Rise of a Football God

It was 2 days since the epic clash at the Spotify Camp Nou.

The bruising El Clasico was over, and as the rave about Lamine Yamal's hattrick died, that was when attention returned to the King… Samuel Moses.

That was when it settled in that for the first time all season, Sam walked off the pitch with nothing on the scoreboard. No goal, no assist, just the sting of a reckless elbow that left a shallow gash on his cheeckbone and a deeper one on his pride, or so people thought.

But still, Barcelona was buzzing. Clasico nights always lingered in the city like perfume, but while the city boiled, Sam slipped away from all the noise.

No press conferences, no headlines, no talk of golden boots, no Ballon d'Or talks. Just a short pause. Two days of quiet with Kayla.

They checked into the Hotel Miramar, perched high above Montjuic, overlooking the city like royalty in exile.

It was the kind of place where the scent of lavender clung to the hallways, and silence felt curated. Their suite had a private terrace wrapped in ivy and warmed by the Spanish sun.

From there, the city sprawled below, indifferent and beautiful.

Kayla ran her fingers along the line of gauze on his cheek as they sat together on the balcony, her legs draped over his lap.

The first time she saw him after the injury after her trip to Barcelona, Kayla felt her heart leap out of her throat and in that moment, she wanted nothing more than to find that Rudiger guy to Madrid and strangle him to death.

Now though, she was used to the sight.

Looking at him, she smiled. "You still look perfect," she murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

Sam chuckled, wincing slightly.

"You say that now. Wait until I'm doing interviews like a pirate".

They spent their days drifting. Brunch at Flax & Kale, where Sam traded protein shakes for acai bowls and Kayla teased him about becoming too soft.

Sam laughed to her jokes.

They walked the Gothic Quarter at dusk, blending with tourists and street performers, Sam's cup pulled low, anonymity draped over him like a borrowed hoodie. They ducked into antique bookstores and tried on ridiculous sunglasses in tiny shops.

At night, they lounged in the infinity pool, steam curling into the air as the city lights blinked on like fireflies.

Kayla wore his oversized Barca hoodie over her bikini, and he wore a quiet smile that rarely made it to the cameras. Away from all the hustle and bustle of professional football for the first time in a while, just with the woman he loved, Sam felt at peace.

He felt like he was close to achieving nirvana.

'I wish this moment lasts forever'. He thought, a wistful smile on his face.

Noticing the smile, Kayla also smiled. "What are you thinking about?"

Sam looked at her, smiling wider. "Just thinking of how lucky I am to have such a beautiful career and have the most beautiful girl in the world as my fiancée. Also, I'm just appreciating the moment". He sighed. "I wish it can last forever".

"Well, we can make it last forever".

As Sam looked at her, baffled, she brought out her iPhone before quickly turning her back to him.

Sam followed, hugging her from behind.

Kayla raised her phone up, high enough to cover both of them in the camera, then…

Click!

She took a picture.

Sam chuckled. "Well, that's one way to go about it".

"I know doofus".

He laughed.

They didn't talk much about the match that resulted in his injury, they just enjoyed the moment. She didn't bring up the missed chances or the silence of the scoreboard, God knows he's scored enough this season already.

Instead of bringing all that up, she asked about the dreams he used to have before football was a job.

"Dreams?" Sam laid down, looking at the sky. "Well, when I was small, I used to dream of being a musician at times. My dad was the one who wanted me to play football, while my mom wanted me to go to medical school and be a Doctor". He confessed, half-laughing. "Then I saw FC Barcelona play. Everything changed".

"Which Barcelona squad?"

Sam looked at her, surprised. "Have I not told you of the very first football game that I watched, while I was just 6?"

"You didn't".

Sam sighed, lightly slapping himself on the head. "Such an oversight from me". He grinned. "Well, it just means I can tell you now".

Kayla looked at him, intrigued. "Do tell".

"Ok," Sam's face turned solemn, entering story-telling mood. "Once upon a time, in Nigeria, in the streets of Abraka…"

Kayla rolled her eyes. "Tell the story normally".

"But I want to tell it like this".

"If you do, I'll kiss you".

"Huh?" Sam was confused. "Then, I will tell it like this".

"You cheeky bastard". She kissed him.

It took some time, but Sam did tell the story of the very first football game that he watched, the 2011 UEFA Champions League final between FC Barcelona and Manchester United.

It felt like a lifetime ago when he watched the likes of Andres Iniesta, Xavi, Messi, and the others stealing the show in the elite stage of football, and now, it was his turn and the turn of the new Barca generation.

He smiled. 'We'll do it'.

On the second morning, they took a motorboat ride along the coast, far enough from the beach crowds that it felt like another world.

Sam let the salt wind hit his face, eyes closed, the sting of the sea numbing the scrape on his cheek. Kayla took photos of the horizon. He took photos of her.

That night, as they returned to the hotel, she caught him standing on the terrace alone, staring down at Camp Nou glowing in the distance.

"Thinking about next weekend?" She asked.

He nodded once, then turned to her with that same fire he wore on matchdays. "A little. But not too much".

Then he took her hand and pulled her inside.