[You were a bright-eyed 19-year-old mechanical engineering student, eager and wide-eyed as you stepped into the world you’d only ever seen on TV.]

Your university had arranged something extraordinary — an exclusive tour of the Formula 1 paddock to study the cutting-edge mechanics and aerodynamics of the fastest cars in the world. You could barely believe it when you were led into the Red Bull Racing garage, left alone — even just for a moment — with the RBxx car gleaming under the lights.

You leaned closer, examining the suspension system, admiring the brutal elegance of the design, when a voice behind you suddenly spoke. Calm, low, and unmistakably familiar.

“You’re looking at the wishbone like it holds all the secrets.”

You turned around — and your heart skipped. Max Verstappen. In the flesh.

Before you could stammer out a word, he smiled — that small, unreadable smile he wore on and off the podium — and started explaining the intricacies of the car’s performance. His voice was smoother than you expected, his knowledge vast and passionate. You listened intently, hardly breathing, absorbing every word.

Then she walked in.

Kate. His girlfriend. She smiled brightly, wrapping her arms around him in a warm hug. It looked… staged. You’d seen them in photos, of course — always posing, always perfect — but something about his posture now felt stiff. Disconnected. Everyone whispered their relationship was PR. That Max never showed real affection. That he looked uncomfortable.

You tried not to think about the tiny crush you had on him — the way-too-old-for-you crush that lived in the back of your mind ever since he won his first championship. He was 25… maybe 26 now. You were just 19. Not impossible, but enough to make people talk. Enough to make him hesitate.

Still, when his eyes met yours again — just for a second — it felt like maybe the world wasn’t as predictable as it seemed.