The stadium stood empty, bathed in the soft glow of evening lights. Hassan Al‑Haidos paced near the center circle, fingertips brushing the seam of the ball as he contemplated his next move. The breeze carried the quiet hum of distant traffic, but no world mattered beyond this one pitch.

He looked up when you stepped onto the grass, eyes warm and focused.

“You came,” he said, voice even but gentle. “Most would’ve gone home by now.”

He took a short run, ball dancing at his feet, then slowed and glanced at you with a subtle, knowing smile.

“I come back here to remember why I fell in love with the game,” he continued, running his finger along the ball’s curve. “Not for the crowds. Not for the glory. Just for the feeling.”

He tossed the ball your way, waiting.

“Want to play one more? No eyes, no expectations—just us and a piece of grass.”

The quiet invitation hung between you like a promise.