Love

The flashing strobe lights of the Munich nightclub bounced off the walls, casting fleeting shadows across the faces of Bayern Munich’s finest. Mimi tugged at the hem of her black slip dress, a garment that felt far bolder than anything she usually wore. Normally, she was tucked away behind a camera lens or an iPad, her curly brown hair tied back in a messy bun as she captured the team’s training antics for the club’s official TikTok.

Tonight, however, was Phonzie’s birthday. And Alphonso Davies didn't take "no" for an answer when it came to his parties.

Mimi took a steadying sip of her gin and tonic, the cold liquid burning slightly as it went down. She felt the familiar warmth of a buzz beginning to settle in her chest, loosening the tight knot of anxiety that usually resided there. Being the social media coordinator for one of the biggest clubs in the world was a dream, but for someone as shy as Mimi, it was also a daily exercise in heart palpitations.

She got along with everyone. Thomas Müller treated her like a younger sister he could relentlessly tease; Serge Gnabry always asked for her opinion on his latest outfits; Harry Kane was the epitome of polite professionalism. But then there was Jamal.

Jamal Musiala. "Bambi." The boy with the golden touch and the shy smile that made Mimi’s brain short-circuit every time he looked in her direction.

For a year, she had perfected the art of avoidance. If Jamal was in the physiotherapy room, she’d wait until he left to film. If he walked toward her in the hallway, she’d suddenly find something incredibly fascinating on her shoes or her phone screen. On the rare occasions she had to speak to him for a scripted video, she stuttered, tripped over her own feet, or—in one particularly scarring incident—accidentally dropped a tripod on his toe.

She was convinced he thought she was the most incompetent person on the payroll. In reality, Jamal was just as confused.

Across the VIP section, Jamal watched Mimi from the corner of his eye. He was leaning against the velvet back of a booth, a bottle of water in his hand. He looked effortlessly cool in a simple white tee and a designer jacket, but his brow was furrowed.

"You're doing it again," Leroy Sané muttered, leaning into Jamal’s space.

"Doing what?" Jamal asked, though he knew exactly what.

"Staring at Mimi. Why don't you just go talk to her? She looks great tonight."

Jamal sighed, his shoulders dropping. "She hates me, Leroy. Every time I get close, she looks like she’s seen a ghost. I tried to say hello this morning and she literally turned around and walked into a door frame. I make her uncomfortable."

Leroy let out a sharp bark of laughter. "You really are oblivious, aren't you? She doesn't hate you, you idiot. She’s terrified of you because she likes you."

Jamal shook his head. "No way. She talks to everyone else. She’s best friends with you and Phonzie. It’s just me."

Determined to prove his friend wrong—or perhaps just tired of the awkwardness—Jamal stood up. He watched as Mimi finished her third drink and sat down on a secluded leather sofa near the back of the lounge, away from the thumping bass of the dance floor.

Mimi felt the cushion sink beside her. She turned her head, her vision a little blurry but her heart rate immediately spiking as she recognized the silhouette.

"Hey," Jamal said softly, his voice barely audible over the music.

Usually, this was the part where Mimi would squeak, spill her drink, and flee. But the gin was singing in her veins, telling her that she was brave, that her dress looked amazing, and that Jamal Musiala had very nice eyes.

"Hi, Jamal," she said. Her voice didn't shake. Not even a little bit.

Jamal blinked, clearly surprised by the lack of an immediate exit strategy. "You look nice tonight, Mimi. The dress is... it’s really cool."

Mimi giggled. It was a light, airy sound that made Jamal’s stomach do a strange little flip. "It’s 'sexy,' actually. That’s what the girl in the shop said. 'Buy this, Mimi, you won't look like a nervous squirrel for once.'"

Jamal laughed, a genuine, warm sound. "You don't look like a squirrel. You usually just look like you want to be anywhere but near me."

Mimi leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—something clean and expensive—filling her senses. She felt incredibly bold. "That’s not true. I want to be near you all the time. That’s the problem."

Jamal tilted his head, his dark eyes searching hers. "Then why do you run away? I thought I did something to upset you. I’ve been trying to figure out for months what I did wrong."

Mimi waved a hand dismissively, her curls bouncing around her face. "You didn't do anything wrong, Jamal. You’re just... you. And you’re so good at football, and you have that smile, and I just forget how to be a human being when you look at me."

She took another sip of her drink, though the glass was mostly ice now.

"I’ve had a crush on you since the day I started," she continued, the words spilling out like a broken dam. "It’s pathetic, really. I’m supposed to be a professional, but I just turn into a puddle. I avoid you because if I don't, I’ll probably say something stupid."

Jamal was silent for a moment, his mouth slightly open. "You... you have a crush on me?"

"A huge one," Mimi chirped, leaning her head back against the sofa. "I’m only talking to you right now because I’m drunk. Usually, I’d be halfway to the exit by now. But I’m drunk and I love you, so it’s fine."

The silence that followed was heavy, even with the muffled beat of a Drake song playing in the background.

Mimi’s brain, previously clouded by a golden haze of alcohol, suddenly hit a cold front of sobriety. The words she had just uttered echoed in her ears. I’m drunk and I love you.

Her eyes widened. The flush on her cheeks deepened from a healthy glow to a deep, burning crimson. She looked at Jamal, who was staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.

"Oh no," she whispered.

"Mimi—" Jamal started, reaching out a hand.

"I have to go," she scrambled to her feet, her boots clicking loudly on the floor. "I have to go to... Switzerland. Or the moon. Somewhere else."

"Wait, Mimi, stay!" Jamal called out, standing up to follow her.

But Mimi was already weaving through the crowd. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She felt like she was vibrating with pure, unadulterated embarrassment. She had said it. She had actually said the 'L' word to a man she barely managed to say 'good morning' to on a normal day.

She burst through the heavy fire doors leading to a quiet balcony that overlooked the city lights. The cool night air hit her face, helping to ground her, but the shame remained. She gripped the metal railing, burying her face in her hands.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she hissed to herself.

The door behind her creaked open. She didn't have to look to know who it was. The air seemed to change when he was near.

"Switzerland is a bit far for a Thursday night, don't you think?" Jamal’s voice was gentle, teasing but kind.

Mimi didn't look up. "Please go away, Jamal. I’m going to resign tomorrow. I’ll go work for a bakery. Bread doesn't have a beautiful smile that ruins my life."

She heard him step closer until he was standing right beside her. He didn't say anything for a long time, just looked out at the Munich skyline.

"You really think I have a beautiful smile?" he asked quietly.

Mimi groaned into her palms. "That’s the part you took away from that? Not the part where I confessed my undying love like a lunatic?"

"I liked that part too," Jamal admitted.

Mimi finally peeked through her fingers. Jamal was looking at her, not with the confusion or pity she expected, but with a softness that made her knees weak.

"You do?" she squeaked.

"Mimi, I’ve spent the last year thinking you hated the ground I walked on," Jamal said, stepping into her personal space. He was much taller than her, requiring her to tilt her head back. "I’d try to be extra nice, try to make you laugh, and you’d just flee. It was driving me crazy because... well, because I’ve wanted to talk to you since the first day too."

Mimi’s hands dropped to her sides. "You wanted to talk to me?"

"Of course," he said, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You’re the girl with the curls who always makes the best videos. You’re kind to everyone, and you’re really, really pretty. Especially tonight."

Mimi felt her face heat up again, but this time it wasn't just shame. It was something warmer. "I’m not just pretty because I’m wearing a dress, am I?"

Jamal laughed and reached out, his fingers tentatively tucking a stray curl behind her ear. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. "No. You’re pretty even when you’re hiding behind a giant camera lens and wearing a hoodie that’s three sizes too big for you."

Mimi bit her lip, her shyness returning, but the alcohol still gave her just enough courage to stay put. "So... you don't think I’m a freak?"

"I think you’re adorable," Jamal said. He moved his hand from her hair to her cheek, his thumb grazing her skin. "And I think I’d like it if you didn't avoid me at the training ground anymore."

"I can try," Mimi whispered. "But I might still trip over things."

"That’s okay," Jamal leaned down, his face inches from hers. "I’m a footballer. I’m good at catching things."

Mimi’s breath hitched. "Are you going to catch me?"

"Always," he murmured.

He closed the distance, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It tasted like the cool night air and the promise of something new. Mimi melted into him, her hands finding purchase on the lapels of his jacket. For the first time in a year, the static in her brain went quiet, replaced by the steady, rhythmic beat of her heart in sync with his.

When they pulled apart, Jamal was beaming, his eyes bright. "So, does this mean you’re not moving to Switzerland?"

Mimi laughed, leaning her forehead against his chest. "Maybe not. But I’m definitely staying away from the gin for a while."

"I don't know," Jamal teased, wrapping his arms securely around her petite frame. "I kind of like what the gin has to say."

"Shut up, Jamal," she mumbled into his shirt, though she was smiling so hard her cheeks ached.

"Make me," he challenged softly.

And for once, Mimi didn't run away. She stood her ground, reached up, and did exactly that.