BACK AGAIN​- ᴊᴜᴅᴇ ʙᴇʟʟɪɴɢʜᴀᴍ

51

The morning sun was already casting long shadows across the city as I headed toward Parc des Princes. Today felt different—not just another day at work, but one of those moments where the weight of the place and its significance sat heavier than usual. Working as a physiotherapist for PSG was different than Real, but it had always been a place I'd dreamt of working at. The job application had finally officially started last week, so my tour of the stadium was done, and I'd met all the amazing players. It reminded me of my first day at Real, and how my world had changed when I saw Jude.

Now I was with him in Paris, working for another team. Somewhere inside me, I felt guilty for leaving Madrid, but it was an oppurtunity for me, a new chapter in my life, and I really loved my bike. 

I took a deep breath as I swiped my staff badge at the entrance, the familiar beep granting me access to a world most people only ever saw from the stands or on TV. The halls were buzzing with early-morning activity—staff bustling around, players arriving, their casual greetings filling the space as they moved toward the training center.

I made my way to the physiotherapy room, mentally running through the schedule for the day. There were a few players with niggling injuries who needed attention before training, and then some recovery sessions after the match from the weekend. As I set up the room, organizing the equipment and getting everything in place, I could hear footsteps outside, followed by familiar voices.

The door swung open, and in walked Kylian Mbappé, always the first one to arrive. He shot me a quick grin as he headed to one of the massage tables. "Morning, doc," he said in that easy, laid-back tone he always had.

LETS IMAGINE KYLIAN  NEVER WENT TO REAL MADRID OKAY? THANK YOU!

"Morning, Kylian," I replied, adjusting the table. "How's the hamstring feeling today?"

He gave a shrug. "Better, I think. But you'll know better than me."

I smiled and got to work, going through the usual process of stretching, massaging, and testing range of motion. As I focused on Kylian, more of the players trickled in—Marquinhos, Achraf Hakimi, Ousmane Dembélé. They filled the room with banter, ribbing each other about the last match, upcoming fixtures, and whatever else came to mind. It was always like this—light-hearted, but with an underlying intensity. You could feel the pressure they were under, even if they didn't always show it.

Jude popped his head in halfway through, catching my eye with a smile before heading off to the gym for his session. I'd gotten used to compartmentalizing—acting like any other staff member while he trained and only reconnecting once we were both off duty. It helped maintain professionalism, but sometimes it was hard to remember we had to act like colleagues during the day.

As the morning wore on, I moved between players, working through their recovery plans, listening to them talk about their lives, their struggles, their hopes. It was easy to forget that they were global superstars when you were in the thick of it, treating them like any other patient. But as soon as I stepped back into the world outside these walls, it always hit me that the people I worked with were the ones plastered across billboards and magazine covers.

Later in the afternoon, after finishing with the last player for the day, I took a moment to step outside for some fresh air. The stadium, with its towering stands and iconic architecture, loomed large behind me. I walked around the outer edge, letting the weight of the day settle in, grateful for the moments of peace before heading home.

That's when I saw her.

Sitting near one of the entrance gates, Sam was casually flipping through her phone, dressed in a carefree outfit that screamed, "I'm just exploring Paris." My heart jumped into my throat as I realized how close she was to the stadium. Too close. My brain immediately kicked into overdrive, calculating the chances of her seeing me, recognizing where I worked, and asking too many questions.

I froze for a moment, hoping she hadn't spotted me yet. But just as I was about to turn and slip away unnoticed, her eyes lifted from her phone and locked onto mine. She waved enthusiastically and started walking over.

Shit.

"Vina!" Sam called out, a bright smile on her face. "Fancy running into you here!"

My heart raced as I tried to play it cool. I walked over to meet her halfway, my mind scrambling for an explanation, or at least a way to divert her attention from where we were standing. "Hey, Sam! What are you doing around here?"

She glanced around, her eyes trailing up to the towering stadium behind us. "Just exploring. I've always wanted to see Parc des Princes up close. It's incredible, isn't it?" Her gaze flicked back to me, curiosity twinkling in her eyes. "What about you? What brings you here?"

I forced a laugh, trying to keep it casual. "Oh, you know, just running some errands, meeting a friend nearby."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "At the stadium?"

I fumbled for words, but Sam wasn't buying it. "Wait," she said, narrowing her eyes playfully. "Are you hiding something from me?"

Before I could respond, I saw Kylian in the distance, casually heading toward his car. My heart sank as Sam followed my gaze, her eyes widening as she recognized him. "Oh my god," she whispered, her voice laced with awe. "Is that...?"

I panicked, stepping in front of her, blocking her view of Kylian. "It's nothing," I said quickly, trying to steer her away. "Let's grab a coffee or something. I know a great place not too far from here."

But Sam was relentless. "Wait, you work here, don't you?" Her eyes lit up with the realization. "You work for PSG!"

I looked at her in disbelief. "What? No, of course not, I don't know the first thing about football. Imagine working here. That'd be incredible, but no, unfortunately not."

She stared at me with a look. In the two weeks I've known her, my job never came up, and I was happy about that. I didn't want to lie to her, but I hadn't even told her my full name yet. I was afraid it would change everything.

Though, she kept looking at me and glancing behind me at the stadium. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. Thoughts were racing through my head and Sam was still just looking at me expectantly.

I sighed, knowing there was no way to keep the secret now. "Okay, fine," I admitted, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot. "Yes, I work here. I'm a physiotherapist for the team."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious? Why didn't you tell me? This is huge!"

"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," I said, trying to downplay the situation. "It's just my job, you know?"

"Just your job?" Sam looked like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You work with some of the biggest football stars in the world, and you didn't think to mention it?"

I felt my face flush. "I just didn't want it to change things between us. I like that when we hang out, it's not about that."

Sam's expression softened, and she gave me a knowing smile. "I get it. But still, this is amazing! I mean, come on—you're living the dream."

I couldn't help but laugh, feeling the tension start to lift. "It's not always glamorous. But yeah, it's pretty cool."

We stood there for a moment, the massive stadium looming behind us, before Sam nudged me playfully. "You're totally getting me tickets one day, right?"

I rolled my eyes with a grin. "We'll see."

As shee walked away from the stadium, heading toward her new touristic attraction, I realized that despite my best efforts to keep my two worlds separate, Paris had a way of weaving things together in unexpected ways. Sam might have figured out where I worked, but maybe that wasn't such a bad thing after all, I hope.