It was during PE when we played football at school—the only chance I got to play football—and I always messed it up. I couldn't read the game properly, and I always lost the ball. My friends constantly made fun of me, saying I didn't know how to play.
Well, it's really not my fault. All my friends go to football academies, but I haven't. My parents won't let me join one. They think football is bad for health and that injuries could affect my academic grades. I often fight with my parents about this.
We only get 40 minutes of PE, and by the 35th minute, I messed it up again.
I had the ball, and only 3 minutes left till the whistle blows
Max: "Yo, Ken! Pass the ball here! Quick!"
Rohan: "Not there, pass it here!"
And then someone tackled me.
Max: "Bro, this guy is so—"
Rohan: "Remove Ken from the team!"
Ahmed: "I got the ball! Zoheib, take it!"
Ahmed chips the ball to Zoheib.
Zoheib: "Nice pass. And now, for the climax..."
Zoheib, in the front, waits for the right moment to strike the ball.
Max: "Goalie! It's a volley... Save it!"
Zoheib: "Hah! Ain't no way you think that you can stop my volley!"
He shoots.
The ball moves as if it's floating in the air, and then suddenly dips...
...and reaches the net.
GOAAAALL!!!
Zoheib scores the winner!
PE Sir blows the whistle.
PE Sir: "And that's it for the game. The final score is 2–1! Two goals by Zoheib and one for the other team—an own goal by Tom."
Max: "Bro, Ken, quit football already. It's so—"
Rohan: "Don't be harsh, man. He might cry." (giggles)
Setting: The school bus, heading home.
I slumped into my seat on the bus, trying to blend into the background. My bag felt heavier than usual—not because of books, but because of the weight of disappointment.
Samuel plopped down next to me, his bag landing with a loud thud.
"Yo, Ken!" he said, nudging me. "Did you play football in PE today?"
I stared out the window, watching the buildings blur as we passed by. "Yeah... I did."
"And? How was it? Did you finally show them your 'hidden talent'?" he teased, laughing.
I sighed and sank lower into my seat. "Nope. Same story. I lost the ball, got tackled, and everyone told me to quit football. Again."
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "Harsh, man. They really don't hold back, do they?"
As I sat there, staring out the window, trying to drown out my own thoughts, I heard the seniors laughing from the back.
Senior at the back: "Bro, I saw this Ken playing football today. He was so trash!"
Another voice chimed in. "Yeah, didn't he let the opposite team score a goal? What a joke!"
Their laughter echoed down the bus aisle, each chuckle feeling like a jab at my already fragile confidence. I gripped my bag tightly, wishing the ride would end.
Finally, my stop arrived. Samuel turned to me, his expression softening.
Samuel: "Bye! Don't overthink it, okay?"
I nodded, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, okay. Bye."
30 Days Later
Date: December 31st, 2024
Time: 23:59:57
Location: Dubai Mall, amidst a massive crowd.
Crowd in Dubai Mall
"3!
2!
1!
Happy New Year! Welcome, 2025!"
Fireworks burst into the sky, exploding in dazzling colors from both sides of the Burj Khalifa. The crowd cheered, their voices merging into a deafening roar.
But amidst all the celebration, I stood still, lost in my own thoughts. I stared at the glittering lights and sighed. "Another year has passed, and nothing has changed. No results. No progress."
Frustration welled up inside me like a storm, and before I could stop myself, I screamed into the noise of the crowd: "AHHHHHHH!"
Heads turned, but I didn't care. My fists were clenched. "Why is it that I always play football so badly? Why can't I ever get it right?"
Setting: Classroom
The morning sunlight streamed through the windows as the class speaker stood in front of the room, her voice cheerful and lively.
Class Speaker: "Good morning, friends! We have some exciting news for you. There will be an interclass football competition, followed by an interhouse football competition! Anyone interested can give their name to the class teacher."
The room erupted with energy.
Students (shouting): "ME! PICK ME! I PLAY GOOD FOOTBALL!"
The noise was deafening, and just when it seemed like the chaos would never end, the teacher slammed the table with a ruler so hard that the sound nearly exploded my eardrums.
Teacher (shouting): "Students, keep quiet! If you're interested, raise your hand!"
The room went silent instantly, except for a few muffled giggles. One by one, hands shot up, and, hesitating for a brief moment, I raised mine too.
Rohan (nudging Max): "Yo, Max, look! Ken wants to play football!"
Max (bursting into laughter): "Lol, bro, Ken, do you even know what football is?"
The class burst into laughter, and I felt my cheeks heat up. But I kept my hand up, refusing to let it drop.
Inside, a small voice whispered: This is your chance, Ken. Prove them wrong.
The teacher raised an eyebrow and exclaimed, "Well, that's a lot of kids. Hmm... Let's do one thing. I'll ask sir if we can conduct a match with all those who are interested, and sir will select the best XI for the interclass football competition. Alright?"
Max's laughter echoed through the room.
Max (mocking): "WHOA! Ken! Looks like you won't be in the team, 'cause there's no way you're gonna beat us."
The class erupted into more laughter, but I just stared ahead, ignoring Max as usual. His words stung, but I didn't let them show. Deep down, I knew that this was my chance. I had to prove them wrong.
I looked at my raised hand, the one still trembling a little, but I held it there. I wasn't backing down this time.
Setting: Home
I spent hours each day practicing. Passing the ball against the wall, shooting, dribbling… but deep down, I knew it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to impress the teacher or even the kids at school. It wasn't enough to secure a spot on the interclass football team.
Still, I didn't stop. Every day, I dedicated at least three hours to training, pushing myself further than the last time. I also watched countless football matches—analyzing how the pros played, how they moved, how they saw the game. But when it came to me on the field, I always hit a wall.
The problem was simple, but it haunted me every time I stepped onto the pitch. In a match, I could never see both my teammates and the ball at the same time. It was as if my vision was restricted. I could only focus on one thing—either the ball or my teammates. And that's why I always got tackled. I had no clue how to fix it.
Why do I want to play football so badly?
The answer was clear in my mind—Kevin De Bruyne. A Belgian midfielder who plays for Manchester City. His passing and vision are out of this world. The way he locates his teammates, the way he controls the flow of the game—it's like he sees the entire pitch at once. I wanted to be like him, to have that same ability to read the game.
But that's where I was falling short. I lacked the one skill that defined my idol's greatness: vision.
It was more than just about passing the ball accurately. It was about being able to see the entire game unfold in front of you. It was the ability to know exactly where everyone was, what they were doing, where they would move next—all in a split second.
Without this skill, I felt like I couldn't go any further. If I had this ability, I could've dominated the school's football scene, been one of the best. I could've played like Kevin De Bruyne, but most kids probably faced the same problem as me—no one made it big, and I feared I wouldn't either.
No! I won't let this be my story.
I shook my head, pushing those doubts aside. I want to show my school, no… I want to show the world that I can play good football. That I can make it, no matter what. My dream is to play alongside my idol, Kevin De Bruyne, as a striker, scoring goals from his perfect passes.
But for that to happen, I had to fix this vision problem. I will find a way.
Setting: School Ground
The sound of excited chatter buzzed through the air as we all gathered on the field, waiting for the game to start. PE sir stood in front of us, holding his clipboard, ready to announce the teams. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest—this was it, the moment that could determine my spot on the interclass football team.
PE Sir (clapping his hands): "Alright, class! These are the teams for the selection match for the interclass football team. NOW GET READY!"
There was a collective hush as everyone waited for the announcement. The tension in the air was thick.
PE Sir: "There will be two teams for this match. Team A and Team B. Both teams will be playing a 4-3-3 attack formation."
I listened closely, my body stiff with anticipation.
PE Sir: "For Team A, we have: Zoheib as Striker, Matt as Left Winger, Peter on the opposite wing, Zack as Attacking Midfielder, Ahmed and Bakugo as Left and Right Midfielders respectively, Tom and Mendy as Centre-backs, Anshul as Goalkeeper, and Ronald and Ken as Right Back and Left Back respectively."
Ken—that was me. My name was called. It felt surreal, like I had finally made it to this moment. I looked across the field at Team B, feeling a mix of nervous energy and determination.
PE Sir: "And for Team B: Max as Striker, Rohan as Left Winger, Mathews on the opposite wing, Aaron as Attacking Midfielder, Ryan and Nathan as Left and Right Midfielders respectively, Mark and Cole as Centre-backs, Ben as Goalkeeper, and Jack and Calvin as Right Back and Left Back respectively."
As soon as the teams were announced, I saw the familiar faces on both sides. Max, Rohan, and all the others who had mocked me in the past. But today was different. This time, I wasn't just a spectator—I was part of the action.
PE sir blew his whistle, and everyone took their positions. The game was about to begin.
PE Sir (shouting): "Get in your positions!"
Everyone rushed to their spots, adrenaline pumping. The field felt smaller as I stood in my position—left-back. I glanced across to Team B, seeing Max ready to take on the role of striker. He was intense, but so was I.
PE Sir: "3... 2... 1! KICK OFF!"
The whistle blew, and the game began.
Zoheib, the striker for Team A, kicked off the game with a sharp pass to Johan on the left wing. The ball rolled smoothly under his control, and he sprinted down the sideline, preparing to take on his defender.
Zoheib (yelling to Matt): "You can give some good assists… Can ye?"
Matt smirked, his eyes glinting with determination. He was a fast player, quick on his feet. As he cut inside, he looked for a pass—his head constantly scanning the field.
I kept my focus on my position, knowing the importance of holding my defensive line. But I couldn't ignore the banter—it was all part of the game.