OFFSIDE

88

❝ And for a fortnight there we were forever running. ❞
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Pablo's POV
The sun is just beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the park as Elena and I jog side by side. The November air is crisp, perfect for a run, but I notice that Elena seems a bit off. Her usual enthusiasm is replaced by a distant look in her eyes. She's been quiet for most of the run, her pace slower than usual.

We run more often the last couple of weeks. I like to do a run after training and Elena wants to stay fit. Since its November it's sooner dark in the evening, so the sun is setting around eight pm.

Today was a very busy day for me. I love to run it all out. The photo shoot for Nike started very early this morning and afterwards I also had a gym session at the club.

I match Elena's rhythm, letting the silence stretch between us for a few moments longer, hoping she'll open up on her own. But as we continue down the familiar path, I can't help but feel that something's weighing on her. The park is beautiful at this hour, with the light filtering through the trees and the distant sound of the city, but Elena seems oblivious to it all.

"Mariposa, what's on your mind?" I finally ask, slowing down to make it easier for her to talk if she wants to. Her gaze is fixed on the path ahead, but I can tell she's miles away in her thoughts. "Are you tired of last night? I didn't even hear you coming home."

She look startled to me. "No, no. I'm okay," she smiles.

"How was the party?"

"Yeah good. Ferran's friend was happy with all the people that came."

"Ferran told me you had gotten sick. Why didn't you tell me?" I almost forgot to ask her about it.

Elena looks shocked and starts coughing. "I was just a little nauseous. Nothing major."

"Oh. And then Pedri took you home?" I ask.

Elena nods. "I wanted to be alone, but he thought that was dangerous, so he brought me."

I nod and smile. "I'm glad I can trust my friends with you. They will never abandon you."

"That's right," Elena smiles and looks at the ground.

And it's silent again.

"What's is on you mind, Elena?" I ask her again.

She sighs, finally meeting my eyes. "It's the art deal. It's been over a month since I showed my work to that art critic, and I haven't heard anything back. I'm worried, Pablo. What if he doesn't like my work? What if I'm not good enough?"

I can hear the frustration and self-doubt in her voice. Elena is incredibly talented, but she's always been her own worst critic. I've seen her pour her heart and soul into her paintings, staying up late into the night, completely lost in her world of colors and textures. To me, her work is extraordinary, but I know that in the art world, opinions can vary wildly, and that uncertainty is eating away at her.

"Elena, you know how these things can be. Art critics can take their time, but that doesn't mean they're not interested. Your work is amazing. You just have to be patient," I say, trying to reassure her.

She bites her lip, still looking unconvinced. "It's not just that, Pablo. I don't have any money of my own. I've never had a real job, and it makes me feel... useless. I hate feeling like I'm depending on you for everything."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. I've always seen us as a team, where what's mine is hers and vice versa. But I realize now that she doesn't see it that way. She's struggling with her sense of independence, feeling like she's lost a part of herself by relying on me. It's not about the money itself; it's about what it represents to her—freedom, self-worth, pride.