Gemotions

"We need a strong hitter in the front row, Liam," the coach stated calmly. Liam's stomach twisted. He’d always been a setter, orchestrating the plays, making the strategic calls. Now, he was being asked to pound the ball, to attack. The new role felt alien, a betrayal of the skills he had painstakingly honed.

During practice, he felt every fault, every misstep, amplified. He saw the mocking glint in the other players' eyes when he failed to connect. Each spike felt like a test, and he always failed. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and his breath came in short, shallow gasps.

He stayed late after practice, slamming the ball against the wall, his frustration mounting with each missed shot. His hands blistered, his muscles ached, but the inner turmoil never subsided. He was constantly aware of his shortcomings, the perceived inadequacy burning like a fire.