Kai• ros | Julian Brandt

1.

I walked through the airport hall with a quick step, leaving behind unfamiliar human faces. All those who were just standing there waiting for their departure, as well as those who were slowly walking towards the exit.

I dragged the suitcase behind me. Due to its light weight, it flew from side to side. Apart from a few ordinary pieces of clothing that I managed to throw into it in the afect, pumps and my favorite cosmetics, there wasn't much in it.

There was no time left for more. But what else would you pack in a fit of panic and anxiety? Thinking back on it, I could have just grabbed my wallet and just ran out of my Swiss apartment. Quickly, cowardly and without anything. This way I just ran away quickly and cowardly. So, I could probably be proud of my performance, don't you think?

On my shoulder was a disgustingly expensive, designer handbag that I bought on a whim with money from my first paycheck. I regretted this purchase more than once. It absolutely did not match the tracksuit I was wearing or the cap covering my face.

However, let me tell you that if you really decide to run away, you don't care what you are wearing at that moment. The most important thing is that you get away from the source of your problem or suffering as quickly as possible. And that's what I did.

Impulsively, I ordered a plane ticket home, not thinking about the next steps or the consequences of my rash action. That's probably where the charm of impulsiveness lies. Doing things just like that, feverishly.

Coming out of the airport, I was hit in the face by the cold October air that was almost typical for Germany at this time of year.

I am home. Was the first thought that popped into my mind as I looked around for the first available taxi. After long months, during which I was incessantly missing the well-known corners of Dortmund, I was here again.

"Hello," I said to a random driver, "are you free?"

Taking one last drag from his slowly dying cigarette, he nodded, "Where will we go, Miss?" he asked me.

So Carlotta, where are you going, you smartass? My conscience mocked me.

I felt how sweat slowly drenched me. How reality hit me. Drizzle running down my back suddenly caused me to stay warm despite the stiff wind.

Where did I actually want to go? No one even knew what I had done. All my friends and family had no doubt that I was still in Switzerland. Probably at work. It was Monday after all, eleven o'clock in the morning. Where else should I be, huh?

"Are you a fan?" the driver asked me after the address leading to the Brackel training ground escaped from my lips. I couldn't help but notice the soft smile that spread across his lips.

"Yes," I nodded, "something like that." I wasn't interested in developing the discussion any deeper.

I didn't lie. I was part of the yellow wall, borusse. At least that's how they perceived all those who were Borussia Dortmund enthusiasts in the world of football. However, I was not just an ordinary fan.

Handing my luggage to the driver, I sat in the back seats, waiting for him to take me to the mentioned address.

Familiar pictures flickered behind the darkened glasses. Streets along which I walked hundreds of steps every day. Cafes and restaurants where I used to kill my free time. I ran my eyes over individual buildings and monuments until the car stopped in front of the one that was the most familiar to me.

"There we are, miss." the taxi driver's voice forced me to look away "But I'm not sure if you'll manage to get in, God forbid to meet any of the players. After all, today there is no training accessible to the general public."