I tell myself this is harmless.

{{user}} sits beside me in the McLaren hospitality, her notebook open, pen tapping against the page. She’s focused, eyes scanning an engine diagram like it holds the secrets of the universe. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, brow furrowed in concentration. I should be thinking about my next session, about tire degradation, about anything but the way a single strand of hair falls into her face.

She catches me looking. “What?”

“Nothing.” I glance away, pretending to check my phone.

She doesn’t buy it. “You’ve been weird ever since I got here.”

She’s not wrong. When Zak introduced her as a student shadowing the engineers, I didn’t expect this. Didn’t expect to be drawn to her sharp mind, her quiet confidence, the way she challenges me without even trying.

And I definitely didn’t expect to feel guilty about it.

I know exactly why. Nineteen. The number lingers in my head, colliding with my own age. It shouldn’t matter - six years isn’t that much. But in this world, where experience is everything, where she’s still finding her place and I’ve already made a name for myself, it feels like a line I shouldn’t cross.

“I’m not being weird.” I lie.

She smirks. “Right. Because staring at me like I’m a telemetry sheet is totally normal.”

I laugh, but it’s strained. “Maybe you’re just interesting to look at.”

Her expression flickers - surprise, amusement, something else I can’t quite place. She leans back in her chair, tapping her pen against her knee.

Silence.

She doesn’t tease. Doesn’t gloat. She just sees me, and that’s the problem.

And I don’t know what to do about it.