Chapter 22: Welcome to Dutch Football
The next morning arrived faster than Amani expected, slipping through the darkness like a thief.
The alarm clock that came with the room buzzed sharply at 6:00 AM, but Amani was already awake, eyes tracing patterns on the ceiling. Sleep had been an impossible task; his mind looped every word Mr. Stein and Coach Pronk had spoken the night before.
The final test.
The under-17 match.
The first team coach is watching.
It was too much, too soon, but exactly what he had asked for. This was the path he’d chosen. This was the price of chasing a dream too big for his old life.
Amani slipped out of bed, his bare feet flinching as they touched the cold floor. The radiator had kept the room comfortable overnight, but the wooden floorboards still held the chill of a Dutch winter morning.
He padded to the window and pulled back the curtain. Outside, darkness still clung to the streets, broken only by the soft glow of streetlamps reflecting off fresh snow. The world looked peaceful, silent, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.
By 7:30, both boys were dressed and waiting outside the apartment block, fingers stuffed into gloves, breath curling into the freezing air like smoke signals.
Amani’s boots crunched softly in the icy gravel, the cold biting straight through his socks and into his toes. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to keep his blood moving.
Malik, wrapped in enough layers to double as a walking laundry basket, paced in slow circles, his scarf wound so tightly only his eyes peeked out.