---
The parcel arrived wrapped in brown paper, addressed in shaky handwriting.
There was no sender. No courier details. Just Arjun's name and the Kerala Blasters address.
He found it in his locker after a light training session, just two days before their AFC clash against Al Sadd.
At first, he thought it was fan mail — until he saw the stamp.
Vienna.
His breath caught.
He closed the locker slowly, heart pounding.
---
Later that night, alone on the hostel rooftop, he unwrapped it.
Inside was a single envelope and a small, weathered photograph.
The photo hit him first — two young men in winter jackets, arms slung around each other, standing near a snow-covered training ground.
It was him. His first life.
He looked… carefree. Innocent. Before it all fell apart.
And beside him was—
Timo.
Austrian winger. His roommate. His only real friend back then.
Beneath the photo was a handwritten note in English, the ink smudged in places.
---
> "Arjun —
I don't know if this will reach the right person. Maybe I'm writing to a ghost. Or a memory. Or a miracle.
I don't care how or why — but I saw your match last week.
I know that face.
It's you.
I don't know how you're alive. Or how you look younger than you should.
But if this world gives second chances…
I just wanted to say:
I'm sorry I couldn't be there at the hospital.
I'm sorry I left Vienna.
I never forgave myself for not answering your last call.
When you disappeared… it broke something in me.
But watching you now — seeing you fight again — it gave me peace.
If you are reading this, then it means you're still chasing the ball.
Keep running.
And maybe, one day, forgive me.
—Timo"
---
Arjun sat still for a long time.
The past he'd buried, the face he'd forgotten — it had found him again.
Timo. The one person who treated him like more than a token signing. Who passed to him in matches even when the coach told him not to.
He wiped his eyes and leaned back against the wall, sky above, letter trembling in his hand.
> How did he find me? How did he know?
He pulled out his journal and wrote only two words that night:
> Still running.
---
The next morning, Faizan noticed the change.
"Didn't sleep, huh?"
"Nope."
"Girl problems?"
Arjun looked up and gave a tired smile. "Ghost problems."
Faizan didn't pry. He never did.
---
In training, Arjun was sharper than ever.
He moved with purpose — not anger, not grief. Something deeper.
Coach noticed.
"You're playing like you've already seen the storm."
Arjun simply replied, "I have."
---
That evening, Kalyani visited the ground quietly.
They sat in the players' box, empty seats stretching around them.
She noticed the paper in his hand, half-folded.
He passed it to her.
She read it without a word.
When she finished, she looked at him — tears brimming, not from sadness, but awe.
"You really were someone else."
He nodded. "And someone broken."
"You aren't broken now."
"I'm pieces put back differently."
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I love every piece."
---
Game night.
The Blasters versus Al Sadd.
Their toughest match yet — on paper, a mismatch. On heart? Even odds.
Kochi Stadium was at full volume, packed and pulsing. Yellow walls swaying like waves.
The Blasters walked out behind Arjun, their captain again tonight, eyes blazing.
The match was fiery from the first whistle. Tackles flew. Fans shouted.
Al Sadd scored early. A header from a corner.
But Arjun didn't break.
He kept urging, pointing, pulling players into space.
And in the 40th minute, he stole a ball in midfield, danced past two, and laid it off to Faizan.
Goal. 1–1.
The stadium erupted.
But Arjun didn't celebrate.
He looked up at the sky.
For Timo.
---
Halftime in the locker room was chaos. Coach barked instructions. Players stretched, argued, encouraged.
Arjun sat still, reading the match.
Then he stood, and without raising his voice, simply said:
"We're not underdogs."
The room went quiet.
"We're not lucky to be here. We've earned it. Every drop of sweat, every scar. So stop playing like they're above us."
He looked at Faizan, Aditya, Nikhil.
"We're building something bigger than a season. We're building a name."
---
Second half.
The pressure increased.
Al Sadd brought on their European striker — fast, clinical, deadly.
But the Blasters didn't fold.
And in the 88th minute, Arjun won a freekick just outside the box.
He didn't ask for it. But everyone looked at him.
He placed the ball, took three steps back.
Closed his eyes.
> This one's for the kid who never got to finish the story.
He struck it clean.
The net rippled.
2–1. Kerala.
---
Final whistle.
Arjun sank to his knees again — this time, not in relief. In release.
The past had found him.
And instead of dragging him down…
…it had lifted him higher.
---
Later that night, he took the letter, framed it, and placed it above his bed.
Beside it, he wrote a sticky note:
> Still running, Timo.
And finally… I'm not alone.
---