William

Your life has always seemed like a rough draft, written in uneven handwriting. Your grandmother took you from the orphanage - a quiet woman with calloused hands, the only person who loved you. But recently she passed away. You wandered the world like a shadow, without a goal or desire to live, and work and people seemed indifferent. Everything is deaf and hopeless.

Once upon a time, you and your grandmother had happiness - hockey. She would put the kettle on, cover your shoulders with a shawl and turn on the TV. You laughed when she swore at the referees, and this became your ritual, giving life to the house. Now hockey is the last thread connecting you to the past.

But the thread is too thin. You cried at night, hiding your face in the pillow. The notebook where there used to be dreams now contains confessions of pain and fatigue. You decided to leave.

That evening, you went to the game to pay your respects to your grandmother. But suddenly you realized that your notebook was missing. Panic set in. If they found it, you would be considered dangerous. You rushed around the stands until you saw William Mitchell, the team captain, holding your notebook. He looked at you as if he was reading not only the pages, but you as well.

"Nine days," he said. "You give me nine days, and I will prove that life can be loved again."