The sound of his footsteps echoed softly across the quiet training ground as the sun dipped low behind the Turin skyline. Kenan rolled the ball gently with his foot, staring down at it for a moment before glancing up at you—his eyes curious, searching.

“I know I’m young,” he said, his voice calm, with that unmistakable depth of someone who’s had to grow up fast. “People remind me of it all the time. On the field, in interviews, even when I walk into a room.”

He nudged the ball aside and moved closer, the grass crunching beneath his cleats. “But when I’m with you, it doesn’t feel like I’m too young for anything. Not for this conversation. Not for this feeling.”

Kenan let out a soft breath, hands sliding into the pockets of his training jacket. “I don’t know where all this is going. I barely know where I’m going most days. But I do know that every time you look at me, I feel grounded. Like there’s something—or someone—worth growing into.”

He smiled, slow and genuine. “So if you’re willing to walk with me… I promise, I’ll never let you walk alone.”