The wings of kostiç

THE WINGS OF KOSTIÇ

CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6: Letters and Lines

The next few weeks passed like a whispered dream.

School, training, games, sleep. Repeat. Chris was starting to feel the rhythm—not the chaotic tempo of early academy life, but a deeper pulse. Like he’d synced with something inside him. A voice he didn’t need to explain anymore. It spoke in passes and runs, in touches that danced and turns that sliced open defenses.

And then there were the letters.

It started with Ajax.

Just like Elena said, she came back. The very next game, she was there—front row, arms crossed, emotionless. But a week later, an envelope arrived. White. Clean. Official.

Amsterdamsche Football Club Ajax N.V.

Scouting Division

It wasn’t a contract. Just intent. Interest. A spark lit.

Then came another.

Bayer Leverkusen.

Olympique Lyonnais.

RB Salzburg.

Chris didn’t tell anyone right away. Not even Toni.

He kept the letters under his mattress, like secrets he wasn’t ready to speak aloud. Not until they were real.

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The one person he wanted to talk to… was Mia.

She’d been quieter since the Hajduk match. Still smiled in the halls, still passed him that notebook they shared in Lit class where they scribbled dumb jokes and coded messages. But something had shifted. Like she was watching him drift toward a sky she couldn’t touch.

One afternoon, as the clouds boiled grey over Zagreb, Chris made a move.

After training, soaked from the rain, he found her at her favorite spot—under the old stone arch near the river. She sat on the railing, hoodie up, sketchbook in lap.

“Mia,” he said, breath fogging.

She didn’t look up. “Shouldn’t you be off charming some Italian scout?”

He winced. “You heard.”

“I heard everyone.” Her voice was calm, but it held an edge. “You’re becoming… famous.”

“I don’t want fame,” Chris said. “I want football. I want to—" He paused. “I want to keep the people who matter close.”

That made her look up.

“Close is hard when the world’s chasing you,” she said. “And you’re running toward it.”

“I’m not running,” Chris said. “Not yet. But if I do… I want you to be part of the story.”

Mia studied him. Her fingers tightened slightly around her pencil.

“I’m not just a page in your story, Chris.”

He nodded slowly. “I know. You’re the part that makes it human.”

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That night, he scored a goal in his dreams. One of those surreal, gravity-defying goals. But what stuck with him wasn’t the net rippling or the crowd’s roar—it was Mia in the stands, sketchbook in hand, capturing the moment as if it belonged to her.

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Two days later, Coach Davor called him in.

“Sit,” he said.

Chris did.

The office smelled like old leather and turf dust. A stack of reports sat on the desk, and on top of it all… a blue and white envelope.

Manchester City Football Club.

Chris’s heartbeat stuttered.

“They want to bring you to England. Short trial. Just ten days.”

He stared. “They’re… serious?”

Coach nodded. “It’s not a contract. Yet. But this is different. Big leagues now.”

Chris felt dizzy. The dream was here—just close enough to touch, but still far enough to slip away.

“I want to go,” he said.

“I thought you might,” Coach smiled. “But make sure you go. Not the version they want. You, Chris. The boy from Zagreb. The kid with the wings.”

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Outside, it was snowing again. Slow flakes falling like soft confetti. Chris stepped out into it and let them melt against his skin.

He pulled out his phone.

Typed one sentence.

"They want me in Manchester."

Sent it to Mia.

No reply.

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Back in his room, he reached under the mattress. Pulled out every letter.

Read them

again.

But the one that made his chest tighten… was the one still unwritten.

The one he would write next.

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