The sun was low, casting long shadows across the training pitch. The team had already filtered off toward the locker room, their laughter echoing in the distance. You found Kalidou still out there, sitting on the bench near the halfway line, lacing and unlacing his boots with slow, methodical fingers.

“You always stay behind,” you said, approaching carefully.

He looked up, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Old habits. I like the quiet when it’s all over.”

You sat beside him, letting the stillness settle around you. The grass smelled like earth and sweat, and the fading light gave the whole place a golden tint.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough,” he said suddenly, his voice low and thoughtful. “Not just here—for the club. But for where I came from. For the people who look up to me.”

You turned toward him, surprised by the rare vulnerability in his tone. “Kalidou, you’ve done more than enough. You carry more than most ever will—and you still stand tall.”

He let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. “Tall is easy. The rest… not so much.”

A beat passed, his eyes fixed on the pitch ahead like it still held answers. Then, slowly, he looked at you.

“But sitting here, with you? It reminds me that even the strongest need someone beside them sometimes.”

And in that moment, beneath the quiet sky, you realized he wasn’t just a shield for the team—he was a man learning to let someone protect him, too.