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Chapter 39: Volume 1, - 39: The Call Sofia Makes

Chapter 39: Volume 1, Chapter 39: The Call Sofia Makes

The kitchen sink held two porcelain plates, a glass with a white ring of dried milk at the bottom, and the wooden spatula Sofia had used to turn the mackerel. A faint smell of fried fish and lemon hung in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and the living room, stubborn despite the small window being cracked open against the cool May night.

On the dining table, Rayan’s school binder sat open beside his training bag. A pair of worn shin guards peeked out from the dark nylon mesh, the hard plastic scuffed grey along the edges.

Sofia wiped the kitchen counter with a damp sponge, her movements precise and heavy. When she finished, she rinsed the cloth, wrung it out until her knuckles turned pale, and hung it over the tap.

Rayan watched her from the edge of the kitchen frame, holding a half-empty glass of tap water. Sofia had checked every detail she could after returning home, but nothing connected Senhor Bento to a real club or a clear written offer.

"Go to your room, Rayan," she said softly, not looking up from the sink.

"Mãe, I can stay—"

"Go to your room." Her voice was flat and heavy. "Leonor, you too. Clear your desk."

From down the hall, Leonor stood in her doorway, a pen clipped to the collar of her oversized sweater, her eyes shifting between Sofia’s back and Rayan’s tight shoulders. She didn’t ask questions. She simply stepped back inside, leaving her door ajar by a few inches.

Rayan walked down the short corridor into his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, leaving his door resting against the frame, open just enough to see a slice of the hallway floor.

He heard the faint beep of Sofia’s phone as she dialled.

The call picked up on the fourth ring. Sofia did not put it on speaker, but in the small, low-ceilinged apartment, Karim’s voice bled through the receiver. Thin and distant, but clear enough to carry.

"Sofia?" Karim said. "Is everything alright? Did Rayan get home fine?"

Sofia stood by the small dining table, one hand resting flat on the back of a wooden chair. "I’m calling about Bento. The man you took Rayan to meet today."

Karim went quiet for a moment.

"Ah. So you checked him?" Karim’s tone brightened too quickly. "Good. I told him he should speak to you as well. He’s a serious man, Sofia. He knows people at the northern clubs. He knew details about the academy—"

"Who gave you his number?" Sofia interrupted.

"Carlos Figueira," Karim said, an edge of irritation creeping in. "The man from the shipping office. He had no reason to lie to me, Sofia."

"And what did Bento tell you when you first spoke to him?" Sofia asked. She took out a small blue notepad from her purse and unclipped a pen.

Karim’s answer dissolved into the wall, leaving Rayan with only a few words: documentary, squad, Lisbon agencies. Then Karim snapped back.

"He said Bento was looking for players the big Lisbon agencies had missed. He said Sporting were overlooking Rayan. That other boys had people pushing for them while our son sat on the bench. Tell me that didn’t sound possible."

In his room, Rayan pulled his knees slightly closer to his chest. Hearing his father say it so plainly made the memory of Bento’s smooth words in the cafe feel dangerously convincing. He knew what it felt like to wait for scraps of minutes from the bench.

"What did you tell him before the meeting?" Sofia asked, her tone steady.

"I didn’t give him anything official!" Karim snapped. "I just answered his questions."

"Did you sign anything?"

"No! Of course not."

"Did you send him identification?"

"No."

"Did you give him bank details?"

"Sofia, why are you asking me these things like I’m a suspect?" Karim spoke louder, trying to push past her objection. "I sat down with a man for coffee! Is that a crime now? To sit and talk about my son’s future?"

"Did you pay him a development fee, or a registration fee?" Sofia asked, ignoring his outburst.

"No!"

"Did you promise him a later payment?"

"I said we’d talk if he brought something real," Karim replied. His words dropped beneath the traffic on his end, leaving Rayan to catch only fragments about a real club and nothing being signed. Then Karim’s next words carried clearly through the corridor. "What was wrong with hearing him out? Sporting keep Rayan waiting, and I didn’t want another chance to disappear."

In the hallway, a floorboard creaked softly. Leonor rested her shoulder against her open doorway, her eyes fixed on the narrow strip of light coming from the kitchen. Rayan watched her shadow on the floorboards. She was listening too, waiting to see how bad the argument became.

Sofia lowered her voice. "You took our fifteen-year-old son to meet a man you hadn’t checked. You didn’t tell me or the club. That gave him the chance to tell Rayan exactly what he wanted to hear."

"He talked about football! He knew Rayan’s position, his squad and the matches in Joca’s video!"

"Everything he knew was already public," Sofia countered sharply. "He watched Joca’s video and found Rayan’s squad. That doesn’t prove he knows anyone."

"Every time we wait, somebody else gets the chance," Karim insisted, his volume rising again. "I wasn’t going to sit back and watch another door close!"

Sofia closed her notepad with a soft snap.

"Listen to me very carefully, Karim," she said evenly. "From now on, you tell me first. No meetings, no money, no documents, no sharing their details and no career talks involving either child without me knowing."

A heavy silence hung over the line. Rayan could hear Karim breathing heavily through the phone.

"You don’t trust me," Karim said finally, his words thick with injured pride. "That’s what this is. Unless there’s a form in front of you, you think I’m about to ruin everything."

"Call it fear if you like," Sofia answered. "I still have to protect them."

"I was trying to help him!" Karim yelled into the receiver. "I thought this man could get Rayan seen by someone else!"

Rayan pressed his palms against his knees. Part of him wanted Sofia to keep tearing the story apart until there was nothing left to believe. Another part still heard Bento talking about northern clubs and people who could make calls. He hated that part. It sounded too much like Karim.

For months, every delay from Sporting had felt personal. Duarte Faria trained, played and walked off the pitch as if his place belonged to him. Rayan still checked the board wondering whether his name would be there. He hated how quickly the thought came. Duarte had earned his place by being better every week. Blaming agencies was easier than admitting that.

If someone had promised to end that fear, how quickly would he have said yes without Sofia in the room?

Leonor’s shadow shifted in the hallway. She leaned far enough out to look towards his door. Their eyes did not meet, but Rayan knew she was still listening.

Karim’s breathing came through the phone. For once, he had no joke ready and no loud promise that everything would work out.

Rayan wanted to be angry at him. It would have been easier. But Karim had believed Bento for the same reason Rayan had: the promise sounded like the future they both wanted. That did not make what Karim had done good. It only made Rayan understand why the mistake hurt so much.

"What did you give him, Karim?" Sofia asked quietly. "Tell me exactly."

Karim didn’t answer immediately. The static on the line filled the quiet apartment.

"I gave him Rayan’s full name," Karim muttered. Most of the fight had left him. "He asked whether Rayan was born early or late in 2007, so I gave him his birthday."

Sofia didn’t interrupt. She stood motionless by the table, holding the pen over the paper.

"I told him he was currently in the Under-16 squad at Sporting," Karim continued, his breath heavy as he went through the list. "I sent him the link to Joca’s documentary on WhatsApp so he could see the footage. He asked who to call next, so I gave him your number."

Sofia’s hand remained still over the blue notepad. "What else?"

"Nothing else. No passport copies, no bank details, no Sporting papers and no medical files." Karim paused and breathed out into the receiver. "And I didn’t pay him, Sofia. Not one euro."