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Love

A Vision of Forever

The afternoon at Joshua Kimmich’s house had been a blur of laughter, the scent of expensive espresso, and the chaotic energy of young children running through the garden. For Mi, it was a rare moment of domestic peace amidst the high-pressure life of a professional athlete’s girlfriend. She had felt particularly small that day, tucked into the denim of her favorite miniskirt, her long curls cascading down her back in unruly waves.

Because the house was crowded, Jamal had simply pulled her onto his lap as they sat around the large mahogany dining table. It was a natural, subconscious movement for him—one hand settled firmly but gently around her waist, anchoring her. Mi hadn’t even noticed how the height difference looked to an outsider. Her feet dangled inches above the floor, swinging slightly as she animatedly discussed interior design with Lina.

She hadn't noticed Joshua’s phone clicking, either.

"Look at them," Joshua had teased, holding his phone up to show his wife. "It’s like a postcard."

The first photo was candid and soft. Jamal was leaning back, looking at Mi with a gaze so full of adoration it was almost painful to look at, while she was mid-laugh, gesturing with one hand. His large palm rested against the curve of her hip, making her look incredibly delicate in his embrace.

The second photo, however, was the one that broke the internet. Joshua had leaned over, carefully placing his youngest child into Mi’s arms. As she instinctively cradled the infant, Jamal hadn't moved. He had simply leaned forward, resting his chin on Mi’s shoulder, his eyes fixed on the baby with a look of profound, quiet wonder. The contrast of Jamal’s athletic frame, Mi’s petite silhouette, and the tiny life between them created a tableau of such raw tenderness that it felt like a glimpse into a future not yet written.

By the time they got home that evening, the post had millions of likes. "Musiala’s Era" was trending, but for once, it wasn't about a goal or a dribble. It was about the way he looked at her.

"I think your phone is going to explode," Mi joked as they moved through their shared apartment, kicking off their shoes.

Jamal tossed his keys onto the console table, a tired but happy grin on his face. "Let it. I’m not checking it anymore tonight. My thumb is tired from scrolling past all the heart emojis."

He walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pulling her back against his chest. Even without the height of a chair, the top of her head barely reached his chin. He pressed a kiss to her temple, his breath warm against her skin.

"You were good with the baby today," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

Mi felt a flutter in her stomach, a nervous, sweet sensation. "He was an easy baby, Jamal. Anyone would look good holding him."

"Not everyone," he countered, turning her around in his arms so he could look into her eyes. "You looked... natural. Like you were meant to be holding him."

Mi felt a blush creep up her neck. She reached up, running her fingers through his short hair, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment. "Well, don't get any ideas just yet. We have a flight to London next week, and I don't think a stroller fits in your carry-on."

Jamal laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest, and he leaned down to capture her lips in a lingering kiss. "Fair point. Let's just get to bed. I'm exhausted."

The ritual of getting ready for sleep was usually their time to decompress. The hum of the electric toothbrushes, the splashing of water, and the quiet rustle of pajamas usually filled the space. But tonight, a heavy, sweet tension hung in the air. The image of the baby was burned into both of their minds.

Mi was already under the duvet, watching Jamal as he pulled his shirt over his head. The moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting long shadows across his athletic frame. He looked like the superstar the world knew, but as he climbed into bed and immediately sought her out, pulling her close so her back was flushed against his chest, he was just her Jamal.

They lay in silence for a long time, the only sound the synchronized rhythm of their breathing. Mi thought he had fallen asleep until his arm tightened around her waist, his hand splaying across her stomach.

"I saw the comments on the photo," Jamal said suddenly, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Oh yeah? Which ones? The ones calling me a 'short queen' or the ones asking when the wedding is?" Mi teased, though her heart was racing.

Jamal didn't laugh this time. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at her. His expression was uncharacteristically solemn, his dark eyes searching hers with a vulnerability that caught her off guard.

"The ones saying we look like a family," he whispered.

Mi froze, her breath hitching in her throat. "Jamal..."

"I realized something today, watching you with Josh’s kid," he continued, his words tumbling out with a sudden, raw honesty. "I’ve always thought about the future in terms of trophies, or where I’ll be playing in five years. But today, when I saw you holding that baby... I didn't care about any of that. All I could think about was how much I want that to be our reality. Not now, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually."

He paused, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw.

"I want a family with you, Mi. I want to see you holding our baby, just like that, every single day for the rest of my life."

The words hit Mi like a physical wave. She had known they were serious; they had lived together for a year, and he had integrated her into every facet of his life. But hearing him say it—hearing the definitive, unwavering certainty in his voice—made the air vanish from the room.

Her eyes welled up instantly. A stray tear escaped, rolling down her temple and disappearing into her hair.

"Whoa, hey," Jamal said softly, his brow furrowing in concern. He reached out to wipe the moisture away. "Did I say something wrong? I didn't mean to scare you. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"You didn't say anything wrong," Mi managed to choke out, her voice trembling. She sat up, pulling the duvet to her chest, her long curls spilling over her shoulders. "I’m just... I’m surprised."

"Surprised?" Jamal sat up with her, his knees brushing hers. "Mi, you’re the only person I see when I close my eyes. Why would you be surprised?"

"Because you're Jamal Musiala," she whispered, a small, watery laugh escaping her. "You have the whole world at your feet. You could have anything, anyone. And you're sitting here, at twenty-one, telling me you want a family with me?"

Jamal reached out, taking both of her small hands in his much larger ones. He squeezed them firmly, grounding her.

"I don't want the world, Mi. I want home. And home is wherever you are," he said firmly. "I see those pictures today and I don't see a 'viral moment.' I see my life. I see my future. If that makes you cry, then I'll spend the rest of my life making sure they’re only happy tears."

Mi let out a sob, finally letting the emotions overflow. She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. Jamal held her tightly, his chin resting on her shoulder just as it had in the photo, rocking her gently back and forth.

"I want that too," she sobbed into his skin. "I want everything with you. I was just so scared to say it out loud first."

Jamal pulled back just enough to look at her, a beautiful, relieved smile breaking across his face. He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips, a kiss that tasted of salt and promises.

"Well," he murmured against her mouth, "now we both know. No more secrets."

He pulled her back down onto the pillows, tucking her head under his chin. The viral photos were still circulating, the world was still talking, and the pressure of the next match was only hours away. But in the quiet of their room, the future had never felt more certain.

Mi closed her eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart against her ear. She could almost see it now—a little girl with her curls, or a little boy with Jamal’s mischievous eyes, running through a garden of their own.

"Jamal?" she whispered into the dark.

"Yeah?"

"We're definitely going to need a bigger car."

Jamal’s chest shook with a quiet laugh as he pulled the covers up over them both. "I’ll call the dealership in the morning. Goodnight, Mi."

"Goodnight, Jamal."