Rain hammered the glass roof of the dugout as he stared out at the pitch one last time.
The lights above the small European stadium flickered like dying stars. His breath fogged the cold air. Blood throbbed at his temple, where a bandage barely clung to a still-bleeding gash. The cheers had long faded.
Only silence remained.
He sat alone, laces untied, boots soaked, and career—gone.
---
Three weeks earlier, he'd been the talk of Austria's second division. A midfielder with Indian roots—unusual, fearless, fast. His name had appeared in scouting reports from Belgium, maybe even the Dutch Eredivisie.
He could've made it. He was so close.
But fate didn't care for "almosts."
---
The tackle came in the 83rd minute.
He remembered the ball skimming across the wet turf. A defender lunged in from the side. His foot planted—too firmly—on the soft ground.
Then, a pop. A white flash of pain. And darkness.
---
The diagnosis was cruel and final.
ACL. MCL. Meniscus.
Career-ending. No surgery could guarantee his return. Not at the level he needed. The club dropped him within a week.
He didn't call home. What was the point?
His family had sacrificed everything. He hadn't been back to India in four years. And now? What would he return as? A cautionary tale?
He'd given his youth to the game. Every injury. Every lonely Christmas. Every time he stood in the snow while teammates called home in a language he didn't understand.
He had given everything.
But it wasn't enough.
---
Tonight, as he sat under the lights of an empty stadium after sneaking past the night guard, he looked up.
"I wasn't finished," he whispered.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
"I could've done more…"
The pain wasn't just physical. It was spiritual. Like his soul was twisted, unresolved. Like some thread was left undone.
He reached into his bag and pulled out the jersey from his final match. Grass-stained. Torn at the collar. He laid it on the bench beside him.
"I don't want to die forgotten."
The rain intensified.
And then, silence again.
---
They found his body in the morning, inside his old Toyota, crashed against a tree down a dark alpine road. They said he likely fell asleep at the wheel.
They said it was an accident.
Some said it was exhaustion.
Others knew better.
---
In another world...
A baby cried under the monsoon skies of Thrissur, Kerala.
The boy was born during a power cut, his mother clutching his tiny fingers by candlelight.
Outside the small hospital, the rain continued to fall.
His grandmother whispered, "This one's eyes… they look like he's seen something already."
They named him Arjun.
---
Years later, that boy would grow up to chase a ball across dusty fields. He would feel things he couldn't explain. Memories he didn't own. Dreams that weren't his.
And one day, when he first touched leather to boot under floodlights, he would feel it.
The past. The pain. The purpose.
This time…
He wouldn't fall short.
This time…
He would finish what was started.