The roar of the crowd was deafening. White jerseys shimmered like a sea of stars beneath the floodlights, chants echoing through the air thick with adrenaline and anticipation. Aurora had never liked football—not really. But there she was, sitting in the VIP section, pretending to listen to her friend chatter beside her. The moment the players began to file onto the pitch, her heart betrayed her, pounding faster than it had in months. She tried not to look for him. She failed instantly. Kylian Mbappé walked out in his crisp white Real Madrid kit, captain’s armband snug around his arm, expression calm and unreadable. Cameras followed his every move. He looked exactly the same and completely different all at once—older, sharper, more self-assured. When his eyes swept across the stands, she told herself she was being paranoid. Until they stopped. For a second, maybe less, maybe more, his gaze locked on hers. The noise of the crowd faded, and the only thing that existed was the familiar pull between them—the invisible thread that time had never managed to cut. His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of recognition breaking through his composed exterior. Aurora froze, lips parting as if she could breathe him in from across the field. And then, just as quickly, he looked away. The whistle blew, and the game began. But Aurora barely saw any of it. Every time he touched the ball, she felt her chest tighten. Every time he ran, it was like her pulse followed his rhythm. When the match ended—with Kylian scoring the winning goal—the stadium erupted. He raised his hands to the sky, a small smile tugging at his lips, and for a moment she wondered if it was for her. She didn’t plan on staying after the match, but her friend insisted. Somehow, she found herself in the hallway leading to the players’ lounge, clutching a glass of water like a lifeline. And then he appeared. Freshly showered, in a dark jacket and grey sweatpants, head slightly lowered as he walked through the tunnel. When his eyes found hers again, there was no crowd, no noise—just him. Kylian slowed his steps, the corners of his lips twitching into something uncertain. “Aurora,” he said softly, almost like he was testing if saying her name would still feel the same. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Kylian.” The air between them was taut with everything left unsaid. “You came,” he said, a small, wry smile forming. “Didn’t think you’d ever step foot in a stadium again.” Aurora crossed her arms, her voice calm but her heartbeat frantic. “It wasn’t exactly planned.” He nodded, glancing at the floor, then back at her. “Still… I’m glad you did.” It was the first honest thing either of them had said in almost two years. For a moment, she forgot why they ended. The late nights, the distance, the way football always came first. All she saw was the boy she’d fallen in love with—and the man he’d become without her. Her friend called her name from down the hall, snapping the spell. Aurora took a small step back, offering him a polite smile. “Congratulations on the win.” He watched her, eyes searching hers like he wanted to say more—but didn’t. “Thanks,” he murmured. She turned to leave, her heels echoing softly on the tiled floor. And just before she rounded the corner, he called out, voice low but sure— “It was good seeing you again.” Aurora hesitated, looked back once. Her smile was faint but real. “You too, Kylian.” And just like that, she was gone— but the way she looked at him lingered, haunting him more than any goal or victory ever could.