I wasn’t supposed to fall for her.
Not with the life I live. Not with the whole world watching. Not when every part of me screamed to keep things simple. But love doesn’t ask for permission. It crashes into you like a corner taken too fast.
She wasn’t part of the plan.
And now… she is everything.
We met in the off-season. I was burned out, broken by expectations I didn’t know how to carry anymore. Everyone saw the smiling driver — but no one saw the empty hotel rooms, the late nights staring at the ceiling, wondering who I was without a helmet.
At first, she didn’t recognize me. We talked for hours like strangers who had been searching for each other without knowing. She wasn’t impressed by racing. She didn’t care about wins. She cared about truth. About me.
Slowly — painfully — she became my safe place. My rhythm in a world that never slowed down.
But I was scared.
So I pulled away.
More than once.
There were nights I hated myself for the way I hurt her — unintentionally, but deeply. She saw every piece of me, even the parts I wasn’t ready to show. Every time I shut the door between us, she waited. Not with anger. But with silence that said, “I’ll still be here when you stop running.”
She told me once:
"You don’t have to be a hero for me. You just have to be real."
And that’s when I broke.
I cried in front of her for the first time. Not because I was weak, but because no one had ever offered me a place to fall apart.
She wrapped her arms around me like wings I didn’t know I needed.
"Take off your burdens," "I will try to be your sky."
She didn’t save me. She reminded me I was worth saving.
Now we live slow when the world spins fast.
I check if she’s still awake before I close my eyes. I trace the curve of her back with my fingers like I’m making sure she’s real.
“I will follow you where no one has ever been.” “And before I fall asleep, I check if you’re still awake.”
Sometimes we lie in the dark and don’t say anything. Because silence with her feels fuller than any crowd.
We don’t talk about forever. We talk about today. About holding hands in the chaos. About building a home in each other’s arms.
When she looks at me, I don’t have to be someone. I just have to be.
“With you, I don’t have to be anyone else.” “We have everything having each other.” “Even if everything is empty — together, we are whole.”
I’m not perfect. I never will be.
But with her, I don’t have to be.
She says fate brought her to me — that I gave her a home.
But the truth is… She is my home.
Tonight, she lies beside me, eyes wide open, searching, thinking, refusing to sleep.
I hold her hand gently, feeling her heartbeat next to mine.
I lean closer and whisper: “I will follow you where no one has ever gone. I will stay by your side until the end of days. You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me. With you, I’ve found my home — right here, right now. Don’t ask me about tomorrow, because I am here. And I am not going anywhere.”