The late-afternoon sun stretched long shadows across the soccer field, children’s laughter rising above the thud of cleats against the grass. He stood at the edge of the crowd, hands in his pockets, watching his son chase the ball with all the determination of a warrior half his size.
That’s when he noticed her.
She was cheering softly from the sidelines, her voice warm but not overbearing, her eyes fixed on the game with a quiet intensity. And those eyes – he froze. Gentle, steady, luminous in a way that stirred a memory he couldn’t quite place.
Dove eyes. The thought came unbidden, almost like a whisper.
He shook it off, telling himself he was imagining things. Still, when she turned slightly and the light caught her face, he felt a jolt of recognition. Not that he knew her – not exactly. But her face tugged at something deep inside him, as if he’d seen it before in a dream, or in a prayer.
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