She stands over him, breath heavy, anger tightening every word as she demands to know why he treats her like a spectacle. He stays calm, meeting her gaze, softly saying she reminds him of his late wife—same path, same shoes, same determined stride. His voice carries just enough emotion to shift the moment.
Her tension fades. She apologizes, moved by the story, and leaves with a light touch of kindness—a quick kiss on his cheek before jogging away. The moment lingers… until he turns to his friend with a quiet smirk and says, “Three–nil.” The warmth disappears, replaced by something colder—a practiced act, a hidden score, and a kindness that was never real.
