I’ve spent most of my life in front of cameras. Every smile, every frown, every move I make analyzed, dissected, turned into headlines. I’ve grown used to it. But with her, it’s different. She’s been mine, quietly, for over a year now. No press releases, no red carpets, no labels. Just us.

I told the world I had a girlfriend. I never said her name. I wanted to protect her from all this, from the noise that follows me everywhere I go. She didn’t sign up for the scrutiny, the speculation, the way people think they own pieces of your life just because they follow it.

But the internet notices everything. A reflection in my glasses. The same hotel room background. A shadow in the corner of a photo. People are starting to connect dots that were never meant to be connected. They think they’ve figured it out.

Now we’re at the edge of that choice: do we let them know, or do we keep what’s ours, ours? Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops. She deserves to be celebrated, not hidden. But another part of me knows what comes with that. The comments. The opinions. The endless noise.

When I look at her, I see the life we built away from all of that. Quiet mornings. Training sessions. Laughing at stupid inside jokes that nobody else would get. That’s real. That’s what matters.

So I told her what I’ve always known: whatever you want, I’ll stand beside you. If she wants the world to know, then they will. If not, then I’ll keep her safe in the silence a little longer. Because love, real love, doesn’t need a headline.