Morning Pressure

"Yanis, wake up. You're gonna be late for school."

His mother's voice came from the hallway, it was sharp, low, and deliberate. It cut through the silence like the morning light bleeding through the curtains. She didn't shout because she never needed to, but her tone alone could cut through sleep like a cold knife.

"You're going to be late, habibi. Come on."

Yanis opened one eye. His blanket had half-slid off during the night. The small room was still dark. The thick air seeped in with that heavy Marseille humidity that crept in even before dawn. The cracked window rattled faintly as a bus groaned by below.

Lina, his little sister, was curled under the covers beside him, completely still. She always found her way into his bed, dragging her stuffed bear and asking so many questions. She slept like someone with no fear.

Yanis didn't mind, he sat up, rubbed his face, and stretched his arms above his head until his shoulders cracked. His thighs ached from yesterday's training, his calves were still burning and his heels were also sore. Every part of him felt used and he liked it that way.

The hallway lights were off. The only glow came from the kitchen, where his mother stood already dressed in her navy-blue nurse scrubs with her headscarf tied tightly. The small clock above the stove read 6:14 a.m.

Nora Benali moved like someone who had been up for hours. She had: made breakfast, folded laundry, packed Lina's lunch, and answered two work emails—on a cracked secondhand phone.

She turned as he stepped into the kitchen.

"You set your alarm?"

"I was already up," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"Didn't sound like it."

"Your uniform's on the chair," she said, not looking up. "Boots drying in the hall. And your bag's still open."

Yanis walked in slowly as he was still halfway between sleep and focus.

"You work today?" he asked.

"Fourteen-hour shift, I'm short-handed again," she said, smiling at Yanis.

"You good?" Yanis asked.

She gave him that look. The kind mothers give when the answer is obviously no, but saying it out loud would just make it worse.

"I'm fine," she said. "Eat something real, okay?"

Yanis grabbed a piece of dry bread from the table and sat down.

She sighed. "That's not food, Yanis."

"It's fuel," he said, jokingly.

"You're not a car," his mom insisted.

"Close enough."

She didn't smile. She was too tired for sarcasm today.

A soft rustling behind them signaled that his father had woken up. Yanis turned as Hakim Benali shuffled into the kitchen barefooted with his beard thick, hair matted and eyes still squinting. He wore an old OM tracksuit top and loose grey joggers. The scent of sleep still clung to him as he grabbed a small espresso cup, filled it half with black coffee, and then leaned on the counter without saying a word.

"You're off today?" Yanis asked.

Hakim nodded. "No early bookings so I might just rest."

"You should because you look so tired."

Hakim smirked. "Yeah, I need it badly."

The three of them stood there in silence—mother packing her bag, father sipping coffee and son chewing bread that tasted like cardboard. It was one of those everyday family moments that felt ordinary, but if you froze the frame, you'd see the entire weight of their lives in it.

Nora broke the silence. "Your dad knows about the trial." Yanis glanced up.

"I told him," she added. "He didn't believe me."

Hakim raised an eyebrow. "INF France. That's no joke, son."

"I know dad and I'm ready for it." His father looked at him with confidence and pride, he was indeed proud of his son.

"You've got ten days?" His father asked.

"Less now," he answered respectfully.

"You training like it's real?" Hakim asked again.

"I'm training like it's life," he replied.

Hakim sipped his coffee. "Good. That's the only way to do it."

Nora moved toward the door, tightening her scarf. "Lina's lunch is packed. She's got PE today, so make sure she wears the white sneakers."

"I got it," Yanis said.

"She'll pretend she doesn't know where they are."

"I know," Nora muttered.

Nora stepped into her shoes, grabbed her bag, and looked back. "Don't slack off today," she said. "I want focus. I want you eating better and want no calls from your teachers."

Yanis gave her a lazy salute. "Yes, boss."

She narrowed her eyes. "You think this is a joke?"

"No, mom, I'll do as you said."

That caught her off guard for just a second. Then she shook her head, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor. The apartment felt different without her, but still, it was heavier.

Yanis turned back to see his dad staring out the window.

"You serious about this?" Hakim asked.

"I've never been more serious," he replied boldly.

His dad nodded slowly. "Good. Just remember, scouts aren't looking for circus tricks. They want thinkers, players who make decisions."

"I know," Yanis muttered.

"Then play like that, play smart and don't just dazzle. Control the game."

Yanis thought for a moment. "You used to play, right?"

His dad smiled faintly. "Yeah, I used to play as a midfielder for my neighborhood and I was very decent."

"Why'd you stop?" Yanis asked.

"Life," he said. "Work, war and family. It wasn't that easy but," he paused for a second then, "but it doesn't matter now."

"But you loved it?" Yanis asked, showing some concern.

Hakim didn't answer right away. Then: "Yeah, I still do."

There was a long pause before he added, "Make sure you love it too, even when it gets hard."

"You remind me of how I was," Hakim said. "Except that you're way better, faster and more serious." Then, he looked his son in the eye.

"I will always support, love and guide you. Because you're my responsibility and no one else."

Yanis after hearing this, got emotional and was more determined than ever. Hakim reached for his shoulder and gave it a short and firm squeeze. "Go and be better than me."

Yanis nodded slowly. "Thanks." He was indeed grateful for having Hakim as a father. He didn't say anything back, he just headed for a quick shower.

Yanis got dressed in silence; he put on his school uniform, grey hoodie over the top and boots slung over his shoulder.

Lina was still asleep when he left. He kissed her forehead gently and tucked the stuffed bear tighter in her arms. He stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

The streets of Bellevue were just waking up. The sun hadn't fully broken through the clouds as old men stood outside the café smoking and bakery truck unloading crates of pain au chocolat. Somewhere, a moped buzzed past too fast. Yanis walked with his head down, his bag heavy on one side and boots bouncing off his back.

He had ten days left for the trials, ten days to sharpen and to focus. To make every minute matter and he wasn't hoping for magic. He was preparing for war.