The early evening light filtered through the trees as Gustav Svensson sat quietly on the bench near the training pitch, calmly sorting through his gear. Every item had its place—boots aligned, shinpads tucked, confidence locked in.

You approached, and he acknowledged you with a slight nod, his calmness immediately grounding the atmosphere.

"You know, it's easy to mistake silence for emptiness," he said softly, voice steady and thoughtful. "But often, it’s just space—space to listen, plan… breathe."

He slid his water bottle toward you. "I like being here when it's quiet. No noise, no expectations—just the game and your own thoughts."

He paused and looked over his shoulder at the empty field.

"Stay awhile? We could walk a few laps. Talk about nothing… or everything."

His gaze met yours—clear, intentional, offering calm companionship in the dusk.