The world around her was hazy, a muted blend of late afternoon sunlight and the distant echo of sneakers squeaking against the concrete. Chaihong sat at the edge of the empty football court, her legs crossed, her posture slouched as though the weight of the world rested on her small shoulders. Her classmates had long returned to the classroom, their laughter and chatter fading away, leaving only silence.
A slight breeze blew at the hem of her school uniform as she stared blankly ahead. Her cheek stung faintly beneath the flesh band-aid, a quiet reminder of the night before. She reached up and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering near the bruise. It wasn't the pain that lingered, it was her mother's words. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, sharp and cold.
"Gaming is nothing but a bad habit. I can't believe that's the only thing your father has taught you!."
She clenched her fists.The offer from the pro team was still fresh, on the desk back at home. A chance to turn her passion into something real. But her mother saw it as a curse inherited from a man long gone. Someone she only remembered vaguely, his quiet smile, the sound of clicking keys late at night, and the gentle way he used to ruffle her hair after a match.
Lost in thought, she didn't notice the footsteps until a shadow fell over her.
"Chaihong?"
She turned her head slowly. It was her art teacher, Miss Lee. A woman in her thirties with a gentle face and soft eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Her apron still stained with paint, she looked out of place against the sports court, like a watercolor blot in a field of concrete.
"PE class finished a while ago," Miss Jian said, she looks at Chaihong's classmates shuffling back into the school building.
Chaihong looked down. "I didn't feel like going back yet."
Miss Jian didn't press. She sat down beside her, leaving a respectful space between them. The silence stretched comfortably for a few moments before the teacher spoke again.
"I noticed you've been quieter in class lately. And that's a pretty nasty thing you're trying to hide."
Chaihong's throat tightened, her gaze stayed fixed on the ground.
"Did something happen?"
Chaihong hesitated, but something about Miss Lee's presence felt safe.
"I got an offer," she began quietly. "To join a professional team. For gaming."
Miss Jian blinked. "Oh. I didn't know you played."
"I don't talk about it much," Chaihong admitted. "My mom hates it. She says it's a waste of time. That it's something I picked up from my dad. He... he taught me how to game. Before he passed."
A gust of wind carried a few dry leaves across the court.
"She slapped me last night when I told her about the offer," Chaihong continued, her voice smaller now. "Said I'm throwing my life away."
Miss Lee sighed, she leans back and looks up to the clear sky. "That's a lot to carry."
"Can I ask you something?" Chaihong said, glancing sideways.
"Of course."
"Do you think paths are... predetermined? Like, from the moment we're born, everything is set?"
The teacher looks back at her, her expression softens. "I don't know much about gaming, Chaihong. But I do know something about choices."
She paused, then continued.
"Everyone's life is like a canvas. You don't get to choose what canvas you start with. Some are smooth, some are rough. Some are torn, patched together. But what you do with that canvas? That's your choice. It's how you decide to paint it."
Chaihong blinked, caught off guard by the metaphor.
"So you don't think it's a waste of time?"
"I think anything done with passion and discipline is never a waste. Whether it's painting, sculpting, or even gaming. What matters is if it brings you purpose."
Chaihong nodded slowly, letting the words settle deep inside her. Her shoulders felt lighter.
"Sometimes," Miss Lee added, "people project their fears onto others. Your mother might be scared. Not because she doesn't love you, but because she doesn't understand your path. That doesn't mean your path is wrong."
Another silence for her to digest Miss Lee's words.
"You know," the teacher said with a small smile, "I had a student once who wanted to be a dancer. Her parents wanted her to be a doctor. We talked here too, actually. Right at this court. Now she teaches ballet in Europe."
Chaihong looked at her, wide-eyed.
"What I mean is," Miss Leev said, rising slowly and brushing her skirt off, "Sometimes all it takes is believing in yourself enough to take the first step. Even if no one else understands yet."
Chaihong balanced herself on her feet, many thoughts in her mind, but they slowly reorganized themselves. In clarity.
"Thanks, Miss Lee."
"Anytime," the teacher said with a wink. "Now go on. You'll be late to class."
Chaihong gave one last glance to the court, the wind, and the empty benches. Then she turned and walked away, the band-aid on her cheek still there, but its weight somehow lessened.
The dream began to fade. Her eyes slowly opened as she felt the tears roll down her cheeks.