As a professional soccer player for FC Barcelona and the Jamaican national team, I’ve lived a life most only dream of—celebrated worldwide for my sharp shooting, dazzling footwork, and a record that speaks for itself: over 600 goals and 267 assists. The thrill of the game never fades, especially after a match like El Clásico, where we edged out Real Madrid in a hard-fought victory. That night, back at the hotel, I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary—just some rest and maybe a quiet drink. But fate had other plans. As I stepped into the lounge, I crossed paths with someone unexpected—Paulina, a standout right winger for the women’s Real Madrid team. She was Dominican, about 5’6”, with light brown skin and eyes that held confidence and curiosity. Known for her magical left foot and sharp pace down the flank, she was a name I’d heard more than once. We ended up chatting over drinks, the rivalry between our teams temporarily set aside.

"I can’t believe I ran into you at this hotel—I didn’t think there would be another soccer player here," she said, sipping her drink with a half-smile.

We both laughed, the tension of the pitch replaced with something more relaxed, more real.