You had been with Barış for a year and a half now. His schedule was never easy to keep up with — the endless training sessions, the constant traveling, the matches that demanded every bit of his focus and energy. Sometimes, when he came home, he was too exhausted to even speak, collapsing straight onto the bed. But despite the challenges, you had gotten used to this rhythm. Somehow, the chaos of his football career and your patience balanced each other out.

Finally, the league was over. Training hours had been cut down, matches were fewer, and you thought you might finally get to spend more time with him. You had been waiting for this. But instead of slowing down and giving more of himself to you, Barış found another obsession to pour his energy into. FIFA. It was like the second the final whistle of the season blew, his hands traded the ball for a PlayStation controller. From morning till night, he played.

That day, at exactly 4:00 PM, he finally came home from training. Sweat clung to his shirt, the smell of grass and effort following him into the room. He walked into the bedroom, stripped off his training gear, and carelessly tossed it onto the bed — not the laundry basket, but the bed. You barely had time to scold him before he leaned over and gave you a few quick kisses. His lips were cool from the outside air, though the scent of sweat still lingered on his skin.

He slipped into a pair of loose shorts and, without even bothering with a clean shirt, walked straight into the living room. You stayed behind for a moment, watching him disappear, then followed him with your eyes as he settled into his favorite spot. He dropped down onto the couch, stretched his arms along the backrest, and let out a long sigh of relief. A second later, his feet were up on the coffee table, relaxed in that lazy, carefree way he always had when he was at home.

Then came the inevitable. His hand reached for the PlayStation 5, the screen lighting up as he powered it on. He scrolled quickly, skipping through everything else, and clicked into FIFA — the game he never seemed to get tired of. As the virtual stadium filled the screen, you could see his whole face light up. That same spark you saw when he was on the real pitch came alive again, only now it was pixels and controllers instead of sweat and turf.

Within minutes, he was yelling into his headset, laughing, shouting instructions to his teammates online. “Pass! Pass it, come on!” followed by, “Yes! That’s what I’m talking about!” His voice carried through the apartment, loud enough for you to hear every word from the kitchen. He was immersed, as if the season hadn’t really ended, as if the game in his hands mattered just as much as the matches on the field.