The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 331

He hadn't spoken a word until now. When he finally did, his voice was deep and gentle:

"Sloane, how is your Olympic prep going?"

"Still training," Sloane replied, her tone carrying the crisp discipline typical of an athlete. "The trials are in three months. I'm going to give it everything I have."

The burly man looked at her—taking in the slight redness of her shoulder joints from the intense training, the old scar on her wrist from the lane lines, and those calm, quiet eyes that seemed far too mature for her age.

He stayed quiet for a moment, as if carefully weighing his words. "Actually, I'm a swimming coach too," he said. "But I have to tell you—swimming isn't everything."

"You can explore other interests, live your own life. You don't owe anyone a gold medal."

Sloane didn't answer immediately.

She stared at this stranger who claimed to be a coach, having no idea why he was suddenly telling her all this. But she saw something in his eyes that she couldn't quite put her finger on—it wasn't expectation, and it wasn't a demand. It felt more like a heartfelt warning.

The young man couldn't hold back anymore and chimed in, breaking the sudden heavy silence. "Yeah, exactly! You should try... being a social media influencer! You're so pretty, you'd definitely go viral!"

The professor reached out and swatted the back of his head. It wasn't hard, but the practiced ease was undeniable. "Don't speak nonsense." He pulled his hand back and looked at Sloane again, his gaze as soft as if he were looking at his own daughter. "Sloane, what subjects do you actually enjoy?"

Sloane thought about it.

"I'm not particularly amazing at anything... but I'd like to try for a Master's in Sports Psychology."

The three men walked out of the cafe and into the blazing afternoon sun. The glaring light blurred the edges of their silhouettes, making them fainter and fainter until they disappeared into the distance.

The warning bell for class rang across campus. Sloane grabbed her duffel bag, dashed out of the cafe, and sprinted toward the lecture hall.

She barely made it two steps when a splitting pain erupted in her head—it wasn't a normal headache. It was a sharp, searing agony exploding from the very core of her skull, like a red-hot needle stabbing its way out of her brain.

Her vision flashed completely white in that instant. The sunlight, the sycamore trees, the outline of the lecture hall—everything vanished, swallowed by an overwhelming, blinding glare. The bag slipped from her grip, the towel dropped to the ground, and her thermos rolled across the pavement, coming to a stop next to a puddle of autumn rain.

She collapsed onto the concrete, her consciousness fading into darkness...