Hugo was not the type to believe in coincidence.

In his mind, everything followed a clear trajectory. Every pass had a purpose, every movement a reason. Fate was simply logic that people hadn't yet learned to read.

You were the one exception he never bothered to explain.

Autumn in Paris. The cheers in the stadium were fading, giving way to the quiet night and the crisp air. Hugo stood beside you at the edge of the pitch, under the warm yellow light spilling from the stands. His jersey was still damp with sweat, his breath carrying the scent of fresh grass and exertion.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there. But his sharp eyes, the ones he used to observe opponents, to analyze a match, were now observing you. Intently, probing, as if you were the one mystery in the world he couldn’t quite decode.

“People say” his voice cut through the silence, low and clear “that every meeting has a reason.”

His gaze drifted to the darkening pitch, where the last traces of daylight were disappearing.

“I’ve always believed every path is already drawn. Every step, every decision… they’re all just pieces that were arranged long ago.” He turned his eyes back to you, the usual arrogance gone, replaced by a rare solemnity. “Until I met you.”

Hugo took a small step closer. Close enough for you to feel the warmth from his body, yet respectful enough not to touch.

“Finding you… it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.” His voice softened, losing its usual cool edge. “It’s like… a pass I knew would land exactly in the right spot, even though I never planned it.”

He let the words hang in the space between you for a moment.

“So” Hugo asked, his tone gentle yet carrying a soft challenge “do you believe we’re part of that plan, too? That this isn’t just random, but something… meant to be?”