[10th April 2000 – 14:20 PM, Ajax Training Complex, Amsterdam, Netherlands]
Dr Arjen van Dijk's office sat on the second floor of the sports science wing, overlooking the pristine training pitches where Ajax's academy players moved through drills like clockwork. The walls were lined with framed certificates, photos of championship squads, and academic journals—forty years of dedication condensed into wood and glass.
Maria sat across from him, hands folded in her lap, her posture straight despite the weight of his stare. The old man's beard, more salt than pepper now, seemed to bristle with each breath. His weathered face, tanned from years on the sidelines, was set in a deep scowl.
"Four months," he said finally, his Dutch-accented English clipped and precise. "You've been here four months, Maria. And now you're leaving."
"I know it's sudden—" she began.
"Sudden?" He leaned forward, his voice rising. "Sudden is missing a train. This young lady is betrayal plain and simple."
Maria's jaw tightened. "With all due respect, Dr. van Dijk, I'm not betraying anyone. I'm taking a better opportunity."
"Better?" He barked out a bitter laugh. "Better than Ajax? Do you know how many applications we received for your position? Three hundred and thirty-seven. We chose you. I chose you! I sat on that committee, read your thesis, and argued for you when others wanted candidates with more experience."
"And I'm grateful—"
"You're Grateful, (Clap clap clap) what am I supposed to do with that?" He slammed a hand on the desk, making the penholder rattle. "Grateful people don't abandon ship the moment someone waves money in their face."
"It's not about the money," Maria said, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her chest.
"Then what is it? Glory? Fame?" His lips curled with disdain. "American football. A sport where men destroy their bodies for entertainment. Where science takes a backseat to spectacle."
"That's not fair."
"Fair? Maria grow up." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You want to talk about fair? For five years, we've watched our best players leave. Van der Sar, Kluivert, Seedorf, Davids—stripped away by clubs with deeper pockets. Now our staff is following the same path. You're no different than the rest. Maria, let's not kid ourselves, you're just another opportunist."
The words hit harder than she expected, but she couldn't deny it, as it was true, waiting another few years to get a foot in the door or make some achievements right now, even a fool knew what to pick. Maria felt her face flush, anger and hurt warring in her chest. "You're right, I am an opportunist, but aren't we all like that, looking for a chance to build something that is our own."
She retorted, freezing the man's train of thought, but before he could respond, she continued. "At Ajax, I'm doing paperwork and fetching coffee for senior staff. I didn't study for almost a decade to fetch coffee. In New York, I'll have a budget, a team, and the freedom to implement my research. Who in their right mind would say no to that?"
"Freedom?" Arjen's laugh was hollow. "You think some twenty-year-old billionaire playing Fantasy Football Manager is going to give you freedom? He'll get bored in six months and leave you with nothing. Then what? You come crawling back?"
Maria stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "I won't be coming back."
Arjen rose to meet her, his expression cold. "No, you won't. Because there won't be a position waiting for you." He moved to the window, hands clasped behind his back. "Let me tell you something, Maria. At Ajax, the grass is as green as it gets for sports scientists. You think it's greener somewhere else? It's not. It's artificial turf painted to look like the real thing."
She grabbed her bag from the chair, slinging it over her shoulder. "I guess I'll find out for myself."
"You will," he said without turning. "And when you do, don't expect sympathy from me."
Maria walked to the door, her hand on the handle. She paused, looking back at the old man's rigid silhouette against the window. "I hope you're wrong, Dr. van Dijk. But either way, thank you for giving me the chance. I won't forget that." She left without waiting for a response.
~~~
[10th April 2000 – 21:45 PM, van der Meer Family Home, Utrecht, Netherlands]
The shouting in the quiet street of the van der Meer Family home could probably be heard three houses down."Moving across the world based on some *teenager's* words!" Helena van der Meer's voice cracked with frustration as she paced the small living room, her arms gesturing wildly. "You are *crazy*, Maria! Absolutely insane!"
Maria stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, her face flushed. "He's not just some teenager, Mama. He owns an NFL franchise. He's investing millions—"
"Millions he inherited!" Helena shot back. "Old money playing with new toys. What happens when he gets bored, hmm? When the shiny new plaything loses its appeal?"
"That's not what this is—"
"Then what *is* it?" Her mother stopped pacing, turning to face her. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're throwing away everything you've built here. Your career, your home, your *life*."
"My life?" Maria's voice rose to match her mother's. "What life, Mama? Working as a glorified intern at Ajax? Running errands for men who treat me like I'm still in university?"
"You've been there four months! You need to be patient—"
"I've been patient my entire life!" Maria's hands balled into fists at her sides. "Patient through six years of school. Patient through internships where I was paid in 'experience.' Patient while watching men with half my qualifications get positions I applied for. I'm done being patient!"
Helena's expression softened slightly, but her tone remained firm. "What about Bjorn?"
The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade. Maria looked away, her jaw working. "What about him?"
"Don't play dumb with me, Maria Isabella." Her mother's voice dropped, taking on that dangerous quiet that meant she was truly angry. "You're engaged. He's waited three years for you to finish your studies. How much longer is he supposed to wait while you chase dreams halfway around the world?"
"I didn't ask him to wait," Maria said quietly.
"No, but he did anyway. Because he loves you." Helena moved closer, her voice gentler now but no less insistent. "Marriage is about compromise, about building a life together. How are you supposed to do that when you're in different countries?"
"Maybe we're not supposed to," Maria said, the words escaping before she could stop them.
Her mother's eyes widened. "Maria—"
"We will figure it out, Mama." She retorted, knowing that even if she changed her mind now, there was no going back on her decision. "From the start, we agreed that we would establish our careers first before we get married. I am doing exactly that."
Helena pressed a hand to her forehead, closing her eyes. "Mijn God, Noah, say something."
From his chair in the corner, Noah van der Meer had been doing his best impression of invisible furniture for the past twenty minutes. A soft-spoken man in his early sixties with wire-rimmed glasses and thinning grey hair, he'd learned long ago that when his wife and daughter went to war, the smartest strategy was strategic silence.
But now both women were looking at him expectantly. He set down the newspaper he'd been pretending to read and removed his glasses, cleaning them slowly with the hem of his sweater. "Well," he said carefully, "it seems Maria has made up her mind."
"Noah!" Helena's voice was incredulous.
"What would you have me say, Helena?" He replaced his glasses and looked at his wife with a tired gaze. "Should I forbid her? She's twenty-eight years old. Should I guilt her into staying?"
"That's not the point!" she snapped, her voice trembling with equal parts anger and fear. "She's throwing away stability. Security. Her entire future for— for a fantasy!"
Maria's voice softened, but there was a steel edge beneath it. "It's not a fantasy, Mama. It's a risk. But so is staying here; there is no guarantee I will be successful even if I stay here."
Helena's hands went to her temples, muttering in Portuguese under her breath before sighing in defeat. "You have your father's stubbornness," she said finally, voice breaking. "Go then. Go chase your dream. But when it falls apart, don't come crying to me."
Maria flinched at the familiar words but said nothing. Her father stood slowly, pocketing his glasses as he moved toward the coat rack. "I'll drive you to the airport," he said gently.
Helena turned away, arms crossed, blinking fast to hide her tears. "If you leave, Maria… don't make me watch you walk out."
Maria hesitated by the door, then whispered, "Goodbye, Mama." The door closed softly behind her.
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To Be Continued...