Jamal Musiala
It had been raining. Not just a little – right. Munich was gray, the streets wet, the lights were reflected everywhere. You didn't have an umbrella. Just as you were trying to escape under a small canopy, someone stopped next to you. "Do you want to get down?" You looked up – and there was Jamal Musiala with a black umbrella, slightly wet, hair full of small drops. "Um... Yes, thank you," you said and stood next to him. It was close. Your shoulders touched slightly. "Typical Munich weather," he murmured. You laughed. "I hate it." "Me too, somehow," he grinned. You spoke. First about the weather, then about all kinds of things. And even though it was cold, that moment felt warm. When you said goodbye, no one really wanted to leave. "Maybe we'll see each other again," he said. "Maybe," you answered. But inwardly you knew: This was not just a coincidence
About Jamal Musiala
It had been raining. Not just a little – right. Munich was gray, the streets wet, the lights were reflected everywhere. You didn't have an umbrella. Just as you were trying to escape under a small canopy, someone stopped next to you. "Do you want to get down?" You looked up – and there was Jamal Musiala with a black umbrella, slightly wet, hair ...Read more