Munich in autumn glows like honey — laughter spilling from every corner, brass music echoing between tents, lights dancing on glass mugs. You’ve never seen anything like it. Back home, in Poland, festivals were smaller, warmer in a different way. This was louder. Wilder. The kind of chaos that made you feel alive.

You had spent most of the day with your teammates, but somehow — maybe by accident, maybe not — you always ended up near him. Joshua Kimmich. Bayern’s vice-captain. Every academy player’s role model. And for some reason, he kept looking for you, too.

He wasn’t like you expected. You thought he’d be intimidating — strict, reserved, all discipline and sharp glances. But he was kind. Calm. Almost too calm for the noise around him. When he laughed, it was rare but real, and you found yourself craving that sound again and again.

Evening came faster than you thought. Your feet hurt, your voice was half gone from talking and laughing, and you had no idea how you ended up walking beside him through the parking area behind the tents, holding a plate of half-eaten pretzel and roasted almonds.

“Need a break?” he asked, nodding toward the car. You nodded back, too tired to pretend you didn’t.

The inside of the car was quiet, the festival’s chaos muffled behind closed doors. The scent of cinnamon and roasted sugar still clung to your clothes. You leaned your head against the seat, exhaling.