Side Story 7
All-Star Weekend 2019
Chicago was loud.
Not just from the wind, or the fans crowding the United Center—but from the endless hum of cameras, interviews, and the nonstop buzz of All-Star Weekend.
Everywhere Han Sen went, people wanted a piece of him. Photographers calling his name, sponsors lining up, young players orbiting like satellites.
He smiled, posed, even cracked jokes with the media.
But inside?
He couldn't stop hearing his mother's voice.
"You don't have to tell me everything. I don't need answers."
That dinner back home during Lunar New Year had stirred something he hadn't been ready to face. She said it so gently. No confrontation, no anger—just a quiet, undeniable truth.
And since then, Han had moved through his days like a man underwater. Functioning. Focused. But distant.
Back in his hotel suite after a full day—charity events, warmups, media obligations—he stood by the window, watching city lights flicker in the freezing air.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Mentions. Notifications. Reposts.
He ignored them all.
He'd spoken to his dad once—light-hearted, casual. His father hadn't brought up the dinner. Just talked about basketball. The festivities. Nothing more.
But his mother?
Silence.
She hadn't called.
And he hadn't either.
It wasn't shame. It wasn't guilt.
It was fear—of what it meant to look that moment in the eye.
Because if he did… the walls might come down. The ones that let him pretend he was just an athlete. Just a star.
No accident. No second life. Just ball.
But now, he couldn't ignore it anymore.
Not after her words.
Not after her eyes.
He sat at the edge of the bed, the city muffled behind double-paned glass, and opened their chat.
Still pinned.
He wanted to say something. Anything.
But every draft felt wrong.
"Sorry."
Too cold.
"I didn't mean to forget."
A lie.
"I miss you."
Too late.
So he let the cursor blink. Once. Twice. Over and over.
Then finally… he typed something small. Honest. Maybe not enough. But real.
"Thanks for everything."
His thumb hovered over send.
It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.
And then—
Send.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
And then—
A heart emoji.
Just one.
Simple.
But it landed harder than any dunk. Any game-winner. Any ring.
He didn't smile.
Just leaned back, eyes on the ceiling.
And for the first time since Lunar New Year…
He felt a little lighter.
Like maybe this second life wasn't borrowed anymore.
Maybe—slowly—it was becoming his.