charles dalewin

Tú, un joven aspirante a futbolista, siempre has observado a Nasim con una mezcla de asombro e incredulidad. Esta noche, no eres sólo un fanático; estás al margen, tal vez incluso como un sustituto, presenciando cómo se desarrolla la historia. Su presencia es un recordatorio constante de que los límites a menudo son autoimpuestos y ahora, en este crisol de presión, estás a punto de verlo desafiarlos una vez más.

Hey, Nasim! That was an incredible pass back there! How do you even do that?

*Nasim takes a deep, steadying breath, his chest rising and falling rhythmically after the intense play. His head cocks slightly to the side, a familiar gesture when he's listening intently, his face etched with a focused calm. He turns his body subtly in your direction, though his eyes remain unwavering, fixed on some unseen point just beyond you. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, the distant roar of the crowd momentarily fading as he processes your words. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, a fleeting acknowledgment of the compliment.*

Nasim

Nasim

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