BEHIND THE HEADLINES AND FIELDS

Anaya entered the hotel lobby in Chicago, still feeling the weight of her long flight from Pakistan just the night before. Sleep-deprived and already running out of time, she rubbed her tired eyes, trying to shake off the exhaustion. She headed straight to the reception, her mind racing with thoughts of her first day in the office. “One coffee, please,” she asked, her voice soft but determined. As she waited for the coffee, she quickly asked the receptionist to arrange a cab for her.

The hustle and bustle of the lobby only added to her stress. Buses pulled up, and as the lift doors opened, several football athletes stepped out, heading toward a waiting bus. A crowd gathered outside the hotel, the air electric with excitement. Cheers erupted as fans shouted their favourite athletes' names, but the loudest cheers were reserved for  Haider Kazi. Some athletes paused to sign autographs and take pictures, basking in the attention before boarding the bus.

Being in sports media, Anaya couldn't let this slip by. She quickly grabbed her camera, a little too eager, as she moved closer to the crowd. She snapped a few pictures and videos, hoping these shots might come in handy for future stories. But as she was about to leave, the cheers grew louder and more frantic. People were running toward her direction, and the noise swelled.

In the confusion, she suddenly collided with a solid chest, spilling her coffee all over her pristine white shirt. The warmth of the liquid dripped down her blouse, and she froze, her heart sinking. “Oh no,” she thought, panic setting in. Clumsy, as always, she had ruined her shirt on her very first day.

Before she could even gather her thoughts, she rushed to the women’s washroom, her face flushed with embarrassment. As she pushed through the door, she took a quick glance over her shoulder.  A man showing his back, the back of his tee says Kazi 01, the one who had unintentionally caused her disaster, was now surrounded by a group of eager girls, all vying for his attention. “Allal Allah! Sharm or lihaaz toh chu kar nahi guzra is sahab zade mai,” she muttered under her breath, irritated but also amused by the scene.

Inside the bathroom, she frantically tried to clean the stain with water, but the satin fabric only lightened, leaving an unsightly mark. Despite the frustration, Anaya’s optimism kept her from spiralling into panic. She took a deep breath and grabbed a sweater to cover the stain. "It's just a shirt, Anaya. Keep going," she reminded herself, trying to make the best of the situation.

After a moment of quiet reflection, she stepped out of the bathroom with a determined look, her clumsy nature temporarily set aside. “Shabash, Anaya. Office ke pehle din hi late,” she scolded herself under her breath, the tone playful but filled with that quiet resolve that always kept her going. With a final glance at the lobby, she stepped into her cab, ready to leave the embarrassing mishap behind and take on the next challenge.

Haider sat in the changing room, his face calm but his mind anything but. A new season had begun, and with it came a mountain of responsibilities. Being the captain meant the pressure was always on him. His team's performance—every win - every loss—was tied to his name.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it. In fact, over the past few years, he had led his team to several national and international victories. People admired him. He had earned their respect. But today, what bothered him wasn’t football.

It was the media.

Every year before the season started, reporters lined up to ask him questions—not just about the game, but about his personal life. They looked for drama, something spicy to write about. And he hated it. Especially when they brought up his family.

Not because he didn’t care about them. He did—more than anything.

Maybe it all started when his mother passed away right after he got selected for the team. Football became his escape, his peace, after Allah. Then his father remarried. Haider understood—it made sense. But seeing someone else in his mother’s place still felt strange.

He had a sister too—his support system. She had recently given birth to a baby boy, and he had promised to attend the aqiqah. But like many times before, work got in the way. He missed it. Just like he had missed so many moments with his family. For the past three years, he hadn’t taken a single proper break unless he was sick.

Sometimes, it felt like football was slowly pulling him away from everything that mattered.

And now, on top of that, there was fake news and rumours. People on the internet ship him with actresses, teammates, and even fans. It made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being associated with girls he didn’t even know. Since his teenage years, he had made a conscious choice to keep his gaze lowered to maintain boundaries. But now, because of PR, he was told to take pictures with fans, smile, interact, stay “friendly.” He had tried to refuse politely, but his manager warned him—“This is important for your image.”

So, he stayed quiet and followed along, even if it bothered him.

“Haider, time for the match,” his teammate called from the hallway.

Haider took a deep breath, pushing away the thoughts.

He walked toward the field. No cameras, no reporters—just a practice match. The silence of the empty stadium felt peaceful. As the ball rolled toward him, he let his worries fade. Out here, on the grass, he was still himself.

And as soon as his foot met the ball, his magic returned—quiet, effortless, and powerful

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Hope you like it
A clumsy Anaya
And lowkey cold Haider

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