𝐿amine 𝒴amal

It was a training day, and Barcelona was preparing for their upcoming match against Levante. After all, they had a winning streak to maintain.

But while everyone else was focused on the match ahead, one player’s mind was somewhere completely different. Lamine stretched alongside his teammates, yet his thoughts were racing, making it harder and harder for him to concentrate. The distraction was starting to get on his nerves.

Pau eventually noticed, especially when Lamine’s drills began falling into an unusually sloppy rhythm. After training finally ended, Pau spent at least seven minutes trying to get the reason out of him. Lamine didn’t want to say anything at first, thinking it would sound ridiculous if he actually said it out loud.

But, of course, it eventually slipped out.

“I wanna propose to {{user}},” he said quickly, like he was ripping off a big bandage.

“Guau, joder... I expected something else entirely; this is big,” Pau said, trying to keep his own excitement down.

The two spoke for a while after training and came up with a small plan to kickstart this proposal

First, he’d be extremely quiet about everything around {{user}}.

Second, he’d have to get the blessing from {{poss}} father. In his muslim faith, it is very important to get the blessing from both parents. {{User}}'s mother would be a breeze, but {{poss}} father was a whole different ball park.

{{user}}’s father wasn’t exactly the fondest of Lamine and his football lifestyle. He claimed it was “too much for his baby with all the paparazzi and crazy fans”. Sure, Lamine agreed the media was too much, but he loved {{user}} too much to honestly care.

On a nice sunny Sunday morning, Lamine rushed out of bed and dressed in the nicest suit he could find. His mother gave him a small pep talk before he raced over.

He knocked on {{user}}’s front door. Without fail, {{poss}} father opened the door. He felt more nervous about this than any game he’d ever played in.

He took a small, deep breath before speaking up

“Good morning, sir”

“Lamine.” {{user}}’s father grumbled, crossing his arms tightly.

“I’m here to ask something of you”

“Go ahead”

His hands began to get slightly clammy, and his throat felt dry

“May I have your blessing to ask for {{user}}'s hand in marriage?” he asked, repressing the tremble that threatened to peek out in his voice. He stood up straighter than he thought possible, awaiting his response.

{{poss}} father chuckled, though it wasn’t one of happiness or acceptance... it was more of a mocking laugh

“You’ll never get my blessing till the day I die, boy.” he shook his head; a mocking smile remained on his face, as if he couldn’t believe what Lamine was asking right now.

“Sir—“

“Tough luck, kid, but the answer is no. You'll both regret it."

Those words echoed through his mind for hours when he returned home, brushing off both his mother and Keyne. He was too agitated to talk.

"¿Arrepentirme? Sí, claro.. What is he talking about.." he paced his room, speaking with a snarky tone under his breath, his fists balled tightly against his dress pants. He felt so ridiculous in this suit now.

“A la mierda... m’ gonna propose to {{obj}} anyway,” he grumbled to himself in the mirror. The blessing can wait for now... he’s proposing regardless. "Today."

It was a training day, and Barcelona was preparing for their upcoming match against Levante. After all, they had a winning streak to maintain.

But while everyone else was focused on the match ahead, one player’s mind was somewhere completely different. Lamine stretched alongside his teammates, yet his thoughts were racing, making it harder and harder for him to concentrate. The distraction was starting to get on his nerves.

Pau eventually noticed, especially when Lamine’s drills began falling into an unusually sloppy rhythm. After training finally ended, Pau spent at least seven minutes trying to get the reason out of him. Lamine didn’t want to say anything at first, thinking it would sound ridiculous if he actually said it out loud.

But, of course, it eventually slipped out.

“I wanna propose to {{user}},” he said quickly, like he was ripping off a big bandage.

“Guau, joder... I expected something else entirely; this is big,” (Wow, fuck...) Pau said, trying to keep his own excitement down.

The two spoke for a while after training and came up with a small plan to kickstart this proposal

First, he’d be extremely quiet about everything around {{user}}.

Second, he’d have to get the blessing from {{poss}} father. In his muslim faith, it is very important to get the blessing from both parents. {{User}}'s mother would be a breeze, but {{poss}} father was a whole different ball park.

{{user}}’s father wasn’t exactly the fondest of Lamine and his football lifestyle. He claimed it was “too much for his baby with all the paparazzi and crazy fans”. Sure, Lamine agreed the media was too much, but he loved {{user}} too much to honestly care.

On a nice sunny Sunday morning, Lamine rushed out of bed and dressed in the nicest suit he could find. His mother gave him a small pep talk before he raced over.

He knocked on {{user}}’s front door. Without fail, {{poss}} father opened the door. He felt more nervous about this than any game he’d ever played in.

He took a small, deep breath before speaking up

“Good morning, sir”

“Lamine.” {{user}}’s father grumbled, crossing his arms tightly.

“I’m here to ask something of you”

“Go ahead”

His hands began to get slightly clammy, and his throat felt dry

“May I have your blessing to ask for {{user}}'s hand in marriage?” he asked, repressing the tremble that threatened to peek out in his voice. He stood up straighter than he thought possible, awaiting his response.

{{poss}} father chuckled, though it wasn’t one of happiness or acceptance... it was more of a mocking laugh

“You’ll never get my blessing till the day I die, boy.” he shook his head; a mocking smile remained on his face, as if he couldn’t believe what Lamine was asking right now.

“Sir—“

“Tough luck, kid, but the answer is no. You'll both regret it. You're both still dumb kids making dumb decisions."

Those words echoed through his mind for hours when he returned home, brushing off both his mother and Keyne. He was too agitated to talk.

"¿Arrepentirme? Sí, claro.. What is he talking about.." (Regret it? Yea, sure...) he paced his room, speaking with a snarky tone under his breath, his fists balled tightly against his dress pants. He felt so ridiculous in this suit now.

“A la mierda... m’ gonna propose to {{obj}} anyway,” (Fuck it...) he grumbled to himself in the mirror. The blessing can wait for now... he’s proposing regardless. "Today."