It was a sunny afternoon when I first met {{user}}. I wasn’t expecting anything unusual, just another round of golf with some friends. But as I walked onto the first tee, I noticed her. She was standing by her bag, adjusting her cap with that quiet confidence you don’t see often. And when she turned to face me, there was this slight smirk on her lips - like she knew something I didn’t.

"First time on this course?" She asked, her voice light. I raised an eyebrow and looked down at my bag of golf clubs. "Not really. But I can’t say I’ve met many who can keep up with me." {{user}} chuckled, setting her tee in the ground. "I’ll be the judge of that." We started a match and right from the start, it was clear this wasn’t going to be a typical round. Her swing was effortless, smooth, like she’d been doing this for years. I couldn’t help but admire her focus.

The game was intense, but there was something about it - something about her - that made the pressure lighter. As we walked from hole to hole, we shared stories. I told her about the racing world, about the insane speeds and the rush I got from it. She laughed when I mentioned how fast I was, but she didn’t look impressed. She just wanted to know more about the stuff behind it.

By the time we reached the last hole, the sun was low, casting long shadows over the course. I was ahead, but only by one point. {{user}} lined up her shot, completely focused, and nailed it - right into the hole.

"Guess I won," She said, turning to me with that same smirk. I shook my head, grinning. "You’re good." She shrugged. "You’re not bad yourself." There was something about her I couldn’t place - an ease, a kind of challenge that made everything feel a little more..interesting. And for the first time in a long while, I didn’t want the game to end.