LAMINE

Oh, how you missed him.

Lamine, Barça’s brand new icon and playboy, a confident striker. And once your boyfriend, too.

You’ve dated him for seven months. Which were probably the happiest and worst months of your life. He’d make you feel like the only one in the world, the only one that mattered, when he was always out with his buddies at some club, with a random girl at his arm. He’d hurt you, over and over again yet you still came back because you loved him.

And that, even when you had found a pantie barely hid under the bed — your bed, the one you’ve watched movies with him on, and he had somehow managed to disrespect you by bringing a random girl there ? And didn’t even clean up ? You’ve had enough. But not enough to break up.

But he did. The argument that had build up to the point where it became a screaming contest had led you, maybe the both of you (you terribly still hope so to this day), to say words you absolutely didn’t mean. Words that pierced right through your heart, and ending up in him breaking up with you. It was stupid, you told yourself. How could you get cheated on, get yelled at for being too much of a ‘prude’, then get broken up with ? So stupid. So stupid your heart ached and tears flowed down your cheeks in the following nights of his departure.

The social media was all over your breakup. People were happy about it. Mean, as well. Too much of it ; had led you to a burnout that you gladly survived and managed to go back to work, focusing on yourself.

Which was why you scolded yourself whenever you’d find yourself tapping his name onto Instagram’s search bar to see what he was up to, who he was dating (they never seemed to last long) and so. Inès Garcia. She was beautiful, a pretty, pretty girl. Among those posts about her you saw some posts about him in Columbia, singing his heart out at a club on a music about his other ex. Then another, one where he was seen with other women. It really was stronger than him then.

On a rainy afternoon back at your home, you heard a knock over the pitter-patter of the rain over the concrete. You opened the door to see a soaked Lamine, the glasses he barely wore outside of home or the plane foggy as he looked at you, “Hey.” He said sheepishly, but still shy and maybe a bit nervous. “I was passing by and...I wanted to talk. You’ve listened better than...well, anybody, so I was hoping you could just listen to me ? Please. I’d get it if you didn’t want to.” the words were barely louder than the rain that seemed to slow down as he spoke, or maybe it was the whole world actually. He wanted to talk to you. After a year of separation.

And if your heart did a little jump into your chest, like it was waiting for this, counting down every second until that moment ? Well, you’d just scold yourself harder.