Match day.
Year 4 vs. Year 2 — the real game everyone came to see. But I was barely paying attention. My boys were practicing behind, all sweating, putting in efforts.
But there he was.
Acting like my boyfriend. Smiling like we had a thing. Standing next to me — too close — brushing shoulders, nudging arms, dropping flirty comments in between water breaks.
And I won't lie — I found it cute. Stupidly cute.
But I remembered when one of his guys was teasing him earlier:
"Shey bi if Hadassah were here, he go play like this. He go to score pass Ronaldo."
And just like that, my brain sent warning bells. The way he moved, the way he smiled, it was familiar. Too familiar. Like someone I should know to stay away from.
But instead of backing off... I found myself leaning in.
Pushing forward.
And after the game — sweaty, dirty, sandy from head to toe — there I was, me, bending over and brushing the sand off his arm, helping him clean up. Like I was his babe. Like I was the one.
How did I get here?
That's when it hit me.
Whatever this was — whatever weird, messy thing I was starting to feel — it wasn't just harmless anymore.
******
As the official sport rep and unofficial team mother, I was the one keeping all the players' phones safe. While the boys rushed back to their hostels after the match, I stayed behind for a quick post-game interview. He had left his phone with me.
Twenty minutes later, he called me using a teammate's line. His voice was calm, maybe even bored, but I convinced myself he was waiting. For me.
When I got to his hostel, he was already outside. We stood near the entrance—where anyone could see us, the hallway light buzzing, the night air thick with post-match exhaustion and whatever strange tension was between us.
I don't know what I expected.
I should've just handed him his phone and walked away. But instead, I played the game. Teased him. Lifted the phone just out of reach, joking that he'd have to work for it. But he's taller than me—by a lot—so the stunt fell flat fast. He took it with ease.
No extra glance. No cheeky hug. No playful touch. Nothing.
He said, "Thanks," and turned to go.
Just like that.
And I just stood there.
Outside his hostel.
Looking like a clown.
All the things I thought he might do… he didn't.
And all the things I swore I wouldn't feel… I did.
~~~It was in that moment, I realized… maybe I wasn't the player in this story. Maybe I was the ball.~~~