Number 05

Chapter 22 - The Distance Between Fields

The coliseum smelled faintly of sweat and varnished wood, a familiar scent that usually grounded Victoria. But lately, the space felt emptier, the echoes of her kicks and shouts bouncing back to her without the usual warmth of his presence.

Tomás had become busier. Practices stretched longer, meetings with coaches and scouts filled his afternoons, and his messages, once thoughtful and teasing, had grown short, clipped, almost perfunctory. Busy, she reminded herself, but the ache in her chest said otherwise.

She tried not to let it show, tried to keep her focus on poomsae and precise movements. The rhythmic pounding of her feet, the crisp snap of her kicks, even the sting of overworked muscles became her sanctuary. But even here, on the mat, she felt the distance.

During one late afternoon practice, Victoria paused mid-kick, sweat dripping down her forehead, and glanced through the open doors toward the soccer field behind the coliseum. He was there, practicing alone again. The ball moved swiftly beneath his feet, controlled and precise. He looked up briefly, catching her gaze, but the nod was brief, almost mechanical. Then he was back to drills, back to the rhythm of his own world.

Victoria sighed, lowering her arms. The space between them felt wider than the stretch between the coliseum and the soccer field. Every glance, every small nod that had once carried promise now seemed full of restraint, hesitation, and things unsaid.

At lunch, her sketchbook lay open on the bleachers, pencils scattered around her. Normally, she would sketch him — the subtle curve of his jaw, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the intensity in his black eyes. But today, the page remained blank. She stared at it, heart heavy, wishing she could capture more than just his image — the way his absence echoed in her chest.

Her best friend nudged her, raising an eyebrow. "You're... quiet. All broody again?"

Victoria offered a small, tight smile. "Just thinking," she said. "Nothing important."

But it was important. Everything about him had become important. Every message, every glance, every fleeting moment together now seemed weighted with meaning. And the more he slipped into busyness, the more she feared he was slipping away from her.

That evening, she stayed late, practicing alone after everyone had left. The coliseum was empty but for her, the shadows stretching long and soft under the dim lights. Her kicks sliced through the air, but the rhythm was hollow, her focus fractured. She imagined him across the field, juggling the ball, controlling it with skill and ease. She wanted to walk over, to bridge the space, but something held her back — pride, fear, the unspoken acknowledgment that life was moving faster than either of them.

During a short water break, she leaned against the wall, towel in hand, and let herself glance toward him one more time. His posture was upright, focused, but the faint slump in his shoulders betrayed exhaustion. She realized, with a sting, that she barely knew what was happening in his life anymore. The messages had stopped carrying warmth, the teasing was gone, and even their accidental glances had become guarded.

The thought made her chest ache. She hated it — hated the way absence could feel so loud, the way quiet could feel like a vacuum pulling at her heart.

The next day, she tried to shake it off, diving headfirst into drills, stretching routines, and poomsae sequences. Sweat and repetition became her armor, the only way to ignore the hollow ache of his missing presence. But even as she moved, her eyes kept flicking toward the field outside the coliseum windows. There he was, dribbling the ball, his focus unwavering, unaware of the way she watched him, aching for the connection that had once been so effortless.

At school, she noticed the way others spoke of him — whispers about his performance, rumors of scouts and opportunities. Her chest tightened with jealousy and frustration. He's slipping into a world I can't reach, she thought bitterly. And I can't do anything to stop it.

By the evening, the unspoken distance weighed heavily. Victoria found herself standing at the edge of the bleachers after practice, arms folded, eyes scanning the empty field. The wind picked up, tugging at her short, highlighted hair, and she shivered despite the sweat on her skin.

Tomás's figure appeared in the doorway leading to the field, catching her gaze. Their eyes met briefly, the connection — once immediate and electric — now fragile, delicate, and tense. He offered a small smile, faint, almost apologetic. She nodded slightly, heart fluttering with a mix of longing and frustration.

No words passed between them. There didn't need to be. The space between the coliseum and the field mirrored the distance that had grown between them — unspoken, heavy, and aching.

Later, walking home, she felt restless. Her thoughts circled him, spinning questions she didn't dare ask. Was he avoiding her? Was he too focused on his future to care about what was happening here, now, in these quiet moments they had shared? She forced herself to remember the words he had once said — that they'd make it work, together. But the reassurance felt fragile against the reality of growing distance.

That night, Victoria opened her sketchbook. The page remained blank, untouched. She wanted to draw him, to capture something tangible, but her pencil hovered, hesitant. How could she sketch someone slipping through her fingers? How could she capture the laughter, the small touches, the shared glances, when now they felt so fleeting, so fragile?

Instead, she wrote. Words, short and messy, spilling across the page: I don't want to lose you.

She didn't send them. She didn't even show them. But writing them, admitting them to herself, felt like the first small act of courage in a week that had felt overwhelmingly empty.

Across the city, Tomás practiced in silence, unaware that someone was thinking of him, wondering if he was thinking of her. Across the fields and halls, the distance stretched, quiet and heavy, full of words unspoken, touches missed, and glances that lingered too long and yet said nothing.

And in the stillness, Victoria realized that she would have to find the courage to bridge the gap herself, to speak, to act, to risk. Because the space between them wasn't just physical anymore — it had become emotional, fragile, and the longer she waited, the harder it would be to close.

She clenched her fists briefly, a spark of determination igniting inside her. She wouldn't let the distance define them. She wouldn't let silence win. Not now. Not him.

The field outside the coliseum remained quiet, the shadows stretching long under the setting sun. Somewhere, she knew, he was looking toward the horizon too, unaware that someone was thinking of him with longing, worry, and the fragile hope that connection could survive even when words failed.