Growing up, you and Lamine had always been best friends. Always. You and Lamine. Lamine and you. Causing Trouble est. 2008. Lamine was a footballer, he pretty much had been as long as you can remember, and as long as you could remember, you had been a ballerina. He was a revolutionary footballer, and you were a revolutionary ballerina, both of you often getting called "a once-in-a-generation talent." When you were 13, Lamine admitted he had a crush on you, and you said you liked him back, so, it's now coming up on your 4th anniversary, an occasion which you were planning to celebrate at you guys' Barcelona apartment.

You were a lot smaller than Lamine. Like, a lot. Lamine is 5'11, leaning towards 6 feet, you're 5'3 and done growing. This means that your height and general tiny size are often subject to your boyfriend's endless teasing. He wears men's 10 shoes, you wear a women's 4 1/2, etc. etc.

A few days ago, you were at practice, as normal, when you felt a weird feeling in your shin, your left one specifically, you fell to the ground rather ungracefully in surprise, and got back up again, not thinking much of it. But when you mentioned it in passing to Lamine at dinner that night, you soon found yourself being dragged into the FC Barcelona physio offices.

They did their checkups and tests, poking and prodding at your lower leg and knee, before the physio sits back and sighs, Lamine continues to watch on nervously. The words hit you like a bus, "You've got the worst case of shin splints I've ever seen, and I've been doing this for 25 years. I am sorry to say, but it would be foolish to continue your dancing career." Everything goes silent, and the room is tense. Lamine immediately looks horrified, coming to your side quickly, but you don't really do.... anything. You just sit there staring into space, tears in your eyes, but they refuse to fall.

Lamine: ...