Love

The afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the upscale Munich restaurant, casting a golden glow over the white linen tablecloths and the remnants of a lavish lunch. Mimi sat close to Jamal, her shoulder pressed firmly against his. To anyone else, it might have seemed like she was trying to merge into his skin, but for Mimi, it was just home.

Her fingers were interlaced with his under the table, her thumb tracing the familiar calluses on his palm. Every few minutes, she would lean in, whispering something into his ear that made him chuckle, or she’d rest her chin on his shoulder just to watch him talk to his teammates. Jamal didn't seem to mind; in fact, his hand would often tighten around hers, or he’d press a quick, absent-minded kiss to her temple while discussing the upcoming Champions League fixture with Leroy Sané.

"I’m just going to wash my hands," Jamal whispered, squeezing her hand one last time before sliding out of the booth.

Mimi smiled, watching him walk away. She felt a lingering warmth in her chest, the kind that only he could ignite. However, as soon as he disappeared around the corner, the atmosphere at the table shifted.

"Mimi, honey," one of the older players' wives said, leaning forward with a look of feigned concern. She set her wine glass down with a soft clink. "Can I give you a little piece of advice? From one woman to another?"

Mimi blinked, her curly brown hair bouncing as she tilted her head. "Oh, sure. What is it?"

"You’re young, so you might not realize it yet," the woman continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that drew the attention of the other two women at the table. "But men like Jamal—successful, high-profile athletes—they need space. Being that clingy... it’s a bit much, isn’t it? If you’re always all over him, he’s going to start feeling suffocated. Men hate that. Eventually, he’ll get tired of it. He’ll get tired of you."

The words felt like a physical blow to Mimi’s stomach. The smile she had been wearing faltered and then vanished completely. She looked down at her lap, her small hands twisting the fabric of her dress.

"I... I didn't think I was being too much," Mimi stammered, her heart racing.

"None of them will tell you to your face," another woman chimed in, nodding in agreement. "They just start pulling away until one day, they're gone. Just a friendly warning. Less is more, dear."

When Jamal returned a few minutes later, he slid back into the booth and reached for Mimi’s hand, expecting to find it waiting for him. Instead, Mimi had her hands tucked firmly in her lap. She offered him a tight, strained smile but didn't lean into him. She didn't whisper a joke. She sat as straight as a board, leaving a noticeable three-inch gap between their shoulders.

Jamal frowned, his dark eyes searching hers. "Everything okay, Mi?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice sounding thin to her own ears. "Just a bit tired. Ready to go?"

The change wasn't just for that afternoon. It carried over into the next day, and the day after that.

Mimi was a girl who lived for physical touch. She loved the way Jamal’s hoodies felt, the way he smelled like expensive cologne and fresh laundry, and the way he always pulled her into his lap the moment he sat on the sofa. But now, every time she felt the urge to reach for him, the woman’s voice echoed in her head: He’ll get tired of you.

On Tuesday, when Jamal came home from training, Mimi greeted him from across the kitchen island. Usually, she would have sprinted to the door and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Hey," she said, focusing very intently on chopping carrots.

Jamal stood in the doorway, his gear bag still slung over his shoulder. He waited for a beat, expecting the usual whirlwind of curls and kisses. When it didn't come, he walked over and tried to wrap his arms around her waist from behind.

Mimi stiffened. She gently wiggled out of his grasp to reach for a bowl. "Careful, I have a knife. Don't want to get hurt."

Jamal’s arms dropped to his sides. "Right. Sorry."

On Wednesday evening, they were watching a movie. Normally, Mimi would be curled up in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Instead, she sat on the opposite end of the L-shaped sofa, a decorative pillow clutched to her chest like a shield.

Jamal kept glancing at her, his brows furrowed in confusion. He shifted closer, sliding along the cushions until his knee brushed hers. Mimi immediately shifted further away, pretending to adjust her position.

"Mimi," he said softly.

"Yeah?" She didn't look at him, her eyes glued to the screen where a car chase was happening.

"Did I do something?"

"No, why would you think that?"

"You're just... you're being different," he said, his voice laced with a hint of hurt.

"I'm just giving you some space, Jamal. I know you have a big game coming up. You probably need to focus and not have me constantly in your hair."

Jamal opened his mouth to argue, but Mimi stood up. "I'm going to go get some water. Do you want anything?"

"No," he muttered, his gaze dropping to his feet. "I'm good."

By Friday, the tension in the house was thick enough to cut. Jamal was miserable. He was used to Mimi being his shadow, his constant source of warmth and affection. Now, he felt like he was living with a polite stranger. He found himself making mistakes at training, his mind constantly looping back to what could have possibly gone wrong. Was she falling out of love? Was there someone else?

The breaking point came that night.

They were getting ready for bed in silence. Mimi brushed her hair, keeping her back to him as he sat on the edge of the mattress. When she finally climbed into bed, she stayed on the very edge of her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin and facing the wall.

The silence stretched for several minutes, heavy and suffocating.

Suddenly, the mattress shifted violently. Jamal didn't just move; he practically lunged across the bed. He grabbed Mimi’s shoulder and gently but firmly rolled her over to face him.

"Okay, enough," Jamal said, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't do this anymore, Mimi. What is going on?"

Mimi blinked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Nothing is going on. I'm just trying to sleep."

"Liars are bad at football, and you're a terrible liar," Jamal countered, hovering over her, his arms propped up on either side of her head. "You haven't touched me in four days. You won't hug me. You won't even sit next to me on the couch. You’re giving me your back in bed! You never give me your back. You’re usually trying to use my arm as a pillow and your legs are always tangled with mine."

"I'm just trying to be better!" Mimi cried out, the first tear finally spilling over.

Jamal recoiled as if she’d slapped him. "Better? Better how? By treating me like I have the plague?"

"By not being so clingy!" Mimi sobbed, covering her face with her hands. "I don't want you to get tired of me, Jamal. I don't want you to feel suffocated. I know I'm a lot, and I'm always touching you and wanting to be near you, and I just... I didn't realize how much it probably annoyed you until someone pointed it out."

Jamal froze. The frustration that had been simmering in his chest for days vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp anger directed at whoever had put those thoughts in her head.

"Who?" he asked, his voice dangerously low. "Who told you that?"

"It doesn't matter," Mimi sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "They were just being honest. They said men like you need space and that if I keep being this way, you’ll eventually leave because you’ll be bored and annoyed by me."

Jamal let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-growl. He collapsed down onto the bed, pulling Mimi into his chest with such force that she gasped. He wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin and locking his ankles with hers.

"Listen to me," he whispered into her hair, his heart hammering against her ear. "Listen very carefully, Mimi. Those people? They don't know me. They don't know us."

Mimi tried to pull back to look at him, but he held her tighter.

"I spend my whole day in a world where everyone wants something from me," Jamal said, his voice thick with emotion. "The fans, the coaches, the media... everyone wants a piece of Jamal Musiala the player. But when I come home to you, I’m just Jamal. And the way you look at me, the way you’re always reaching for me... that’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m actually home."

He pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"I could never, ever get tired of you touching me," he said, his eyes intense and sincere. "I love that you’re clingy. I love that you want to be close to me. I missed it so much this week I felt like I couldn't breathe properly. Why would you listen to someone else about how I feel?"

Mimi’s lower lip trembled. "I was just scared. I love you so much, Jamal. The thought of losing you because I was being 'too much' was terrifying."

"You are exactly the right amount of 'much,'" Jamal insisted, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. "Promise me something, Mimi. Right now."

"Anything," she whispered.

"If you ever feel worried about us, or if someone fills your head with rubbish like that again, you come to me. You ask me. Don't go off the logic of people who have no idea how much I adore you. Promise?"

Mimi nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through her sadness. "I promise."

"Good," Jamal grunted, rolling them both over so she was pinned beneath him, though he kept his weight on his elbows. "Now, you have four days of missed cuddles to make up for. I suggest we start now."

Mimi laughed, the sound bright and clear in the quiet room. She reached up, winding her fingers into his short hair and pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like relief and devotion.

"I think I can handle that," she murmured against his lips.

"You better," Jamal teased, nipping at her bottom lip before settling into the crook of her neck. "Because I'm not letting you go for at least eight hours. Maybe ten."

Mimi squeezed him tight, closing her eyes and breathing him in. The space between them was gone, replaced by the familiar, comforting weight of his body against hers. She wasn't too much, and she wasn't not enough. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

As Jamal drifted off to sleep, his hand still firmly gripping hers under the covers, Mimi realized that the only person whose opinion mattered was the one currently snoring softly against her shoulder. And he, quite clearly, wasn't going anywhere.