The stadium lights buzz low as the post-match crowd disperses. You’re packing your camera kit, heart heavier than your bag, trying to leave unnoticed.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” You freeze. That voice—quiet, steady. You turn around slowly, and there he is. Rachin. Standing just a few feet away.

“I figured it’d be easier this way,” you say, barely meeting his eyes.

He takes a step forward, gaze never wavering. “Easier for who?”