You

The floodlights at the Allianz Arena were unforgiving. They didn’t just illuminate the pitch; they turned every person in the stands into a high-definition subject for the long-range lenses of the paparazzi.

Nini had tried to hide. She really had. She had spent the first twenty minutes of the match tugging at the hem of her oversized Jamal Musiala jersey, trying to make the red fabric drape over her thighs. But it was a hot Munich afternoon, and she had finally succumbed to the heat, ditching her usual protective layer of a heavy hoodie. In her denim shorts and the jersey that swallowed her petite frame, she felt exposed, like a small bird stripped of its feathers.

By the time the final whistle blew and Bayern had secured another three points, the internet had already done its work.

Nini sat in the passenger seat of Jamal’s car, her phone glowing in her lap. She shouldn't have looked. She knew she shouldn't have looked. But the notifications were a siren song she couldn't ignore. A popular sports gossip account had posted a gallery of her in the stands.

“Is this really his girlfriend? She looks like a middle schooler,” one comment read, boasting hundreds of likes.

“Where are the curves? Jamal could do so much better. He needs a real woman, not a stick,” another user had sneered.

“She’s so flat, I thought it was just a young fan in his kit until I saw them leave together. Yikes.”

Nini felt a familiar, cold weight settle in her stomach. It was the same weight she’d carried since puberty—or the lack thereof. While other girls grew into soft edges and womanly shapes, Nini had remained angular, slight, and small. Next to Jamal, who was a lean but powerful athlete, she felt like a glitch in the matrix. She felt invisible in all the wrong ways.

"You're very quiet, Liebling," Jamal said softly, his hand reaching over the center console to squeeze her knee.

Nini flinched instinctively, then forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Just tired. It was a loud game."

Jamal glanced at her, his dark eyes brimming with a perceptive kind of kindness that usually made her melt, but tonight, it only made her want to crawl out of her skin. "Are you sure? You’ve been staring at your phone for twenty minutes without scrolling."

"I'm fine, Jamal. Really," she lied, sliding the phone into her purse. "Just thinking about what to make for dinner."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Jamal was patient. He was the kind of man who navigated a football pitch with surgical precision, waiting for the right moment to strike. He applied that same patience to her, though he didn't realize that his very perfection was what made her feel so inadequate. How could someone like him—adored by millions, a star in his prime—want someone who felt like a half-finished sketch of a woman?

When they got back to his apartment, Nini immediately retreated to the bathroom. She stripped off the jersey and stood in front of the full-length mirror. She hated what she saw. Her hip bones were prominent, her chest was nearly flat, and her limbs looked fragile. She saw the "stick" the commenters had mocked. She saw the "child" they laughed at.

She quickly pulled on a thick, grey fleece robe, tying the belt so tight it hurt.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of forced normalcy. They ate pasta, they watched a movie, and Jamal tried to pull her close, but Nini kept a careful distance, using a throw pillow as a shield. She felt like a fraud. Every time he looked at her, she wondered if he was comparing her to the models and influencers who constantly slid into his DMs.

Eventually, they moved to the bedroom. The lights were off, just the way Nini liked it. In the darkness, she could pretend she was whoever he wanted her to be. She could pretend she had the body of a goddess instead of the body of a girl who had been forgotten by growth spurts.

Jamal pulled her against him, his skin warm against her back. He began to kiss the nape of her neck, his breath hitching as he turned her around to face him. His hands were large and gentle, wandering over her waist, tracing the line of her ribs.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against her lips.

Nini tried to believe him. She tried to lose herself in the sensation of his mouth on hers, but her mind was a battlefield of cruel words and zoomed-in photos.

When Jamal’s hand moved upward, sliding beneath the hem of her shirt to cup her breast, Nini’s body reacted before her brain could stop it. She grabbed his wrist with a strength she didn't know she had and shoved his hand away, rolling to the edge of the bed in one panicked motion.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jamal sat up, the silhouette of his shoulders tense in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains. "Nini? Did I hurt you?"

"No," she choked out, her voice cracking. "No, you didn't."

"Then what is it? You’ve been pushing me away all night. You’ve been pushing me away for weeks, actually." He reached out to touch her shoulder, but he hesitated, his hand hovering in the air. "Talk to me. Please."

Nini sat up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. "It’s nothing, Jamal. I’m just not in the mood."

"Don't do that," he said, his voice dropping an octave, filled with a rare flash of frustration. "Don't tell me it's nothing when I can hear you trembling. Is it about the pictures? I saw the posts, Nini. I saw what people were saying."

Nini froze. The shame burned hotter than the summer sun. "You saw them?"

"Of course I saw them. I reported half of them," Jamal said, moving closer until he was sitting right beside her. "I know how cruel the internet can be. Is that why you're acting like this?"

"They’re right, Jamal," she whispered, the first tear sliding down her cheek. "They’re right. I don't look like a woman. I look like a little girl wearing her boyfriend's clothes. I don't have... I don't have anything that makes a woman attractive. I’m just flat and small and bony."

"Nini, stop," he commanded softly.

"No! Look at me!" She stood up and flicked on the bedside lamp, the harsh yellow light flooding the room. She stood there in her oversized sleep shirt, trembling. "I see the way people look at us. I see the girls who follow you. They’re tall, they’re curvy, they’re... they’re beautiful. And then there’s me. I feel like a mistake standing next to you."

Jamal stood up slowly. He didn't look at her with pity, which was what she feared most. He looked at her with a profound, aching sincerity. He walked over to her, and this time, when he reached for her hands, she let him take them.

"You think I’m with you because of a checklist of body parts?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. "You think I fell in love with a set of curves?"

"I just want to feel like I'm enough for you," she sobbed.

"Nini, look at me." He waited until she met his gaze. "I spend my entire life in a world of perfection. Perfect grass, perfect stats, people who spend all day trying to look like statues. It’s exhausting. And then I come home to you."

He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. "I love your body because it’s yours. I love how small you are because you fit perfectly in my arms. I love your curls, I love the way your skin feels, and I love that you’re the only person who sees me as Jamal, not as the footballer."

"But the comments—"

"The comments are written by people who don't know what beauty is," Jamal interrupted, his voice firm. "They see a silhouette. I see the woman who makes me laugh until I can't breathe. I see the woman who supports me when I have a bad game. I see the woman I want to wake up next to every single morning."

He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a tear. "You say you don't look like a woman. But to me, you are the only woman who matters. You are feminine and delicate and strong all at once. There is nothing 'missing' from you, Nini. Not a single thing."

Nini leaned her forehead against his chest, her breath coming in jagged hitches. "I’ve spent so long hating how I look. It’s hard to just... stop."

"I know," Jamal whispered, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "So let me do the loving for both of us for a while. Until you can see what I see."

He pulled back just enough to look at her again. "And no more hiding in the dark. No more giant hoodies because you’re afraid of what I’ll think. I want to see you. All of you."

Nini looked up at him, feeling a tiny spark of warmth begin to thaw the ice that had been surrounding her heart. "You really think I'm attractive?"

Jamal laughed softly, a sound of pure affection. "Nini, I think you’re the most beautiful thing in this city. Why do you think I get so nervous when I’m around you? I’m still trying to figure out how I got the girl of my dreams."

He leaned down, kissing her deeply, a kiss that wasn't about lust or performance, but about grounding her in the reality of his love. When he pulled away, he kept his hands on her waist, his touch firm and sure.

"We’re going to get through this," he promised. "But you have to talk to me. Don't let the voices of strangers be louder than mine."

Nini nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "Okay. I’ll try."

"Good," Jamal said, leading her back to the bed. He didn't reach for the light switch. Instead, he left the lamp on, the glow illuminating the room.

As they lay back down, Nini didn't reach for the covers to hide herself. She stayed in the light, resting her head on Jamal's shoulder. For the first time in a long time, the weight in her stomach felt a little lighter. She wasn't cured of her insecurities—they were too deep for a single conversation to erase—but as Jamal traced patterns on her arm, she felt like she was finally standing on solid ground.

She was Nini. She was small, she was curly-haired, and she was loved by the man beside her. And for tonight, that was more than enough.