Us

The apartment still smelled like the expensive rosemary chicken Jamal had spent two hours preparing, but the warmth that usually permeated their shared home had evaporated the moment the front door clicked shut. Now, there was only the low hum of the refrigerator and the heavy, suffocating silence of a room that felt too big for one person.

I stood in the kitchen, staring at the three empty wine glasses on the mahogany table. One was smeared with a shade of soft pink lipstick that didn’t belong to me.

Jamal had been talking about Mimi for months. She was the "little sister" figure from his childhood in England and Germany, the girl who had shared scraped knees and secret candy stashes with him before her family moved away for her studies. I had been prepared to welcome her with open arms. I had even bought her favorite chocolates because Jamal said she had a sweet tooth.

But the girl who walked through the door wasn't the innocent childhood memory I expected. Mimi was petite, with a halo of soft, chestnut curls that framed a face that could only be described as doll-like. She was shy, yes—but only toward me. With Jamal, she was a whirlwind of tactile affection.

Throughout dinner, I had felt like a ghost at my own table.

"Do you remember that summer in Stuttgart, Bambi?" Mimi had chirped, her hand resting naturally on Jamal’s forearm. She used the nickname with a practiced ease that made my chest tighten. "You cried when you lost your favorite football, and I had to help you find it in the bushes."

Jamal had laughed, that genuine, eye-crinkling laugh that I usually lived for. "I did not cry, Mimi. I was just... frustrated."

"You totally cried," she giggled, leaning her head against his shoulder for a brief second.

I had tried to interject, to ask about her studies in London, but every time I spoke, Mimi would give a polite, one-word answer before pivoting back to a memory I wasn't part of. It was a masterclass in exclusion.

Then came the wine. And with the wine came the questions.

"So," Mimi had said, swirling the dark red liquid in her glass as she looked around our living room. "Jamal told me you guys have been living together for... what, six months?"

"Almost seven," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

Mimi’s eyebrows rose toward her curly fringe. "And you’ve only been dating for a year? Wow. That’s... brave. Or reckless. My parents always say that moving in before the two-year mark is a recipe for a messy breakup. You don't really know someone until the honeymoon phase is over, you know? Especially someone with a life as high-profile as Jamal’s."

Jamal had shifted uncomfortably, but he hadn't defended us. He had just offered a weak, "We’re doing fine, Mimi. It felt right."

"I’m sure it did," she’d whispered, her eyes fixed on him with a look of pity that made me want to scream.

The memory of her tone echoed in my head as I scrubbed the dishes. I worked until my fingers were pruned and the counter was spotless. Then, I retreated to the bathroom. I took a shower so hot it turned my skin pink, trying to wash away the feeling of being an intruder in my own life.

By the time I crawled into bed, the clock on the nightstand read 11:45 PM. Jamal had been gone for over an hour. It shouldn't have taken that long to drop her off; her family’s house was twenty minutes away.

I turned off the lamp and stared at the wall, listening to the distant sound of cars on the Munich streets. Eventually, I heard the soft click of the front door, the heavy thud of his sneakers being kicked off, and the rustle of his jacket.

He entered the bedroom quietly, thinking I was asleep. I kept my breathing rhythmic, my back turned toward his side of the bed. I felt the mattress sink under his weight as he climbed in.

After a moment, I felt his arm reach out. His hand settled on my waist, his fingers twitching slightly as he tried to pull me back against his chest, seeking the familiar warmth we shared every night.

I didn't think. I just moved. I shifted my body toward the very edge of the mattress, creating a cold, physical chasm between us.

The silence that followed was thick. I could hear Jamal sit up slightly, the sheets rustling.

"You’re awake," he said softly. His voice was raspy, tired.

I didn't answer.

"I know you're awake," he repeated, reaching out again to touch my shoulder. "What’s the problem?"

"Nothing," I snapped, the word coming out sharper than I intended. "Go to sleep, Jamal. You’ve had a long night of reminiscing."

I heard him sigh, a long, frustrated sound. "Come on. Don't do that. I know that tone. Did Mimi say something that upset you? She’s just like that, she’s blunt."

I rolled over abruptly to face him, the moonlight filtering through the curtains and illuminating the confusion on his face. "Blunt? Jamal, she spent three hours acting like I didn't exist. She sat there and told me—to my face—that our relationship is a 'reckless' mistake because we moved in together 'too fast.' And you just sat there and let her."

Jamal blinked, looking genuinely taken abaft. "She didn't mean it like that. She’s just protective. We grew up together, she’s seen me get hurt before—"

"I don't care about her being protective!" I cut him off, my voice rising. "I care about the fact that she was practically sitting in your lap, touching your arm every five seconds, and talking about 'Bambi' this and 'Bambi' that. And then you stay gone for over an hour? Where were you? Did you have to tuck her in, too?"

I expected him to get defensive. I expected an argument about trust and childhood friends.

Instead, a small twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth. Then, a low rumble started in his chest. Before I knew it, Jamal was laughing. Not a mocking laugh, but a light, amused chuckle that made my blood boil.

"Are you serious?" I hissed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest like a shield. "You think this is funny? I feel like a stranger in my own home, and you’re laughing?"

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry," he said, trying to catch his breath, though the grin remained plastered on his face. He reached out, and this time he didn't let me pull away, grabbing my wrists gently. "It’s just... you’re so cute when you’re jealous."

"I am not jealous!" I yelled, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed me. "I am disrespected! There is a difference!"

"You are definitely jealous," he teased, his dark eyes sparkling. He leaned in closer, his face inches from mine. "You had this little frown the whole time she was talking. And when she touched my arm, I thought you were going to stab the chicken a little harder."

"I hate you," I muttered, turning my head away and trying to roll back over.

Jamal didn't let me. He moved with the agility he was famous for on the pitch, lunging forward to wrap his arms around me in a tight, inescapable bear hug. He pulled me back into the center of the bed, pinning my back against his chest and burying his face in the crook of my neck.

"Let go," I grumbled, though my heart was already starting to soften against the steady beat of his.

"No," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin. "Listen to me. I took a long time because she was tipsy and kept forgetting her house keys in the car. I had to help her find them, and then her mum wanted to say hello. That’s it."

I went still, my anger beginning to leak out of me, replaced by a lingering sense of insecurity. "She thinks we’re moving too fast. Do you think that? Do you regret us living together?"

Jamal squeezed me tighter, his chin resting on my shoulder. "I don't care what Mimi thinks. I don't care what my teammates think or what the tabloids think. This year with you... it’s been the best year of my life. Moving in with you wasn't reckless. It was the only thing that made sense. I want to wake up next to you every morning, even when you’re grumpy and trying to kick me out of bed."

I sighed, my tension finally snapping. I reached back, running my fingers through his short hair. "She was really clingy, Jamal. It was annoying."

"I know," he admitted softly. "I noticed. I just didn't want to make a scene and embarrass her while she was a guest. But you’re the only one I want clinging to me, okay? She’s only here for a week. Then she goes back to London, and it’s just us again."

He shifted, kissing the spot just behind my ear. "I love you. Only you. You know that, right?"

"I know," I whispered, finally turning in his arms so I could look at him. "But if she calls you 'Bambi' one more time, I might actually lose it."

Jamal laughed again, a soft, private sound in the dark room. "Deal. I’ll tell her to stop. Now, can we please go to sleep? I have training in the morning, and my girlfriend tried to freeze me out of the bed."

I smiled, finally leaning up to press a real kiss to his lips. "Fine. But only because I’m tired."

As I settled into his chest, the smell of his cologne replacing the scent of the dinner and the lingering tension, I realized Mimi was right about one thing. You don't really know someone until the honeymoon phase is tested.

But as Jamal’s grip tightened around me in his sleep, I knew we weren't a reckless mistake. We were exactly where we were supposed to be.