Us

The heavy oak door to Jamal’s Munich apartment clicked shut with a soft thud, the silence of the hallway providing a sharp contrast to the roar of the Allianz Arena that was still ringing in his ears. It had been a long training session, followed by a series of tactical meetings that seemed to stretch into eternity. All he wanted was a shower, a warm meal, and the sight of Nini.

He dropped his keys on the marble console and kicked off his sneakers, heading toward the master bedroom. He expected to find her curled up with a book or perhaps scrolling through her phone, but as he pushed the door open, the breath left his lungs in a sharp, audible hitch.

The room was flooded with the golden light of the setting sun, and in the center of it stood a vision that made his heart stutter.

Nini was standing on a small wooden stool, her back to him. She was draped in a cascade of ivory lace and shimmering silk. The dress was a masterpiece—off-the-shoulder sleeves that clung to her delicate frame, a bodice that cinched her petite waist, and a skirt that pooled around the stool like a cloud of fallen stars. Her long, straight black hair had been pinned up loosely, exposing the elegant line of her neck.

"Just a little tighter on the left hip, Nini, don't move," a voice commanded.

Jamal blinked, his brain finally catching up to his eyes. Kneeling on the floor with a mouthful of pins was Sofia, one of Nini’s closest friends and a rising star in the local fashion scene.

"Jamal! You're back early," Nini said, her voice bright as she tried to turn her head without shifting her body.

Jamal stayed rooted to the spot, his gym bag dangling forgotten from his hand. "I... yeah. What is... what’s going on?"

Sofia stood up, smoothing out a wrinkle in the heavy fabric. "Don't panic, Musiala. It’s not a hint. Well, not from her, anyway. This is my masterpiece for the gala next month. I’m still tweaking the hem, and since Nini is basically a living mannequin with perfect proportions, I begged her to let me use her for the final fit."

Nini giggled, the sound light and melodic. "She’s been working on it for months, Jamal. Isn't it beautiful? She made the lace patterns by hand."

"It’s incredible," Jamal managed to say, though his eyes weren't really on the craftsmanship of the lace. They were fixed on the way the white fabric made Nini’s skin glow, the way she looked so terrifyingly, beautifully right in a wedding gown.

"Okay, okay, I think we're done for today," Sofia said, sensing the sudden shift in the room's energy. She began deftly unpinning the back of the dress. "I’ll take this back to the studio and finish the embroidery. Thanks, Nini. You’re a lifesaver."

Jamal watched in a daze as Sofia packed the gown into a protective garment bag. He offered a polite, if somewhat distracted, goodbye as he ushered her out. When he returned to the bedroom, Nini was already heading toward the bathroom, unzipping her casual clothes.

"I’m going to wash the hairspray out of my hair," she called out, blowing him a kiss over her shoulder. "There’s pasta in the fridge if you're hungry!"

Jamal didn't go for the pasta. Instead, he walked over to the bed and sat down, staring at the empty space where she had just been standing in that dress. The image was burned into his retinas—the way the light had caught the silk, the way she had looked like a dream he wasn't ready to wake up from.

He walked into the living room and turned on the television, flipping to a random movie. He wasn't watching it. His mind was a chaotic loop of what ifs and somedays. He was young, his career was skyrocketing, and he usually took life one match at a time. But seeing her like that had shifted something deep in his chest, a tectonic plate of his future sliding firmly into place.

About forty minutes later, the sound of the shower stopped. A few minutes after that, Nini emerged from the hallway.

She had traded the ivory lace for a black silk babydoll nightgown that barely reached mid-thigh. Her damp hair fell like a curtain of dark ink down her back, and she smelled of vanilla and expensive shampoo. She looked smaller now, more fragile, but no less captivating.

Jamal felt a pang of affection so strong it felt like a physical weight. He shifted on the sofa and opened his arms wide, a silent invitation.

Nini didn't hesitate. She padded across the rug on bare feet and climbed into his lap, tucking her legs beside her and resting her head against his chest. Jamal wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his chin resting atop her head.

"You're very quiet," she murmured, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Just tired," he lied, his fingers tracing patterns on the silk covering her lower back.

Nini shifted, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him. Her dark eyes were searching, filled with a playful curiosity. "You’ve been staring at that screen for ten minutes and the menu is still on. You aren't watching the movie, Jamal."

"I'm just decompressing, Nin," he insisted, though his heart gave a traitorous thump against his ribs.

She didn't buy it. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. She leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of his neck, just below his ear. "Is that so?"

Jamal let out a shaky breath, his grip on her waist tightening. "Nini..."

She ignored the warning in his voice. She moved her lips lower, trailing a path of fire along his collarbone. Each kiss was light, feather-soft, yet they hit him with the force of a lightning strike. She was usually the one who sought comfort, but tonight she was the aggressor, sensing his vulnerability and poking at it with relentless affection.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered against his skin, her breath hot.

"Nothing, I swear."

She hummed a low, vibrating sound and moved her kisses lower still, moving toward the center of his chest, her hands sliding up to cup his face. She paused, her lips just inches from his, her gaze locked onto his. "You looked like you saw a ghost when you walked in earlier. Or a miracle. Which one was it?"

Jamal closed his eyes, his resolve crumbling. The image of her in the white dress flashed behind his eyelids again—ethereal, haunting, and perfect.

"You looked..." He stopped, struggling to find the words in English that matched the intensity of his feelings. "You looked beautiful in that dress, Nini. I mean, you always do, but that was... different."

Nini softened, her playful demeanor melting into something more tender. She brushed a stray curl away from his forehead. "It was just a dress, Jamal. Sofia’s dress."

"I know," he said, his voice dropping to a low, honest rasp. "But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop thinking about you walking toward me in it. Not for Sofia’s gala. For real."

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that held the weight of a promise. Nini stared at him, her expression unreadable for a moment before a small, radiant smile broke across her face.

"Is that what has you so nervous?" she asked softly, her thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "The idea of me in white?"

"Not the idea of the dress," Jamal clarified, his eyes searching hers with a raw sincerity that usually remained hidden behind his professional athlete persona. "The idea of the forever that comes with it. I realized today that I don't just want to see you in that dress once. I want the life that happens after the dress is taken off. I want the morning after, and the year after, and the fifty years after that."

Nini’s breath hitched. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt, so open. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his. "Jamal Musiala, are you getting sappy on me?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, a small, sheepish grin finally breaking through his serious facade. "Blame Sofia. She shouldn't have left you standing there looking like an angel in the middle of my bedroom."

Nini laughed, a sound that chased away the last of his tension. She rained a series of quick, sweet kisses all over his face—his cheeks, his nose, his chin—before settling back against his chest.

"Well," she whispered, her hand finding his and lacing their fingers together. "For the record, I think I’d look even better in a dress I actually picked out for us."

Jamal squeezed her hand, his heart feeling lighter than it had all day. He leaned back into the cushions, pulling the blanket over both of them as the movie menu continued to loop in the background.

"Yeah," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. "I think you're right."

They stayed like that for a long time, the quiet of the apartment no longer feeling empty, but filled with the quiet, terrifying, and wonderful gravity of a future they were no longer just dreaming about. Jamal finally stopped looking at the TV and looked at the woman in his arms, knowing that no matter how many goals he scored or trophies he lifted, the vision of her in white would always be his favorite victory.