The day had stretched longer than Elias Moreno expected, not because of exhaustion, but because of attention.
When he finally stepped out of the restaurant's glass doors, the evening air wrapped around him like a soft release. The sky had begun to darken, streaked with fading orange and purple, the kind of quiet sunset that made a man slow his steps without realizing it. Elias loosened the knot of his tie, breathing deeply, letting the noise of the day fall behind him.
Applause. Cameras. Smiles. Questions.
It had all felt unreal.
He had just reached the edge of the parking lot when his phone vibrated in his pocket.
The screen lit up with a name that made his chest warm before he even answered.
Sofia.
He stopped walking, leaning lightly against his car as he picked up the call.
"Hi, anak," he said softly.
"Dad!" Her voice burst through the speaker, bright and laughing. "Congratulations!"
Elias smiled, eyes closing for a brief moment.
"Thank you."
"You never told me you applied for the big league," she said, half teasing, half amazed.
"I found out from the TV. Can you imagine? My friends were screaming, 'That's your dad!'"
Elias chuckled, shaking his head. "I didn't want to worry you. Or get your hopes up."
"Well, you should've," Sofia replied gently.
"Because I'm very happy. And very proud of you. As always."
Her words settled deep in his chest, heavier than any trophy could have been.
They talked for a few more minutes—about her classes, about the noise online, about how strange it was to hear his name everywhere. Sofia asked if his knee was okay, if he was resting, if he was eating properly. Elias answered patiently, reassuring her the way he always had.
Before hanging up, she paused.
"Dad," she said, quieter now. "Whatever happens next… you already won."
Elias swallowed. "I'll see you soon."
When the call ended, he remained there for a moment, phone still in his hand, staring at the reflection of his tired but peaceful face in the car window. He didn't look like a star. He looked like himself. And somehow, that felt enough.
He got into the car and started the engine, not heading home right away. Habit guided him instead. There were things he needed—rice, eggs, vegetables. Life didn't stop just because dreams came knocking.
"I need to refill my stocks before going home," he murmured to himself, pulling into traffic.
The small neighborhood store was only a few blocks away, a place he had visited countless times over the years. As he parked and stepped inside, the familiar smell of detergent and groceries greeted him.
Then the whispers started.
"Is that him?"
"That's the guy from the draft…"
Phones came out again. Smiles followed. A young man shyly approached him.
"Sir… can we have a picture?"
Elias nodded, smiling politely. "Of course."
One picture became two. Two became five. He posed patiently, answering quick questions, accepting congratulations with quiet gratitude. He moved through the aisles slowly, basket in hand, selecting his usual items—nothing extravagant, nothing celebratory.
At the counter, as he reached for his wallet, the cashier smiled nervously.
"Sir Elias… please wait."
Before Elias could respond, the store manager hurried over, hands clasped together.
"Good evening, sir," the manager said warmly. "Congratulations on being drafted. We watched it live."
"Thank you," Elias replied, slightly embarrassed.
The manager gestured toward the cashier.
"Your bill tonight—it's on the house. Just our small way of saying congratulations."
Elias instinctively shook his head. "No, I can pay—"
"Please," the manager insisted gently. "It would make us happy."
Elias hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you. Truly."
Before he could leave, the staff gathered near the entrance, asking for a quick photo. Elias stood among them, grocery bag in hand, smiling awkwardly but sincerely. No cameras from television networks. No bright lights. Just people who shared in his joy.
Outside, the night had fully settled. He loaded the groceries into his car and drove home, the streets quieter now, his thoughts finally slowing.
His apartment welcomed him with its familiar stillness. He placed the groceries on the counter, removed his shoes, and sat down for a moment, letting the silence speak. The day replayed itself in fragments—faces, voices, applause, disbelief.
Then his phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He stared at the screen for a second before answering.
"Hello?"
"Good evening, Mr. Elias Moreno," a professional female voice said. "This is Nathy from the North Gate Buffalo organization."
Elias straightened immediately. "Yes, good evening."
"I'm calling to inform you that Mr. Charles Northgate would like to meet with you tomorrow morning at ten o'clock, at the team office."
A pause.
"Is that convenient for you, sir?"
Elias exhaled slowly. "Yes. Yes, that's fine."
"Thank you. We'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night."
The line went dead.
Elias remained standing there, phone still in his hand, heart pounding—not with fear, but with the awareness that the next chapter had already begun.
He set the phone down carefully, as if it were something fragile.
In the kitchen, he prepared a simple meal. Rice. Vegetables. A bit of chicken. He ate quietly, thoughtfully, chewing slowly, listening to the soft hum of the refrigerator.
Afterward, he showered, letting the warm water wash away the long day. He stood beneath the stream, eyes closed, breathing evenly, grounding himself in the present.
Before bed, he reached for his Bible—the same worn copy he had read from for years.
He sat on the edge of his bed, flipping to a familiar page, fingers tracing underlined verses.
He didn't ask for riches.
He didn't ask for glory.
He only whispered a quiet prayer of thanks.
For health.
For time.
For one last chance.
When Elias finally lay down, the room dark and calm, his body tired but his spirit awake, he realized something important.
No matter what happened tomorrow—
He had already lived a day he would never forget.