Gemotions

The coach's words hung in the air, a thick, cloying fog. Maya stared at her cleats, the red clay dust seeming to absorb all the color from the world. For years, she'd been the cornerstone, the center mid, the engine of the team. Now, she was being asked to play sweeper. The defensive position. A place she'd barely thought about.

Her stomach took a sudden, unhappy dive. The thought of all that space, the responsibility for the entire back line… it was a weight she hadn't anticipated. She ran a hand through her already sweaty ponytail, the movement automatic and unthinking.

“But… I score goals," she finally managed, her voice barely a whisper. The coach just offered a reassuring nod, his eyes filled with a conviction she did not share.