Love

The Säbener Straße facility was buzzing with its usual morning energy, a mix of the rhythmic thud of footballs against turf and the sharp whistles of the coaching staff. Jamal Musiala, usually the picture of focused composure, felt a strange flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with the upcoming match against Dortmund.

Today was the day he had finally yielded to Mi’s curiosity.

"Are you sure I won’t be in the way?" Mi asked, her voice small as she adjusted the strap of her oversized Bayern Munich hoodie. The sleeves were so long they swallowed her hands, leaving only her fingertips peeking out.

Jamal looked down at her, his expression softening instantly. With her curly brown hair bouncing as she walked and her petite frame practically drowning in his gear, she looked entirely out of place in the high-intensity environment of professional sports. And that was exactly why he loved her.

"You’re never in the way, Mi," Jamal said, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Besides, Thomas has been bugging me for months to prove you actually exist. He thinks I hired an actress for my Instagram photos."

Mi laughed, a bright, melodic sound that made a few passing staff members turn their heads. "An actress? I’m not that good at pretending, Jamal."

"Clearly," he teased, nudging her shoulder with his. "Just stay by the sidelines with the social media team. I’ll come check on you during the breaks."

As they stepped onto the pitch, the atmosphere shifted. Jamal was the "Bambi" of the team—the young, prodigious talent they all felt a certain protective pride over. But as he led Mi toward the bench, the chatter among the warming-up players died down, replaced by a collective, curious hum.

"No way," a loud, booming voice echoed across the grass. Thomas Müller was already jogging over, a mischievous glint in his eyes that usually spelled trouble for Jamal’s sanity. "The legend is true! Musiala isn't just hallucinating!"

Jamal felt a flush creep up his neck. "Thomas, please."

"Hello!" Mi said, stepping forward with a polite smile, though she looked like she might be swallowed whole by the sheer scale of the stadium and the men standing in it. "I’m Mi. It’s nice to finally meet the man Jamal talks about so much."

Thomas stopped in his tracks, his grin widening. "Oh, she’s polite! And tiny! Jamal, why didn’t you tell us she was a hobbit? We could have cast her in a movie."

"She’s not a hobbit, she’s just… compact," Jamal defended, though he was smiling despite himself.

Within minutes, the "quiet" introduction Jamal had envisioned descended into chaos. The training session hadn't even officially started, and half the squad had migrated toward the sidelines.

Alphonso Davies arrived next, sliding across the grass on his knees in a mock-dramatic entrance. "Mi! The queen has arrived! Jamal, move over, you’re blocking the view."

"Phonzie, get up," Jamal groaned, but the left-back was already chatting away.

"Does he treat you well? Do we need to stage an intervention?" Phonzie asked, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. "Because we can bench him if he’s being annoying. I have influence."

Mi giggled, her initial nerves vanishing under the onslaught of the team’s chaotic energy. "He’s actually very sweet. He mostly just plays FIFA and complains when I beat him."

A collective "Ooh" went up from the gathered players.

"You beat him?" Leroy Sané joined the circle, draped in a training bib, looking genuinely impressed. "Jamal, you told us you were the undisputed king of the console."

"I was distracted!" Jamal protested, throwing his hands up. "She uses tactics I don’t expect!"

"It’s called skill, Jamal," Leon Goretzka added, walking over with a protein shake in hand. He looked down at Mi, offering a kind, older-brotherly smile. "Nice to meet you, Mi. Ignore these idiots. They haven't had their coffee yet."

"I’m doing fine, thank you," Mi replied.

Jamal watched the interaction with a growing sense of unease. Not because his teammates were being mean—quite the opposite. It was the way they were all looking at her, like she was the most precious thing to ever grace the Bayern training ground. Even the coaching staff seemed to be lingering a bit longer than necessary near their section of the field.

"Alright, alright! Enough socializing!" the coach called out, blowing his whistle. "We have a league to win. Back to the drills!"

The players groaned but began to disperse. Thomas gave Mi a thumbs-up before sprinting away. "Stick around, Mi! We’re having a barbecue after this, and you’re the guest of honor!"

"Since when are we having a barbecue?" Jamal muttered to himself.

As the training session got underway, Jamal tried to focus. He really did. He took the ball in the half-turn, drove into the space, and looked for the pass. But every time there was a whistle or a reset, his eyes drifted toward the sidelines.

Mi was sitting on one of the equipment coolers, her legs swinging back and forth. She was talking to one of the physical therapists, her face animated as she gestured with her hands. At one point, a stray ball rolled toward her, and she stopped it with a surprisingly clean touch before kicking it back to Serge Gnabry.

Serge caught the ball, winked at her, and blew a mock kiss.

Jamal tripped over his own feet.

"Focus, Bambi!" Harry Kane called out, passing him with a chuckle. "She’s not going anywhere."

"I know," Jamal huffed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I just didn’t think everyone would be so… attentive."

The session felt longer than usual. By the time the final whistle blew, Jamal was ready to whisk Mi away to a quiet cafe where no one wore cleats or had a professional contract. But the team had other plans.

As the players headed toward the locker rooms, they circled back to Mi like a pack of golden retrievers.

"So, Mi," Phonzie said, wiping his face with a towel. "The real question is: who is your favorite player? And choose wisely, because Jamal is standing right there."

Mi looked at Jamal, who was giving her a pleading look, and then back at the group of expectant faces. "Well," she started, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I’ve always admired Thomas’s space-investigating. It’s very… intellectual."

Thomas let out a triumphant roar, throwing his arms around a disgruntled Jamal. "You hear that? Intellectual! The lady has taste!"

"I’m literally right here," Jamal said, though he couldn't hide his grin.

"And Phonzie," Mi added, "your TikToks are much better than Jamal’s."

"Oh, it’s over!" Phonzie barked a laugh, pointing a finger at Jamal. "You’ve been replaced! She’s our mascot now. You’re just the guy who brought her."

The group began to head toward the facility’s dining area, Mi walking in the center of a protective bubble of world-class athletes. She looked so small compared to them, her curly hair barely reaching their shoulders, but she held her own in the conversation, laughing at their jokes and asking about their training routines.

Jamal lagged a few steps behind, watching her. He felt a swell of pride, but also a funny little pinch of jealousy. He was used to being the center of attention on this pitch, but today, he was definitely the second-most popular Musiala in the building.

When they finally reached the lounge, Mi found a seat at one of the long tables. Almost immediately, Serge and Leroy were there, bringing her water and snacks as if she were royalty.

"You guys are going to spoil her," Jamal said, finally sliding into the seat next to her and firmly placing an arm around the back of her chair.

"She deserves it for putting up with you," Leroy retorted, leaning against the table. "How do you do it, Mi? Does he talk about expected goals during dinner?"

"Sometimes," Mi admitted, leaning her head against Jamal’s shoulder. "But he also makes really good pancakes, so it balances out."

"He makes pancakes?" Thomas shouted from across the room. "He told us he didn't know how to turn on a stove!"

Jamal buried his face in his hands. "I’m never bringing you here again."

Mi laughed, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Oh, don't be like that. They’re lovely."

"They’re vultures," Jamal whispered, though he leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

As the afternoon wore on, the initial chaos settled into a warm, comfortable atmosphere. The players eventually moved on to their own recovery sessions, leaving Jamal and Mi alone in the corner of the lounge.

The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the pristine grass outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Did you have a good time?" Jamal asked, his voice low and private for the first time all day.

Mi nodded, her eyes bright. "I did. Your friends are intense, but they clearly care about you a lot. I can see why you love it here."

"I was worried they’d be too much," Jamal admitted, playing with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. "They can be… a lot to handle."

"I liked it," she said softly. "But I think I prefer it when it’s just us. No Thomas Müller narrating our every move."

"Tell me about it," Jamal sighed with relief. "He actually asked me if you had a sister. I told him you were an only child, and he looked genuinely devastated."

Mi giggled, shifting closer to him. "Well, I’m glad I came. It’s nice to see where you spend all your time. And it’s nice to know that if you ever get too big-headed, I can just call Phonzie to put you in your place."

Jamal groaned, pulling her into a side-hug. "Great. I’ve created a monster. My teammates and my girlfriend are conspiring against me."

"It’s for your own good, Bambi," she teased, using the nickname the team had been shouting all morning.

Jamal stood up, offering her his hand. "Alright, that’s it. We’re leaving before you start demanding a jersey with your name on it."

"Actually," Mi said, standing up and smoothing out the oversized hoodie. "Thomas already promised me one. Signed by the whole team."

Jamal stopped, staring at her in disbelief. "He did what?"

"And he said I’m invited to the next home game in the VIP box," she added, her eyes dancing with light.

Jamal shook his head, a helpless laugh escaping him. He led her toward the exit, his hand firmly holding hers. As they walked past the trophy cabinet and toward the parking lot, he realized that while he might have lost his status as the most popular person at the training ground, he didn't mind one bit.

Because as they reached his car, Mi turned to him, standing on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on his jaw.

"You’re still my favorite player, though," she whispered.

Jamal smiled, feeling the tension finally leave his shoulders. "Better be. Otherwise, I’m definitely not making those pancakes tomorrow."

"Deal," she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

As Jamal started the engine, he saw Thomas waving frantically from a second-story window. Jamal just waved back with one finger and drove away, finally having his favorite person all to himself again. He loved his team, and he loved his club, but some things—like the girl with the curly brown hair and the oversized hoodie—were meant to be his and his alone.

Even if he did have to share her with the Bayern Munich starting eleven for just one afternoon.