Monday, December 19, 2022

The Torch Doha Hotel

6:47 AM

Demien woke before the alarm and the room was still dark except for the faint light coming through the gap in the curtains, and his right leg felt stiff when he shifted under the sheets but the pain was manageable rather than sharp.

Sophia was already awake beside him with her phone in her hands, and the screen's glow lit her face while she scrolled through something without speaking.

"You're up early," Demien said quietly, and his voice was rough from sleep.

"Couldn't sleep," she replied without looking away from the phone, "kept thinking about the match."

He propped himself up on his elbow and looked at what she was viewing, and the screen showed photos from the past week—stadium lights at night, crowds wearing blue and white, a candid shot of him standing near a fan zone screen that he hadn't noticed her taking.

"When did you take that one?" he asked.

"Thursday," Sophia said, and she swiped to the next photo showing Luca arguing with someone about tactics, "you were watching the analysis breakdown and didn't notice me with my phone out."

"How many do you have?" Demien asked.

"A lot," she admitted, and she turned to look at him with a small smile, "maybe too many."

The curtains filtered the early morning light and the city outside was quiet in a way it hadn't been all week, and the urgency that had filled every street and corner since they arrived felt absent now.

**8:34 AM**

They met Luca and Elena for breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and the conversation was relaxed rather than rushed because their flight back to Milan wasn't until late afternoon.

"What's the plan today?" Elena asked while pouring tea into her cup, and she looked between them.

"No plan," Sophia said, and she glanced at Demien, "just walking around."

"That's boring," Luca replied, and he leaned back in his chair, "there's a market near the Souq Waqif that's supposed to be incredible."

"You two go," Demien said, and his tone was easy, "we'll find something else."

Luca studied him for a moment before nodding, and Elena was already pulling up information about the market on her phone while describing the textile section with enthusiasm.

They finished breakfast and separated in the lobby with plans to meet back at the hotel by three for the drive to the airport, and Demien and Sophia walked out into the morning heat that was present but less oppressive than it had been during the afternoon arrivals a week earlier.

9:12 AM

Corniche Waterfront

The waterfront promenade stretched along the bay with the water flat and blue under the morning sun, and joggers passed in both directions while families walked slowly with small children running ahead.

Demien set the pace without discussing it and Sophia matched him naturally, and they moved at a speed that allowed his right leg to stretch without straining.

"This feels different," Sophia said after several minutes of walking in silence, and she gestured at the quiet waterfront, "yesterday this place was packed."

"Everyone left after the final," Demien replied, and he watched a boat moving slowly across the water in the distance, "the tournament's over so there's no reason to stay."

"Except us," she said.

"Except us," he agreed.

They walked for another twenty minutes before stopping at a bench that faced the water, and Demien sat carefully while his leg thanked him for the break, and Sophia sat beside him with her shoulder touching his.

"Do you miss it?" she asked, and her voice was quiet, "watching yesterday—did it make you miss playing?"

"Yeah," Demien said without hesitation, "but not the way I expected."

"What do you mean?" Sophia turned to look at him.

"I thought watching would make me frustrated about not being able to play," he explained, and his eyes stayed on the water, "but instead I just kept analyzing everything—how they moved, when they decided to pass or shoot, where they positioned themselves before the ball arrived."

"That's very you," Sophia said with a small smile, "turning a World Cup final into a study session."

"Can't help it," Demien admitted, and he looked at her, "it's how my brain works."

She reached over and took his hand without ceremony, and her fingers laced through his while the morning sun reflected off the water ahead of them.

"I like how your brain works," she said simply.

They sat without speaking for several minutes while boats passed in the distance and the occasional jogger ran by, and the absence of urgency felt foreign after weeks of structured rehabilitation schedules and physio appointments that dictated every morning.

"We should eat," Sophia said eventually, and she stood while pulling him up with her, "there's a café near here that looked good when we drove past yesterday."

**10:47 AM

Café Along the Corniche**

The café was small with outdoor seating under canvas umbrellas, and they chose a table near the edge where they could see the water while staying in the shade.

A waiter appeared immediately with menus and glasses of water, and he spoke English with an accent that suggested he was South Asian rather than local.

"This is nice," Demien said while looking at the menu, and the prices were reasonable despite the waterfront location, "quiet."

"No one recognizes you here," Sophia observed, and she watched a family at another table ordering breakfast, "that must feel strange."

"It's relief more than strange," Demien replied, and he set the menu down, "in Bergamo someone always notices—at cafés, in the street, at the physio clinic—and it's fine but it's constant."

"The price of being good at football," Sophia said with mock seriousness.

"The price of being on television," Demien corrected, and he smiled slightly, "I wasn't that good before I got hurt."

"You were good enough to make Gareth Southgate notice," she countered, "that counts for something."

The waiter returned and they ordered—coffee and pastries for both—and the food arrived quickly while they talked about nothing particularly important.

Sophia described how her modeling work felt repetitive once you'd done it long enough, and the glamorous reputation that came with fashion weeks and photo shoots was mostly standing around waiting for lighting adjustments and wardrobe changes.

"Sounds thrilling," Demien said with deliberate dryness.

"About as thrilling as physio appointments," Sophia shot back, and she grinned at him over her coffee cup.

"Touché," he admitted.

They finished eating and paid before walking back toward the city center, and the morning had stretched into late morning while the temperature climbed gradually

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