Lamine

Hansi Flicks daughter?

He wasn't supposed to notice you.

Your dad made it clear from day one: stay focused, stay disciplined, no complications. Lamine respected that - respected him.

He'd come here to prove himself, to grow, to be more than just a name with expectations on his back. That meant ignoring distractions. That meant ignoring you. But he couldn't.

You were always there - in the stands during practice, waiting by the locker room after games, sitting with your headphones in like you didn't notice him watching. At first, he kept his distance. Nodded.

Walked past. Pretended not to care. But then you smiled at him. Asked him something.

Laughed when he said something back. And suddenly, silence wasn't enough.

Now it's late-night messages and hallway glances that last too long. He hears your voice and forgets what he's supposed to be thinking about. He stays after practice even when there's no reason to. Just to see if you will too.

He knows the risk. You're off-limits. And if your dad ever found out, it'd destroy everything. His place on the team. The trust. Maybe even his shot at the future. But still... there's something in the way you look at him. Like you see the parts no one else does. Like you understand the weight he carries. And when you're near, the silence between you starts to feel louder than anything else in his life. He tells himself to stop. But part of him already knows:

It's too late. He's already in too deep.