Michael olise

The training session had just ended.

Michael was sitting in the dressing room, still in his training kit, scrolling through his phone while the other players were getting changed around him. His second phone was lying beside him on the bench.

One of his teammates reached over to grab something from beside Michael’s bag—and stopped.

“Wait.”

Michael looked up.

“Is that—”

He immediately turned the phone face-down.

“No.”

“Bro, I didn’t even finish the question.”

Another teammate leaned over, laughing.

“Is that {{user}}?”

Michael gave him a completely unimpressed look.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? She’s literally your wallpaper.”

The room erupted in teasing.

Michael ignored them, picked up his second phone—and made the mistake of unlocking it.

Same picture.

The teasing got louder.

“ON BOTH PHONES?”

Michael finally laughed, shaking his head.

“You lot have too much free time.”

He slipped both phones into his pocket, but his expression had already given him away.

⸻

Later that evening, Michael left the training ground.

He was halfway to his car when a group of photographers called his name. He instinctively reached for his phone after receiving a message.

The screen briefly lit up.

Your picture.

Several cameras caught it.

Michael noticed.

For a split second, he looked directly at the photographers before locking his phone and continuing toward his car.

Within hours, the photos were everywhere.

“WHO IS MICHAEL OLISE’S MYSTERY GIRL?”

Michael’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Then yours did.

Michael: Don’t look at the headlines.

Michael: And before you ask...

Michael: No, I’m not changing the wallpaper,love.

Michael: Come over. We need to talk.

It was supposed to be a quick visit.

Michael had told you he was only coming over for an hour because he had training early the next morning.

Two hours later, he was still on your couch.

Three hours later, he was lying with his head in your lap, one hand loosely holding yours while some random movie played in the background.

“You said one hour,” you whispered.

Michael didn’t open his eyes.

“I changed my mind.”

“You always change your mind.”

“Yeah.”

You smiled and gently played with his hair.

“You have training tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“And you’re tired.”

“I know.”

“So why are you still here?”

He finally opened his eyes and looked up at you.

“Because you didn’t tell me to leave.”

You laughed.

“That’s your excuse?”

“Mhm.”

He closed his eyes again, pulling your hand toward him and pressing a lazy kiss against your knuckles.

Your phone suddenly buzzed.

You reached for it.

Michael immediately tightened his grip on your hand.

“Ignore it.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m comfortable.”

“You are unbelievable.”

He smiled without opening his eyes.

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Very unfortunate.”

There was a pause.

Then, quietly—

“...Stay like this.”

You looked down at him.

“Like what?”

He opened his eyes again, a tiny smile appearing.

“Exactly like this.”

And somehow, the boy who could spend ninety minutes on a football pitch without looking nervous was suddenly incapable of hiding how much he loved being here with you.

There was an old photograph sitting on the bookshelf.

It was slightly faded now, the corners bent from being moved around too many times.

You picked it up and laughed.

“Look at us.”

Michael glanced over from the couch.

“Don’t.”

“You had that haircut.”

“I was a child.”

“You looked ridiculous.”

He reached for the photograph, but you pulled it away.

“Give me that.”

“No.”

You held it above your head, laughing.

“You were so tiny.”

“So were you.”

“Yeah, but I was cute.”

Michael raised an eyebrow.

“You still are.”

You paused.

“...What?”

He shrugged like he’d said nothing unusual.

“Nothing.”

You looked back at the photograph.

Two children stood side by side in it, both covered in grass, smiling at the camera. Neither of you had any idea what life would become.

“You remember that day?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“You cried because I wouldn’t give you my ice cream.”

“I did not cry.”

“You absolutely cried.”

“I was five.”

“And dramatic.”

He laughed quietly.

“You’re still annoying.”

“And you’re still here.”

That made him go quiet.

He looked at the photograph for a moment, then at you.

“Yeah.”

You smiled.

“Funny, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“We’ve known each other for so long.”

Michael took the photograph from your hand, looking at the two little kids in it.

“Twenty years.”

“Almost.”

He smiled softly.

“Feels like yesterday.”

You sat beside him.

“Did you ever think we’d end up like this?”

He looked at you.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

You laughed.

“Me neither.”

He turned the photograph over in his hands before placing it carefully back on the shelf.

“Good thing we didn’t know.”

“Why?”

He leaned back against the couch, looking at you with that same quiet smile.

“Would’ve ruined the surprise.”

You rolled your eyes, but he reached for your hand anyway.

The same hand he’d held when you were children.

Only now, neither of you was letting go.

There was an old photo of you and Michael sitting on the floor of your childhood living room.

Both of you were maybe eight.

Michael had a toy car in his hands, completely absorbed in it, while you were sitting beside him holding a tiny plastic microphone.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna have a car like this,” little Michael had said.

“A real one?” you’d asked.

“Yeah. A really, really expensive one.”

“Why?”

He’d looked at you like the answer was obvious.

“Because they’re cool.”

You’d laughed.

“Then I’ll buy you one.”

“You don’t have money.”

“I’ll have money when I’m older.”

“Okay.”

He’d held out his little pinky.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

⸻

Years later, on Michael’s birthday, you stood beside him outside.

He was older now.

Much older.

The little boy who used to sit on the floor playing with toy cars had become a professional footballer, traveling the world, playing in packed stadiums, surrounded by things neither of you could have imagined as children.

But somehow, he was still Michael.

Still the same boy who got excited about cars.

Still the same boy who could spend hours talking about music.

Still the same boy who had once made you promise something ridiculous.

“Close your eyes.”

Michael laughed.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“You’re acting suspicious.”

“Michael.”

“Fine.”

He closed his eyes.

You took his hand and led him outside.

“Okay. Open.”

He did.

And froze.

A Rolls-Royce was parked in front of him.

For several seconds, he didn’t say anything.

He looked at the car.

Then at you.

Then back at the car.

“...You’re joking.”

You smiled.

“Happy birthday.”

He actually laughed in disbelief.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You remembered that?”

“What?”

He shook his head, still staring at the car.

“The thing we said when we were kids.”

You smiled.

“I told you I’d buy you one.”

He looked at you.

And suddenly, the expensive car didn’t seem like the important part anymore.

“You actually remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

He looked down, smiling to himself.

“That’s crazy.”

“You like it?”

“Are you serious?”

He laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“You are insane.”

“You’ve told me that before.”

“Yeah.”

He held you a little tighter.

“But you kept your promise.”

⸻

Later, you gave him one more envelope.

He opened it casually.

Then stopped.

His eyes widened.

“Wait...”

Two Playboi Carti concert tickets.

He looked at them for a few seconds before looking at you.

“No way.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re coming?”

“Obviously.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“How do you even find these?”

“I have my ways.”

He looked at the tickets again.

Then he looked at you.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“Nothing.”

He smiled.

“It’s just...”

He glanced toward the old photograph sitting on the table.

“Little me would’ve thought this was the coolest thing ever.”

You smiled.

“Little you would’ve been unbearable.”

“He already was.”

You both laughed.

Michael slipped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

“You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“When we were kids, I thought I’d remember the car.”

“And now?”

He looked at you.

“Now I think I’ll remember who gave it to me.”

You smiled.

“And Carti?”

“That too.”

He laughed.

“But mostly you.”

And for a second, the years between those two children and the two people standing there now seemed to disappear.

Same boy.

Same girl.

Just older.

And somehow, the promise they’d made as kids had come true.