Boys playing football started to wake up early because during practice there was a sun which emitted sunlight. Shining so bright that Kareem could feel it in his cracked boots which he believed needed replacement. The sun was just and accentuated the dust all around his feet like a necklace as he dressed himself. He too, in a way, was like his feet. The boots screamed life and had stories to tell but they were just too exhausted to do so for he was around for some time now. His knee joint rings, two knee taps and that was the sound of dove tailing screws needing lubrication.
Kareem used to be the rage, fervent as a forward and yet to peak for the national team. His mom was eagerly awaiting his debut. Fans had insatiable expectations. Coaches, to commend Kareeman's lightning fast movements, robe him with accolades.
Scouts, on the other hands, were not much different in the regard. They were equally blown and heavily in love with the player and saw a great deal of potential in him.
The seemingly perfect life turned out to be troublesome. The dreams started becoming broken, turning harder to swallow over time.
Life became even better when he met Amina. Gym people would call her ‘soft spoken.’ To egyption, her laughter felt like music. Naming a couple of days her easier Kareem brings us to dreams that transform endless energy into endless gold. Even in dire times, Kareem qualilfied to smile. He gained new beauty to his existence.
When Kareem and Amina were married to each other former name shinied within them sharing the beauty of feeling "I hope you fathom what life is ready to bestow".
For a while, everything was perfect. Everything changed when he got injured, first minor, but later career threatening. From his injuries, first one club dropped him, then another, and he could feel financial aspects of his life dwindling. The loneliness consumed him, and fights with Amina became a norm. The essence of life felt drained out.
Amina won't give in that easily, but the anger built inside him was too much to bare. The silence lasted too long and he started saying things that crossed his mind, but she had to take the tough decision and walk away. He was heartbroken but can’t blame her. And for a period everything felt fine, because he had a chance to rebuild his life. But then came the aftermath — divorce, base solely set for the child support payments, custody battles. Everything changed, one step too many and you'd fall off a cliff.
Magic dried up. The endless bread of life turned to dust. Payments became an unattainable vision dominating hysterical déjà vu. Payments turned into an illusion after his promise to himself of never breaking supportive steps. Staring into emptiness slowly pulled him into a void that felt like home, and replacing always became a necessity, any type of love. Ever since he was arrested, this image suffocated him — a famous footballer arrested because he couldn’t pay what was promised, turning a hallowed vow into shackles.
Though short, my sentence was just enough to demolish what little pride he had left. He was still alive, but a tad quieter, leaner, somehow older prematurely. Broken? Never.
He made his way back not within stadiums but in open grounds, alleyways, and local tournaments where men fought not for trophies, but for their livelihoods. Surviving. He played with limp older men who would be out of breath after every match, as well as. He would win a few thousand some nights, while other nights would break the bank as he walked home – bruised both physically and mentally.
Zoya stayed tucked away in Kareem's mind, as did a folded photo of her. She was five the last time he laid eyes on her, and now, if his guesstimation was in the ballpark, she was around eight or nine. Remembering him? He had no clue if she did, but one thing is for sure – he was not wrong.
Sometimes he heard stories. Amina had gotten married again. that Zoya's academic performance was good. He avoided it out of concern that he could do more harm than good. He had no choice but to continue playing and living. Perhaps he might approach her and tell her, "I never stopped trying," if life ever showed him even a shred of pity. Kareem felt something shatter in his leg one afternoon during a local semi-final. He was in excruciating pain, but he persisted. Not quite yet. Like a man under a spell, he ran, hobbled, and played. In the final minute, he scored the game-winning header, which he wasn't sure he would make it.
Five hundred dollars was awarded as the prize. Enough to cover rent. for nourishment. Perhaps even a tiny present for Zoya, something he could discreetly drop off at her school. “Just a little longer,” he said as he slept on a tiny mattress in a rented one-room apartment that night, his leg wrapped in ice, staring at the ceiling. On the weekends, he occasionally tutored local children, teaching them how to shoot, pass, and maintain composure. They referred to him as "Coach K." Some were unaware that he had previously worked as a professional. However, they admired the way he played—with passion and ferocity, as if every game were his final.
A young girl with curly hair dashed past him on his way to the school gate one day as he hobbled off the field. He stopped. It isn't possible. However, she turned slightly, and he briefly caught a glimpse of her eyes. Amina's gaze. His daughter. Zoya. She was unable to identify him. Why would she? He didn't resemble the pictures she must have seen. However, he was standing there with his hand in his pocket, holding on to the picture of her. He didn't yell. didn't give a wave. "Keep running, little one," he said, grinning as he watched.
Kareem's gaze returned to the field. It was the beginning of another match. He stepped into the grass despite the pain in his body. He had a few more objectives to pursue. Not for show. Not for publicity. For her. Because the last whistle doesn't always mean the end. The second half is just getting started.
