The dinner had settled into a rhythm. Plates were half finished, glasses refilled, and laughter flowed freely from one end of the table to the other. Hao cracked jokes with Diego, and one of the veterans recounted a story about a preseason scuffle that had the whole table wheezing.
But amidst the mirth, Aleksandar sat quietly smiling politely, occasionally nodding, but not truly present in the conversations. He was still learning everyone's pace, the tempo of this world. A different game entirely from anything he had known before.
And that's when Kumstrim, who had been mostly observing up to that point, leaned forward slightly. The laughter died down as if on cue. His voice was calm, deep, and deliberate.
"So, Aleksandar," he began, hands calmly folded on the table, "why did you choose this sport?"
Aleksandar blinked in surprise.
But before he could even open his mouth, Kumstrim raised a hand gently. "Ah my apologies. Quite rude of me to ask such a personal question to someone I barely know. Let me be fair and go first."
The air shifted subtly. The casual noise of the restaurant faded into the background as Kumstrim straightened his posture. His expression was thoughtful, eyes locked on Aleksandar with unwavering focus not judging, but reading.
"My name is Kumstrim. I'm thirty one. I come from Hungary. A few seasons ago, I arrived at this club as an assistant coach. Before that, I was the head coach of a national level team back home. Nothing too special until our final season. That's when my team got promoted into WBA's third division. That club is still in the system today… Fener."
He smiled briefly, but there was no trace of arrogance. Only momentum.
"This team here Monjitas del Cielo was also in the third division back then. And I had no intention of leaving my home club. But then I met Coach Luciano… and he showed me his vision. A plan. One I believed in."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"But to be completely honest with you…" he said, voice lowering just a touch, "this club this job it's not my final stop."
Aleksandar's brow twitched slightly, intrigued.
"My dream… is far greater than just the next win or the next season. I want to coach a national team. And not just coach it lead it to gold. Olympic gold. Why? Because I want to raise a generation of players molded by my system, my vision, and my demands. I want my basketball to become a golden standard. Something undeniable."
There was no smugness in his tone. No empty bravado. Just the kind of clarity that only burns in people who have already seen the mountain top in their mind.
Then, he leaned back slightly, his eyes still locked on Aleksandar's.
"Now then… your turn."
Aleksandar could feel the weight of the table shift toward him.
There was a brief silence after
Aleksandar took a small breath.
His eyes weren't on Kumstrim, or anyone else. They were on the table. His fingers gently tapped the wood perhaps to settle his nerves, or maybe because his thoughts felt too scattered to speak clearly.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"…Maybe my reason for playing isn't as noble as yours," he began, his voice soft and unpolished, but honest. "At first, I started just because I wanted a better life. For me… for my family."
He lifted his gaze for a moment, not with pride, but as if searching the air for the right words.
"I thought… if I could make it NBA, WBA, it didn't matter I'd earn enough money to pull us out of where we were. I grew up on a mountain. Power outages were normal. Opportunities weren't."
His shoulders shifted, slightly tense.
"I never really believed I'd get this far. When Hao told me scouts were coming to see me, I honestly thought it was a prank. But then it happened. I got signed. I'm here now. I'm getting paid to play basketball."
He smiled faintly, but there was no celebration in it only confusion wrapped in gratitude.
"And… now that I've made it, at least to this level… If you asked me this few days ago I would said that I want to be best player in the league but now I don't really know what my goal is anymore."
He paused again. A breath caught between uncertainty and revelation.
"Coach Luciano asked me something today what will keep me going once the money stops being a motivator? Once I've earned enough, once I'm comfortable… what then?"
Aleksandar's gaze dropped again.
"…I didn't have an answer then. And I don't have one now."
There was no shame in his voice. Just doubt. The kind of raw, vulnerable doubt that only comes from finally reaching a dream only to realize you never planned what came after.
Kumstrim didn't respond immediately.
He simply looked at Aleksandar, his expression unreadable but calm. The noise of the restaurant hummed around them cutlery clinking, low laughter, the occasional shout from the kitchen but at their table, there was stillness.
Then Kumstrim leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, fingers laced together.
"…You know, Aleksandar," he said, voice steady and low, "I think you're in a better place than most young players I've met."
Aleksandar looked up, visibly confused.
"You're lost. And that's good."
Kumstrim offered a small, almost knowing smile.
"Most players lie to themselves. They repeat the right words 'I want to be the best,' 'I'll win a championship,' 'I'll make my country proud.' But they don't think about what those things actually mean. They don't ask themselves the hard questions. You did. And you're still here."
He glanced toward the far end of the restaurant, then back at Aleksandar.
"Let me tell you something I tell all the young athletes I mentor. The game will only carry you as far as your purpose. Skill, talent, even money they'll burn bright, then fade. But purpose… that's the engine that keeps turning long after the cheers stop."
Kumstrim's tone shifted slightly firmer, almost challenging.
"You don't have an answer now, and that's fine. The important thing is that you're looking for one. Maybe your purpose won't be flashy. Maybe it won't be about titles or headlines. Maybe it'll be something small something quiet, like becoming the player your younger self needed. Or proving to yourself you were never just a mountain kid chasing a paycheck."
He leaned back again, letting his words settle.
"But don't rush it. Play. Train. Fail. Learn. In time, the court will show you what kind of player you are. And if you keep searching with sincerity…" Kumstrim tapped the side of his temple lightly, "…then eventually, you'll know why you play."
Aleksandar sat there, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He didn't have a reply yet. But for the first time that evening, he didn't feel ashamed of not knowing.
Kumstrim smiled again, this time warmer.
"Now," he said, picking up his glass, "if you'll excuse me I'm going to order dessert before Vinnie eats all of it."
Vinnie, who had been quietly observing the whole time, scowled. "Hey! I've only had two tonight."
And so, after the final spoonfuls of dessert were devoured and a few more laughs were exchanged, the team began to part ways one by one.
Eventually, only two figures remained standing just outside the restaurant Vinnie and Aleksandar.
A soft breeze swept through the quiet street. The city lights reflected off the pavement, painting shimmering lines at their feet. Aleksandar looked up at the night sky, still digesting the words Kumstrim had shared with him.
Vinnie stretched, hands behind his head. "Well, small fry, first day's almost in the books. Not bad for a kid who couldn't even pose for a photo."
Aleksandar gave him a tired smile. "Yeah… not bad."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn't awkward it was the kind that settles between people after a long, meaningful day.
Vinnie shoved his hands in his pockets. "You've got a long way to go. But at least now, you've started walking. You know how they say one day or day one."
Aleksandar nodded. He didn't have a clever comeback this time. Just a quiet determination slowly building in his chest.
The road ahead was uncertain, the questions still unanswered.
But for now, standing under the soft glow of a streetlamp with his friend beside him, he felt ready to face whatever came next.