Ariana

Chapter 2

The commentator’s voice echoed through Ariana’s headphones.

“Eighteen years old! Thomas Osborne announces himself to the entire league!”

A roar from the crowd followed as the screen showed Thomas sprinting across the pitch, arms spread wide after scoring on his debut.

Ariana replayed the clip again.

And again.

The quality was grainy now, uploaded years ago by some fan account, but she still remembered watching it live as a kid.

The movement before the goal fascinated her most.

Not the finish.

The space he created.

The way he dragged two defenders wide before cutting inside.

Most people watched football for goals.

Ariana watched for patterns.

The bell above the convenience store door chimed as another customer left.

Ariana sighed and pulled one earbud out while stacking drinks onto the shelf.

The small TV near the counter played sports highlights with the sound muted.

Football again.

Always football.

“You’re watching those old clips again, aren’t you?”

A coworker walked in through the back door holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Ariana jumped slightly.

“I’m studying,” she defended immediately.

Her coworker laughed. “Normal people don’t study football at midnight.”

Ariana muttered quietly:

“That’s why most teams are terrible.”

After her shift ended, Ariana stopped at the ATM beside the station.

She checked her balance.

$235.67

The number made her shoulders sink slightly.

Rent.

Scooter payments.

Food.

Electricity.

Debt.

She opened her calculator app and stared at the numbers for a while before sighing quietly.

“If I skip lunch twice a week…”

She typed again.

“…maybe.”

Not enough.

Never enough.

Still, she transferred part of her paycheck toward the debt anyway.

$30

Even a small amount felt better than ignoring it.

The smell hit her the second she entered Forno & Fire.

Cheese.

Dough.

Smoke.

Her manager waved at her from behind the counter.

“You’re late.”

“By forty seconds.”

“Still late.”

Ariana tied her apron quickly while the kitchen buzzed around her.

Orders printed nonstop from the machine.

Most nights blurred together: cook, pack, deliver, repeat.

Then another receipt printed.

A different driver's delivery order.

He manager gives her the order.

"Do this one today"

Large pepperoni.

One of the regulars.

Ariana grabbed the insulated bag and headed outside toward her scooter.

This scene gives atmosphere.

Cold wind brushed against Ariana’s face as she drove through the city streets.

The roads were quieter now.

Streetlights reflected against wet pavement while football commentary still played softly through one earbud.

Ariana barely noticed she was talking back to it.

“No, that formation doesn’t work if the midfield can’t rotate properly…”

A red light stopped her.

She glanced down at the delivery receipt again.

Apartment 214.

She didn’t recognize the address.

She climbed the apartment stairs slowly, balancing the pizza bag against her hip.

The hallway was quiet.

Ariana knocked once.

Footsteps approached from inside.

The door opened halfway.

Ariana froze.

For a moment, her brain refused to process what she was seeing.

Messy hair.

Exhausted eyes.

Oversized hoodie.

But she recognized him instantly.

“…Thomas?”

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