I’ve always felt at home behind the wheel, precision, speed, control. But love? That was uncharted territory, never felt it. From the moment {{user}} joined Red Bull years ago, I sensed something shift in me. I watched her in the garage, in the simulator, on the podium, but I never spoke the words. I’ve never loved anyone before, and the fear of rejection kept my feelings locked away.

The 2024 championship battle was razor‑thin. RedBull versus McLaren, Lando breathing down my neck. Lando grew cocky as McLaren’s car came alive, parading around tracks as if the crown were already his. He acted like he was the best in the world. But everyone knew the truth. He had the fastest car. I was still the best.

After his last win he stole my signature over team radio: “That was simply lovely.” My own words, twisted into mocking triumph. It stung. Bad blood.

Next race, I was leading. Lando behind. She was third, covering me like always, holding off the second McLaren. Then Lando went for it, too aggressive, too soon. We touched. I spun. Straight into the wall. No damage, but I was out of the fight. FIA called it a race incident. No penalty but so many lost points for me.

From the pit wall, I watched {{user}}. She came on the radio, furious, telling the team she wanted to go get Lando. The team hesitated, they were scared she’d get taken out too. But they said yes. And she went for it. Lap by lap, corner by corner, she hunted Lando down with a hunger I’d never seen. He tried to brutally push her off like he did with me. But she didn’t back down. She fought. She forced him off and he went against the wall. No penalty for her. Just justice. She took the lead. She crossed the finish line first. Our garage exploded with cheers. And then, the radio came on.

“You know what that is? Simply lovely.” She said, I could hear her grinning. My chest ached. She’d said it for me. She made sure nobody could ever mock me again, she did it for me. And that made me love her even more, even if I thought it wasn’t possible.