Chapter Text
June’s POV
————
The flight back to Frankfurt was short, but June felt like she had lived three different lives in the span of a weekend.
She hadn’t bothered to change out of yesterday’s jeans. Just threw on an oversized hoodie, tied her hair in a messy bun, and moved through the airport like someone hoping to disappear. Her lanyard from the summit was stuffed somewhere deep in her tote, buried under receipts, half-melted gum, and a hotel notepad she forgot to steal intentionally.
She boarded the plane without making eye contact with anyone. Not because she was being dramatic (at least, not entirely) but because she wasn’t ready to come back down to earth.
The moment she sank into her window seat and buckled her belt, a sigh slipped out of her without permission. The kind of sigh that came from sensory overload and an emotional hangover she hadn’t fully acknowledged yet.
She should have been relieved to go home. The summit had been surreal in the worst and best ways. There were too many handshakes, too many beautiful people with business cards and curated laughter. She’d tiptoed through it all like a tourist who accidentally walked into the VIP section of someone else’s life.
And then, there was the rooftop.
Or more specifically, him.
Omar Marmoush.
June had known the name in passing. Football wasn’t exactly her niche, but she’d heard it mentioned in the office once or twice, usually in a tone reserved for scandalous Twitter threads or last-minute match-winning goals.
Now, she couldn’t stop picturing his face.
The sharp brows. The faint sheen of sweat like he’d just run up the building instead of taking the elevator. The way his eyes studied her without blinking, like he was trying to decode a language she hadn’t meant to speak.
She scoffed under her breath. It was probably nothing. A conversation charged with too much sunset and not enough reality. He hadn’t even asked for her number.
But he had laughed. Genuinely. At her. Because of her.
And when he said, “Are you done being impossible to ignore?”
That line had rooted itself in her brain like a tune she couldn’t stop humming.
June leaned her forehead against the window, watching the airport fade into a blur as the plane began to move.
Back to Frankfurt. Back to spreadsheets, overdue reconciliations, and overly formal Outlook greetings.
She pulled out her phone, ignoring the clutter of emails and team chat notifications. Instead, she opened the Notes app and typed without thinking:
Barcelona, rooftop. That weird, strange night. Footballer. Cleats. Cologne. Called me bold. Laughed like I surprised him. Said I was impossible to ignore. Should’ve asked for his number. But maybe I like it better this way.
June stared at the words for a long time, then tapped the screen off. Somewhere between takeoff and landing, reality began to settle back into her bones. But that didn’t stop her fingers from occasionally brushing the edge of her phone. As if somehow, against logic and reason, a message might appear.
She knew better.
Still…
If she ever saw him again, on another rooftop or maybe somewhere far less cinematic, she wouldn’t let the moment end like that.
Not this time.