All work and no play, makes Bella a dull girl. That's okay though, dull is good. Or at least, dull is better than miserable.

The cursor on my screen blinks impatiently, urging me forward. I check and re-check the list of action items before firing them off in yet another update email to my team. I read the whole thing one last time just in case, because somehow you only spot a mistake right after you click send. It's one of the great mysteries of the universe, but thankfully modern mail apps have the unsend feature now. Looks fine this time, though.

A deep breath escapes me. It's been more than a week since that night, and with the nine-hour time difference plus busy schedules, Sonny and I haven't really talked beyond a couple of texts of brief greetings and flimsy emojis.

Perhaps fortunately, the avalanche of work leading up to the end of the quarter has kept my me occupied. Racing against time to make our goals took up all of my energy, leaving me too exhausted at the end of the day to ruminate too much about my romantic life.

But the thoughts exist, in the corners of my mind. It's like when there is a thread loose on your sweater—it's there, not really causing any harm, but it nags at you. However, you don't want to quite pull it out because it might make the problem worse.

What did he mean when he said 'us'? Are we...dating? If we were, then wouldn't we have had a little more interaction than this? Maybe it's just a line he says to all the women he's flirting with, I think darkly. I recall the conversation we had about the need for secrecy. What were the words he used?

It needs to be a secret...It's just...better you know sooner, rather than later when...

Later when what? I belatedly wish that I had probed a little more. Sigh. Maybe it's a good thing he's keeping his distance. He's a nice person, I think, but this is the furthest thing possible from a normal dating scenario and there are too many things that can go wrong. But if I consider the risk-benefit ratio...

'Hey, are you free now?'

It's Derek.

I jerk back startled, but quickly compose myself, offering a small smile.

'Yeah, what's up?'

'Let's find a conference room,' he says, leaning against the desk. Typical Derek, always leaving things hanging. There should be a law against managers doing this.

Mercifully, it doesn't take us long to find a place to chat – it's late in the day and end of the work week.

'I just wanted to do a check-in for your official performance review that's coming tomorrow,' he starts tentatively.

Oh shoot, I had forgotten about my review completely. I already handled the ones for my direct reports earlier in the month, but somehow my own slipped my mind. To be honest, I always try to keep my expectations low, and I'd rather just not think about it because I'd rather not get my hopes up too high.

Now all of a sudden though, nerves seize me, and my stomach lurches painfully.

'Bella, you always do great work. Every person I speak to about you, never fails to mention how hard you work to make sure everyone succeeds together.'

The pit in my stomach starts to fill with a warm feeling as pride swells up, but I keep my expression steady. I dowork hard to meet our goals, don't I? And I always want to bring along everyone with me for the ride. It feels good be validated.

'Well, it hasn't gone unnoticed, and the discussion with the upper management couldn't be more straight-forward. You will be getting promoted this cycle,' Derek reveals.

For a second, I am overwhelmed with a sense of achievement and delight.

'That's great news! Thank you,' I smile brightly. My gratitude to him is genuine, and I want Derek to know that sincerely.

'The official announcement is coming, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. We can discuss the numbers and all the details later,' he assures me. 'You are progressing exactly as planned, and I can see you reaching senior management level in no time,' he says with a reassuring pat on my shoulder.

As swiftly as I ascended, I start to descend from the high. The joy I felt a minute ago starts to fade into a faint afterglow. I should feel really happy right now – ecstatic even. I have been working towards this for more than a year, this is what my life has revolved around for so long. The perpetual cycle of working hard to earn money, get promoted, earn more money, work harder, and then rinse and repeat.

I mean, there is a sense of satisfaction with the good news, but there is also an unsettling feeling of emptiness that is creeping in. It's as if something is missing in all of this. The finish line is...just another starting point. Is this it? Is that all there is to life?

***

'Two orders of the fried chicken and one loaded fries please,' I shout my order above the blaringly loud sounds emanating from the TV screens all around us.

'When is the game starting again?' Steph points to her Apple Watch to mime her question.

Monday night football is about to kick off soon at my local sports bar, featuring Everton vs. Spurs. Somehow, I've managed to rope in Steph and Jack along to watch the match with me. Steph doesn't care about sports whatsoever, but she took pity on me when she saw my surly face during our girls-only afternoon tea over the weekend. Jack is a strange one, he loves football and is always down to watch a game together but doesn't support any specific team – he claims it's because the Irish league never had a team that inspired his allegiance.

'Eight,' I lift up the appropriate number of fingers to ensure my message is delivered over the ruckus.

The place is fairly crowded, especially for a weeknight, the buzz of conversations blended with the occasional burst of laughter. Exposed ceilings and metal elements mixed with wooden floors and accents create an industrial yet warm atmosphere. The smell of sizzling burgers wafts through the air. Rows of beer taps line the bar, offering an extensive selection to the patrons.

The line-ups for each team flash on the screen.

'Haven't watched Spurs in a while but that defense doesn't fill me up with confidence,' says Jack.

'Tell me about it,' I sigh. With the exception of Romero who was added this season, our defense has been terrible for the last couple of years, ever since Jan and Toby left.

Remembering that dynamic duo takes me back to the early days of when I started supporting the club, more than six years ago. It's a wonder that an American girl who hardly watched football to end up being a die-hard fan of a team across the pond.

During my high school years, I was in girls football team, or the soccer team as I used to call it back then. Despite my poor skills that never propelled me beyond the role of a late substitute, the experience gave me an appreciation for the sport. I casually followed the English Premier League, knowing the team names, but hadn't formed a significant attachment to any particular club.

When I started my MBA though, I was suddenly surrounded by tons of international students who were in love with the beautiful game. By popular demand, we had a sports trivia night one time, and each team was named after a club. Randomly I got assigned to be on team Tottenham. I didn't think of it much at the time, but that sealed my fate. Upon returning home I looked up the team out of curiosity. One thing led to another and here we are. Sigh.

The players start to emerge from the tunnel under the floodlights that pierce through the chilly Merseyside night. No matter how the team is doing, usually I'm still hopeful before each match. But for the first time today, as the camera pans across Son's face, the hope is mixed with unease. I haven't heard from Sonny since he came back to England, and seeing him now, I can't help but feel my hurt fester.

It had started to dawn upon me in the last couple of days, that he might have grown bored of me, hence his silence and my consequent brooding mood. While the logical part of my brain knows that this was inevitable – I'm a nobody and if anything, I should feel lucky to have even held his interest for as long as I did – my heart still hasn't quite accepted the situation. It's better this way, I keep telling myself.

'Finally!' Steph screams.

You would think a goal was scored by her excitement, but no, it's just that the fried chicken has arrived, and that's infinitely more interesting to her than anything else going on in this bar.

Jack shakes his head and smiles adoringly at Steph's one-track brain, and I focus back on the screen.

The match starts off as a cagey affair, both teams looking out of their depth. Spurs manage to keep more possession but fail to do anything productive with the ball. A bunch of people get up and leave after a goalless draw at halftime.

'This is not looking good at all,' Jack says. 'Wouldn't you think they'd have a bit of pride after showin' the gaffer the door?'

The manager was sacked last week, and the former assistant has the job temporarily.

'They're trying to control the game,' I state, trying to focus on the positives, 'but we need more creativity up front. The attackers are not getting the service they need.' Sonny's not getting the service he needs, I pout.

'It's like they've lost the spark,' Jack remarks.

Steph, oblivious to the nuances of the game, looks between us and then back at the screen. 'So, are we winning or not?'

'Nope, nil-nil. And if we don't pick up the pace, it might stay that way, or get worse,' I reply, my eyes narrowing as I watch the highlights.

In the second half we manage to play up a collision to get Everton a red, and Kane scores a penalty. It's a dodgy one but I'll take it at this point. Ten minutes left in the clock the manager subs out Sonny. He hasn't had a great game by any measure, and you can see it in his face. As fates would have it though, the player that comes in his place manages to get a red card, and we concede a late goal.

Fucking hell. Of course, this happens. This is not even the first time. Every time Son leaves the pitch, we end up conceding. The amount of work he does both defensively and offensively is truly beyond.

We were so close to getting the much needed three points, and we end up dropping two. I can't. I just can't.

'Cheer up,' Jack pats my back. 'To be fair, Tottenham didn't deserve much out of that game.'

'Fair enough,' I laugh mirthlessly at his brutal honesty.

Annoyance wells up within me. Why did Sonny have to leave the field? My personal feelings towards him intertwine with my feelings for the team into one bitter mix.

Spurs were my safe haven of comfort when real life got hard. But now, my real-life world and the football world are colliding, and I don't know what to make of it.

Fuck. This isn't good.

At a time when I was feeling adrift in the aftermath of my breakup with John, Spurs became a source of solace for me. The grit and determination of their young team and passionate manager made me believe. They were the underdogs, but they persevered, attacking full force, pressing forward, always coming back despite their struggles. To dare is to do – that's the Spurs way.

There have been so many unforgettable moments for me, like the first time I watched them play live at the new White Hart Lane, that night in Amsterdam that we qualified for Champions league final, the day Sonny won the golden boot. The club has been going through some hard times after changing the manager, but these moments carry the fans through it all.

And now, all of these cherished moments are starting to be tainted because of my unexpected link with Sonny.

'Let's head out, yeah?' Steph rises from her seat.

We leave the bar, and Steph and Jack walk me to my street corner despite my insistence that I am big girl, and I can take care of myself.

Saying our goodbyes, I soon reach home and clumsily hunt for my keys in my bag, frustration bubbling over from all fronts impairing my senses. Get a grip, Bella.

Deciding on a whim, I give up on the search and change my mind to head to the nearby Sainsbury local for a sweet treat. The shop is mostly empty, nearing closing time, but I take my time browsing through the shelfs to pick something. It's a habit from childhood. Whenever I was angry with my parents, I would end up spending an hour at the neighborhood bodega looking through the snack shelves.

I finally settle on a Magnum bar, and lazily stroll back home while slowly savoring the treat.

Soon I'm back once again in front of my building, this time there's nowhere else to go. I take a deep breath to collect my thoughts. Everything is fine. In time, whatever mix of hurt and confusion I'm feeling, this too shall pass.

As I'm about to head in, a buzz pierces the quiet, seemingly from inside my bag. Irritated by the interruption, I hold the ice cream away, ensuring it doesn't drip on my clothes, and retrieve my phone with the other hand.

Of course. Just when I least expect it.

Its him.

Sonny's name flashes on the screen, sending my heart rate through the roof.

'Hello,' I answer, before I have a chance to think about or analyze the reason behind the call.

'Hey,' his voice rough and low.

He sounds upset, my heart pinches achingly.

'Are you doing okay? Sucks about the match,' I blurt out before I can stop myself. Fuck. Why did I mention the game, how am I possibly going to explain this?

Silence.

I start to spin stories in my head, concocting reasons for why I was following the Tottenham game today without making it appear as if I was stalking his activity.

Before I can say anything though, he speaks first.

'Hmm...' he pauses before continuing. 'Can I come over to your place?'

I can hardly make sense of the words, emotions rushing in, tumbling over each other. Just when I believed that we had reached 'the end', the night sky unveils a new chapter, bearing silent witness to our story.