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Magda is scrolling through her Instagram feed, mindlessly killing time at her favorite coffee shop. She's a regular, and they know her here – sometimes her teammates tag along but today she’s by herself, enjoying the coffee and the change of scenery from her usual routine as a professional footballer. She scrolls past a variety of pictures, her feed full of friends, family, teammates and the obligatory follows. She pauses, double-tapping on a few pictures and typing out a quick comment. She's grateful that she’s still able to keep up with her loved one’s lives despite not living in Sweden anymore, and she makes a mental note to follow up with a text once her schedule for the next few weeks is finalized.
It’d be nice to go back home and hang out with them once the season is over.
Even though the end of the current campaign seems so far away she’s very much looking forward to wrapping up her first season as captain at Chelsea, to finally just take a break from all of the expectations and pressure and just relax. It’s part of the job, sure, and it’s what she lives for - she can’t even begin to describe how good it feels to win – but living and breathing football for this long does take its toll. They have a couple more cup finals to prepare for, and they need to finish strong to secure their place at the top of the league table. It'll most certainly be a mad race to the end. Magda is grateful that at least, for today, her biggest priority is to recharge as much as possible before the next training session.
So for now, that means turning off her brain for a bit and catching up with everyone on Instagram. She continues skimming through the various content on her feed, liking and commenting on a few photos before she catches a glimpse of a kit in a familiar shade of green. She immediately recognizes the “W” of the club’s badge, the letter bold and prominent against the white background. Her eyes wander upward, focusing on a pair of bright blue eyes that she knows all too well.
Just like it and move on. It’s just Pernille.
The picture is nice, don’t get her wrong - Pernille is standing in a group with a couple of her teammates, arms around each other, celebrating after a win at home. It’s pretty standard content for a footballer’s Instagram, and yet, Magda finds herself staring at the photo. She's drawn to Pernille’s carefree smile, the skin wrinkling in the corner of her eyes, and she’s confident that if she could just concentrate hard enough she might be able to hear her laugh…
Snap out of it.
Before she can second-guess herself she double-taps to like the post and flicks her thumb, Pernille’s beaming face disappearing as different pictures and videos fill the screen. There’s a slight tug in her chest but she shoves the feeling deep down, instead diverting her attention to the new content. Despite her best efforts she finds it harder to concentrate with each passing minute, and by the time she reaches the end she can't help but let out a frustrated sigh.
Shit.
It’s been a little over four years since they’ve been teammates, since Pernille had left Sweden to play for Wolfsburg in Germany. They had been pretty good friends during their time together at Linköping, roommates even, but they haven’t texted each other in years. It's not surprising - now that they're pursuing their footballing dreams in different countries and juggling captain duties for their respective national and club teams it's no wonder that they've drifted apart. However, it doesn’t stop them from occasionally liking each other’s posts, with a comment popping up here and there. It’s never anything too serious. The vast majority of their social media interactions have been short and sweet, their comments consisting of a few words followed by a couple of emojis, but it’s enough to keep the last fraying strands of their friendship together. Or at least, she hopes so anyway.
Friends. We’re just friends.
She’s learned to accept it by now, to accept that she had missed her chance all those years ago and this is what they were always meant to be. And yet it’s these moments, when she’s alone and unhurried by time that she finds the possibility of what if creeping into her thoughts, accompanied by a dull, deep ache in her chest.
What if she had been braver? What if she had told Pernille how she felt earlier, before Pernille had told her that she would be leaving for Wolfsburg? What then?
It’s been more than four years for fuck’s sake, get a grip.
It’s the start of a trademark Pernille spiral and goddamnit, she’s not going to let it get the better of her.
Not if she can help it.
She can’t keep going in circles, resenting herself for not having enough courage and grieving a relationship that never was. She needs to focus on the present. They’re still friends, after all. And if that’s all that she can have, then well, that’s what she’ll gladly take.
It's not the first time this has happened, and she knows how this works by now. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she repeats the mantra that has gotten her through all these years:
You've been here before. It'll pass. It'll be okay.
It takes a few repetitions but eventually the tight knot in her chest slowly unravels. She thinks of her interactions with Pernille over the years - making small talk at shared sponsor events and tournament promotions, competing against each other internationally and in the Champion's League and hell, even swapping shirts at the end of it all. She had managed to survive each and every one of those moments and there’s no reason why she can’t get through this one now.
Each of those times were significantly worse than just liking a picture. And she’s not even here.
She can do this. She doesn’t need her stupid feelings to complicate an already fragile friendship. She just needs to distract herself for a bit and channel her energy into something else.
She exits Instagram and puts her phone down. She remembers that she had brought a book along with her and she pulls it out of her bag, her fingers quickly finding the page where she last left off. She wills herself to concentrate, to actually comprehend the words in front of her but she catches herself fighting the urge to think of Pernille with every line that she reads.
She sighs. It takes a lot of patience, her progress initially painful and slow, but eventually she's able to fully immerse herself in the story. Her shoulders drop as the tension seeps from her shoulders. Any thought of Pernille is replaced by her imagination of this fictional world, of characters wrestling with emotions and the consequences of their actions. She sees herself in these imaginary people, sympathizes with their struggles and hardships, and it’s a nice break from dealing with her own inner turmoil.
An hour has passed when suddenly, her phone vibrates. She spares a quick glance at the screen, spotting the familiar bubble of a text notification. It's as if it's taunting her, tempting her to check who it is.
What if it's someone important?
She figures that this is as good a time as any to take a quick break, so she carefully marks her place and puts the book down. She grabs her phone and reads the whole notification.
She freezes.
Her breath catches in her throat, her mind racing a mile a minute, her eyes staring at the screen:
Pernille Harder
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