Kenan Yildiz - You Don't Always Get A Second Chance

Chp. 13

The stadium roars again as the ball is passed around the field, but all I can hear is the pounding of my own heart. All because of me...?

The thought keeps spinning in my head, over and over, like a broken record. Kenan's out there, giving everything he has, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm the reason he's struggling. I was supposed to be his support, his constant—but now... now it feels like I'm just another distraction.

I watch him closely as he maneuvers around the Swiss defenders. His movements are sharp, precise, but there's something off. A hesitation. A lack of confidence. His eyes are focused, but not the way they used to be when he was playing for us—for me.

My breath catches when I see him glance up at the stands, but it's too brief. Did he see me? Did he feel the weight of my stare? I hope not. Only a few seconds into the second half, and we're already on fire. The entire team moves with perfect precision.

The ball is passed to Kenan, but the Swiss defense is too strong. With nowhere to go, he quickly passes it back to Orkun Kökcü. Orkun dances past Albian Hajdari, his footwork sharp and decisive. He shoots a quick pass back to Kenan, who's now positioned much closer to the goal, with no defenders in sight. Kenan takes a moment, eyes scanning the field, before passing it to Kerem.

With a clear shot, Kerem doesn't hesitate. He shoots. The ball hits the back of the net. And just like that Kenan made a crazy assist. In the 47th minute, Türkiye scores against Switzerland in the quarterfinals.

The crowd erupts. And for a moment, everything feels possible again. The victory over Switzerland no longer seems out of reach. The curses from the Turkish supporters in the first half are drowned out, replaced by cheers and screams of pride. The energy shifts, and the weight on our shoulder's lifts, if only for a moment.

I cheer with Avery, jumping up and down, caught up in the joy and pride of the moment. Below, the players pile on top of each other in a tangle of celebration. I catch Arda's eye amidst the chaos. He gives me a smile—quiet but sincere—that says, Thank you. I don't know what for, but in this moment, it doesn't matter.

But the moment is fleeting, and soon the match is set to resume. Yet the energy lingers, now charged with a renewed sense of hope and pride for the Turkish supporters. The cheers and celebrations echo in the stands, a stark contrast to the disappointed silence that falls over the Swiss section. The game continues into the 60th minute, with both Turkish and Swiss players picking up yellow cards.

Then, in the 64th minute, Zeki Amdouni scores his second goal of the match, putting Switzerland ahead 2-1. The ball lands in the Turkish net, and with it, the heads of the Turkish players drop in unison, a collective moment of defeat.

"I'm starting to get worried,"

Avery says, her voice tinged with doubt, her expression mirroring the concern that's growing in my chest. I slump down in my seat, exhaling heavily. If only I'd talked to him before the match... maybe it would have helped.

The ball is now with Kenan Yildiz, but Remo Freuler is closing in fast, trying to steal it away. In a moment of frustration, Kenan aggressively pushes Freuler—an action that clearly goes against the rules of the game. The whistle blows almost immediately.

"Faul."

The referee strides toward Kenan, hand in his pocket, and we all know what's coming next: the yellow card. Kenan throws his hands up in the air in frustration, his face flushed with anger. Several players rush in, arguing that it should be a red card, while others insist it was just a yellow. But the referee stands firm, his expression unchanged.

Kenan curses under his breath, but luckily the referee doesn't hear it. The game resumes, but with no further goals, and by the time we reach the 80th minute, the momentum has shifted. The Swiss players seem more confident now, their fans roaring in support.