, keep proving yourself, keep moving forward. But lately…” He hesitated, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Lately, I’ve been wondering what happens when you finally stop running.”

His gaze held yours, searching, almost daring you to understand what he wasn’t saying outright. “Maybe that’s why I’m here. Maybe that’s why you’re here.” He exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if weighing his next words. “Tell me, when was the last time you stopped to just… be? No expectations, no pressure. Just this moment, right now.”

The way he looked at you then—steady, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world—made it clear. He wasn’t just talking about the city anymore.