March 1, 2021 – Morning, Team Hotel, Goa
"Everyone listen up."
Coach Sergio Lobera's voice broke through the lazy chatter at breakfast. The players quieted instantly, attention snapping toward the man who had just led them to their biggest league achievement yet.
"Yesterday was incredible. Not perfect, but exactly what we needed," he said, eyes sweeping across the team seated at long tables, plates loaded with scrambled eggs, toast, protein bars, and fruit.
Then his lips curved slightly.
"You've earned it. Take the day. No training. Rest, recover, breathe it all in."
A small cheer went up. Hugo Boumous fist-bumped Le Fondre. Bipin grinned ear to ear. Even Mourtada Fall, always stoic, cracked a wide smile.
Some players were already planning.
"Beach ride today?" Raynier asked.
"Let's hit that seafood shack—Adam's treating!" someone yelled.
Adam Le Fondre looked up from his omelet, feigning offense. "Who said I agreed to that?!"
Laughter rippled across the table.
Across the room, Arka sat quietly, sipping from a glass of sweet lime water, earbuds in. His Instagram was still melting — over 200,000 followers now. Reels, retweets, articles, tagged photos. A fresh batch of interview requests sat unanswered in his DMs. He knew his face was on the news, that his name was being chanted in homes across the country. He pictured his little sister bouncing with excitement, his mother's proud tears back in Dharavi.
Raynier nudged him. "You're coming with us, right? We're doing a full Goa tour today."
Arka paused, smiled faintly. "Nah. Gonna go solo."
"Again?" Raynier raised an eyebrow.
"I like the silence sometimes," Arka said, pocketing his phone.
He didn't say it, but part of him still felt... overwhelmed. All this attention, the love, the buzz — it was surreal. But peace? That was rare. And today, he needed it.
Late Morning – Scooty Ride Through Goa
Arka zipped through the winding lanes of Goa on a borrowed black scooty. Helmet on, Earbud in one ear, mask in place. The March breeze was warm, the scent of coconut trees in the air.
Corona cases were still a thing, so he avoided crowded stops. Even now, he carried a small sanitizer bottle clipped to his bag, and his mask never left his pocket. Some teammates were a little more relaxed — but not him. He didn't want headlines like "ISL prodigy tests positive." He glanced at the clear sky and smiled. "Alright, let's make this count."
12:10 PM – Shopping Street, Panaji
He wandered into a modern store tucked between local cafés, quietly admiring the racks.
First, two oversized graphic t-shirts – one with an abstract city print, the other with a small quote on the chest: "Make Noise Silently." They were quite expensive, a luxury he wouldn't have considered before his professional earnings started to trickle in.
Then, two shirts – one crisp white with black detailing and one soft green, almost ocean-toned. He looked at his reflection. "Damn. I don't even recognize myself."
At the suit section, a navy-blue tailored suit caught his eye. The clerk took quick measurements, confirming it was a perfect fit for his athletic shoulders. "You've got athlete shoulders. This one's a good cut for you."
Arka hesitated. The price made his heart skip. But then he thought of the Shield. Of the way he danced around defenders last night. Of his name now being recognized nationwide.
"Wrap it up."
1:30 PM – Tech Store
He stood at the counter, gazing down at the iPhone 12 Pro . This was the one trending, the ultimate upgrade. His old phone was overheating from the constant notifications.
"This one just came in stock," the seller said. "Top model."
His wallet winced. His finances, while improving, were still on the tighter side compared to his new status, but Arka knew he needed a reliable device. His old one wouldn't last much longer with the constant bombardment of notifications and media.
"My old one's basically a toaster," he muttered, swiping his card with a quiet exhale.
The local market was quieter than usual, but the stalls still shone with charm. Arka picked up:
A wooden carving set with artisan handles for his father, a carpenter back home in Dharavi. "He'll actually use these," he said softly, imagining his dad's proud smile.A simple handwoven shawl for his mother. A sleek purple watch with butterfly detailing for his sister. She'd probably squeal and call it magical. And one more – a matte-black metal watch for himself. Cool. Clean. Just loud enough. He bought a few shell keychains, and a fridge magnet shaped like the Goa coast. This was his first real souvenir haul, and his first time truly shopping in Goa for himself and his family, instead of being whisked from practice to hotel.
"First time I'm shopping for my people," he murmured. "About time."
As he stood sipping coconut water, soaking in the quiet atmosphere, someone tugged his hoodie.
A small boy, maybe eight. Mask hanging loose. Eyes wide.
"Are you Arka… bhaiya?"
Arka blinked, then crouched slightly. "Yeah."
The boy turned to his father, who was holding a phone showing Arka's viral reel. "See, papa! I told you it's him!"
His father smiled warmly. "We watched your match last night. You were incredible."
Arka scratched his head, embarrassed. "Thanks."
The boy held out a notebook shyly. "Can I… get an autograph?"
Arka smiled. He uncapped his pen. This was it. His first ever real autograph.
He signed a bold 'A', slashed through with a stylized lightning bolt. Then 'Sawant #22', and a quick doodle of a football orbiting a star. It was simple, raw, and undeniably cool, a burgeoning signature for a rising star.
"Don't lose this," he said, handing it back. "Might be worth something someday."
He found a quiet stretch near Baga Beach, pulling his mask down for a moment, letting his feet sink into the warm sand. The sun was golden on his skin, the gentle roar of the waves a soothing balm. He held a cold, fresh coconut in one hand, the cool liquid a perfect refreshment.
This was different.
Just Arka. A boy from Dharavi, watching the endless expanse of the sea.
"I'm really here," he whispered to no one, the reality of his journey washing over him with each wave.
Back at the camp, Arka was heading towards the dining hall when he heard familiar shouts and laughter. He followed the sound to the team's small gaming lounge, a room with several high-end PCs provided for player downtime. Sure enough, a few of his teammates – Vikram, Mandar, and even a couple of foreign players – were huddled around screens, immersed in Valorant.
"Arka! Get in here!" Vikram yelled, spotting him. "We need a fifth!"
Arka grinned, dropping his bag. He quickly logged onto an available PC. The game, a tactical first-person shooter, was a global phenomenon, and in early 2021, it was rapidly becoming the most popular PC game in India.
For the next two hours, they were fully absorbed.
"Push B! Push B!" Mandar barked, his face intense. "I got a pick mid! One more on site!" Arka called out, his fingers flying across the keyboard. His reflexes were as sharp in-game as on the pitch. There was competitive banter, groans of frustration, and shouts of triumph. They communicated fluidly, a different kind of teamwork, but teamwork nonetheless. After a particularly intense match, which they narrowly won, they all slumped back in their chairs, exhilarated.
"Alright, that's enough grinding for tonight," Mandar said, stretching. "Let's hit the mess. I'm starving after that."
After a quick, late dinner with his teammates, discussing strategies for their next Valorant session as much as for the upcoming matches, Arka finally retreated to his room. He tossed his new phone onto the bed, then picked it up, unlocking it.
He opened Instagram.
Followers: 273,918
The number was still climbing, albeit slower now. He opened the top reel. The Goal. The Cryff. The burst. The roar. The audio had been synced to cinematic music. The views? Over 1.1 million.
"A boy from the slums. A goal that shook the league. Remember the name."
He leaned back against the headboard, eyes shining. "Yeah… not bad," he said, a bit smug now, a touch of well-earned pride in his voice.
He then remembered something else. Scrolling through his news feeds on his new iPhone, a particular movie caught his eye.
"Critically acclaimed thriller, "Godzilla vs. Kong", is making waves across the globe!"
His fingers froze. "Godzilla vs. Kong", the intense, screen-based Action/Sci-fi that had taken everyone by storm, was showing.
"That was today?" he muttered, slumping back. The nearest theatre was showing it — but closed. COVID rules. Goa hadn't reopened all theatres.
"Of course. First free night in months, and I miss the best release of the year…" A sigh. "But hey… football first."
He then opened his Duolingo app, a habit he'd picked up to pass time and challenge himself. A quick 30-minute lesson in both Spanish and English, preparing him for potential future interactions with Coach Lobera or new foreign teammates.
With his mind finally quiet, he switched off the lights and drifted to sleep, the images of the roaring crowd, the green pitch, and the glow of his monitor fading into dreams. His day off was over. Tomorrow, the playoffs prep began.