THE NEW SHADOW
THE NEW SHADOW
8. WHAT WE NEVER SAID
The ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, moving the warm air around without really changing anything. Light filtered through the stained glass windows, falling in colored strips across the wooden pews, across people’s shoulders, across clasped hands praying quietly in silence.
João sat between his grandmother and his sister. Straight-backed.
Still. Like always.
His grandmother followed the sermon attentively. His sister, meanwhile, had already started shifting around restlessly, looking at people, crossing and uncrossing her legs.
—Fica quieta, menina,” his grandmother murmured without raising her voice much.
And they continued speaking in Portuguese.
The little girl made a face, but settled down a little. João said nothing.
From that pew, the angle was right. He always tried to sit there. Not because it was closer to the front. Not because he could hear better. Simply because from there, he could see clearly toward the place his attention kept drifting back to over and over again, almost without realizing it. And whenever another family occupied that spot before they arrived, something inside him never fully settled. He stayed restless. So, he would adjust himself. Lean slightly. Find another way to recover that exact angle again.
Maybe it was stupid. Or at least that’s what he told himself. Still… he did it every single time.
His gaze settled there again. He barely blinked. Barely moved. He just stayed there, like something about that point in space was impossible for him to ignore.
—João.
His grandmother’s voice pulled him out of it. He turned his head slightly. She was looking at him calmly. Not serious. Not harsh. Just attentive.
—Meu filho, tá tudo certo?
And they continued speaking in Portuguese.
João took a second before answering.
—Yeah, grandma. Why are you asking?
She kept watching him for another few seconds before murmuring softly:
—My baby, look… life always has two sides.
—What do you mean?
—One good side… and the other one.
—And it’s always like that?
—Almost. But sometimes people can choose which side they pay more attention to.
—And people can really do that?
—In some way… but it’s not always that easy.
João frowned slightly.
—I think I understand. But if people can choose the good side, why would they choose the other one?
His grandmother smiled faintly.
—You’re right… it’s difficult to understand, isn’t it? And honestly, it’s difficult for me to explain too… and sometimes even difficult to recognize.
She lowered her voice even more, speaking with that calm softness that never frightened anyone.
—Is there something you’d like to talk about? Something you don’t understand?
—About school?
—Not exactly.
Small pause.
—Something about yourself… about life… something that might be troubling you right now?
João stayed quiet, thinking.
—If one day there’s something important you want to talk to me about,” she continued gently, “something you don’t fully understand yet… you know you can do that, right? With trust.”
João lifted his head slightly.
—Yes, abuela… I will.
She touched his arm once. Lightly. Nothing dramatic. A small gesture filled with love. Then they both looked forward again.
At only eleven years old, João understood almost nothing his grandmother had really meant. But it took him a little longer to find that same angle again. And when he finally did, he stayed there once more. Still. Without looking anywhere else. Without blinking.
That night, the house had already gone quiet. His sister was asleep.
His parents too. The television was off. Only distant sounds remained—the occasional car passing outside and the soft creaking of the house settling into the night.
João knelt beside his bed. Rested his arms on the mattress and lowered his head. He stayed silent for a few seconds before starting, like he was organizing his thoughts first.
—God…
Deep breath.
—Thank you for today.
Pause.
—Thank you for the food. Thank you because my parents have work. Thank you for my mom… for always being patient with me.
He swallowed before continuing quietly.
—Thank you for my grandmother… because she loves me very much. And thank you for my sister too… even if she can be stubborn sometimes.
A tiny smile crossed his face for barely a second.
—But I love her.
His expression grew serious again.
—Thank you for our house. For what we have. Because we have food. Because we’re together.
He stayed quiet a few more seconds. That was when his tone changed. Not much. Just slightly. Slower. More careful.
—And… I also wanted to ask you for something.
He stared at one fixed point on the mattress.
—There are things I still don’t understand.
His fingers clasped together tighter.
—I don’t know if I’m thinking too much. I don’t know if I’m seeing things the right way or not.
Deep breath.
—I just want you to show me the right path.
His voice grew quieter for the next part.
—I don’t want to sin against you. I don’t want to do something wrong in your eyes. But there are things inside me I don’t know how to organize… and I don’t want to make a mistake.
Silence.
He squeezed his eyes shut tightly for one second.
—But please… don’t leave me alone with this.
After that, he said nothing else.
Years later, in Ottawa.
João sat on the edge of his bed, still wearing his practice shirt. His phone vibrated. Sofía.
—What happened?
—Hey, idiot… are you coming or am I seriously gonna leave without seeing you?
João frowned, surprised.
—What are you talking about?
—I’m in Ottawa.
He immediately looked toward the street through the window.
—What?
—I’m in Ottawa,” she repeated, laughing. “And it’s cold, so move.”
João stood up instantly.
—What do you mean you’re here? Why didn’t you tell me?
—Because I know you.
—Where are you?
—I sent you the location. And come hungry.
She hung up.
João shook his head, already reaching for a jacket.
—Idiota…” he murmured, smiling.
The restaurant was small, but full of life. Warm lighting. Wooden tables. Soft Brazilian music playing in the background. The smell was unmistakable. Meat. Garlic. Something toasted. Something that felt like home.
Sofía sat toward the back, looking over the menu. João noticed her a second before walking over. She didn’t need makeup to look beautiful. Her skin was clear and even, dark hair falling naturally over her shoulders like it didn’t require effort to sit perfectly. She wore something simple—a light coat, small earrings—but on her, everything looked elegant without trying. Some people attracted attention. And then there was Sofía. Somehow, in that family, that was normal.
—You made it.
—Obviously,” he replied as he approached. “What are you doing here?”
They leaned in slightly to greet each other.
—Not even a hug?
—I saw you already. That counts.
She laughed.
—You’re so cold.
—And you’re dramatic.
She smiled.
Then they hugged tightly.
Double kisses on the cheek.
—Sit down. I already ordered.
—What did you get?
—Trust me.
João glanced around.
—Since when is there a place like this here?
—Since you stopped leaving your routine.
The food arrived.
Juicy picanha. Rice. Farofa. Black beans. And two tall glasses.
—Guaraná,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that.”
João laughed softly.
—It’s been years since I had this.
—Exactly.
They clinked their glasses.
—Cheers.
—to me,” she said.
They ate quietly for a few minutes.
Relaxed.
Enjoying the food and the familiar taste of the drink.
—So,” João said eventually, “what are you really doing here?”
She set down her fork.
—I’m leaving.
João looked up.
—Where?
—They approved my scholarship.
—Seriously?
—Yeah.
—Where?
—Tokyo.
João smiled, surprised.
—Japan?
—Japan.
—Wow…
—I know.
—When?
—Next week.
João lowered his gaze slightly.
—You deserve it.
—Obviously.
—Dad’s probably already calling people.
—Since yesterday.
—And mom’s organizing your spiritual life without you asking.
—Literally.
They both laughed.
—But don’t worry,” she said. “You’re never gonna run out of options.”
João shook his head.
—It’s not that simple.
—For us maybe… but you’ve never been the type to choose the easy path.
A waiter approached the table.
—Everything okay over here?
—Yes, everything’s perfect,” Sofía replied. “Thank you.”
—Anything else to drink?
—Not right now.
The waiter walked away.
At that moment, a girl passed near their table. Sofía followed her with her eyes.
—Oh my God…
João raised an eyebrow.
—What?
—She’s so pretty…
João glanced over without much interest.
—I bet anything she’s Brazilian.
—Why?
—I don’t know… you can just tell.
João let out a quiet laugh.
—You see Brazilians everywhere.
—Because we’re everywhere.
They fell into silence for a second. Lighter now. Looser.
—Remember when you wanted to move back to Brazil?” she asked suddenly.
João laughed immediately.
—Shut up!
—You bought a plane ticket with dad’s credit card.
—I was fourteen.
—And you packed a suitcase!
—Because I was leaving.
—You told him, “take me to the airport, I’m going back with grandma.”
João shook his head, laughing.
—I meant it.
—I know.
The laughter softened.
—It wasn’t easy,” João admitted more quietly.
She shook her head.
—Not easy at all.
—I didn’t understand anything… the language, the people…
—And the kids.
João’s jaw tightened slightly.
—Yeah.
—I remember you coming home quiet.
He didn’t answer.
—But you stayed.
João looked up.
—I didn’t have a choice.
—Yes, you did,” she replied. “But you stayed.”
Small silence.
—And look at you now.
João exhaled softly.
—I guess.
—No. You did well.
Brief pause.
—Really well.
She looked at him.
More directly this time.
—And you?
João looked up.
—What about me?
—Are you okay?
—Yeah.
She didn't say anything.
Just waited.
—I'm fine, he repeated.
—And... is there someone else in your life?
João lowered his eyes.
Sofía set her fork down on the plate.
—Wait.
João kept staring at the menu despite having no reason to keep reading it.
—What?
—There's someone.
—No.
The answer came too quickly.
Too automatically.
Sofía smiled.
—João.
—There's nobody.
He took a sip of water.
Almost choked on it.
Nothing serious.
But enough to make her raise an eyebrow.
—Sure.
—I'm serious.
—So am I.
João looked down at the table. For the first time since they'd arrived, he seemed unsure of what to do with his hands.
He folded them together. Then pulled them apart. Eventually he started straightening a napkin that was already perfectly straight.
—I don't know what you're talking about.
—Liar.
A short, nervous laugh escaped him. Unusual.
He glanced toward a nearby table. Then toward the window.
Then back at her. Like he was searching for an exit.
And that was exactly what caught Sofía's attention.
—Oh my God...
she murmured.
João closed his eyes for a second.
—Don't start.
—I can't believe it.
—Sofía.
—Who is it?
—Nobody.
—Then why are you acting so weird?
João opened his mouth to answer. And stopped.
The words never came.
A second passed.
Then another.
Too long.
The smile slowly faded from Sofía's face. Not because she was worried. Because she was surprised. Genuinely surprised. She had known her brother for as long as she could remember. She'd seen him win championships. Get injured. Push through some of the hardest moments of his life. But this... This was different. Because it didn't look like fear. It didn't look like embarrassment. It looked like confusion.
João lowered his eyes. The faintest smile touched the corner of his mouth before disappearing again.
—I don't even know what he thinks of me.
And that answer—
More than any name ever could—
confirmed everything.
Sofía watched him for a few seconds. Curious. Thoughtful. Trying to imagine who could possibly have this effect on him. Because whoever it was... they were already taking up more space in João's head than he was willing to admit.
Meanwhile, in the family group chat…
Ilya:
(Image)
(Image)
(Image)
Ilya:
Signed.
Yuna:
😱😱😱
Ilya!
David:
Is that the new apartment?
Ilya:
Yes.
Shane:
…
Ilya:
Say something, Hollander.
Shane:
I’m processing.
Ilya:
Not that difficult.
Shane:
Yes it is when every option was ugly.
Ilya:
😂
Shane:
This one…
—pause—
is the least terrible.
Ilya:
Thank you for your support.
Yuna:
I love it.
It looks very cozy.
David:
Good space.
Ilya:
(Image)
Living room.
Yuna:
So beautiful!
David:
That recliner… that one’s mine.
Ilya:
😂
Whenever you want.
Shane:
Don’t even think about it.
Ilya:
??
Shane:
That recliner is mine.
David:
No, you’re too young. That’s for an older man.
Yuna:
😂😂😂
Ilya:
We’re gonna have to buy another one.
Shane:
Exactly.
Ilya:
(Image)
View.
Yuna:
😱
That’s gorgeous!
David:
Nice view.
Shane:
It’s decent.
Ilya:
“Decent.”
Shane:
By your standards.
Ilya:
(Image)
Extra room.
Yuna:
It has two bedrooms?
Ilya:
Yes.
Ilya:
For when you come visit us.
Yuna:
😱
David:
Perfect.
Shane:
For us or for your collection of useless things?
Ilya:
For us.
Pause.
Ilya:
And there’s enough space for a dog too.
Shane:
Don’t even start.
Ilya:
😂
Yuna:
Are you two getting a puppy?
Shane:
NO.
Ilya:
Yes.
Shane:
No.
Ilya:
Yes.
David:
This is a conversation you should probably have in private.
Yuna:
Yes, please 😂
Yuna:
By the way… that new player.
David:
Who?
Yuna:
The rookie. João Costa.
David:
Ah, right.
Yuna:
He’s standing out a lot.
Shane:
He’s just having a good streak.
Yuna:
I don’t know… there’s something about him. The way he plays is really good. I don’t mean this in a bad way, but he could surpass you two. Don’t let him. Please. Fuck him.
David:
My love, you never want to lose. Not even once.
Yuna:
Son, what’s he like during practices?
Ilya:
Good.
Pause.
Yuna:
Do you like him?
Ilya:
He’s just another guy on the team.
Shane:
You two seem close now.
Yuna:
And as a player?
Ilya:
He’s good. But nothing like that.
Yuna:
—And is he a good person?
For a moment, Ilya didn't answer.
Long enough for the question to stand out.
Long enough to feel unusual.
Ilya:
—Sometimes he doesn't talk much.
—And sometimes he talks way too much.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
—I think so.
—Yeah.
—I think he's a good person.
Yuna:
—I'm glad you two get along.
David:
—With talent and discipline, he's already halfway there.
Ilya:
—He's got more than that.
His answer came naturally.
Almost too naturally.
—He's really good.
A brief pause.
—I'd never tell him that.
—But he already knows.
The message appeared on the screen. And for a second, nobody replied. Not even Shane. Because it wasn't really about what had been written. It was about who had written it.
For years, Shane had listened to Ilya talk about coaches. Systems. Stats. Games. Opponents. But very rarely about people. And almost never about teammates.
The phone buzzed again. The conversation moved on. Yuna asking something else. David making another comment. Ilya answering like nothing had happened. But Shane wasn't really reading anymore. His attention had drifted somewhere else.
He set the phone down on the table and stared at the dark screen for a few seconds. Then picked it up again. Thought about it. And locked it.
For the first time in a very long while, he found himself wondering what exactly it was that Ilya wasn't saying.