Ever since I joined Ferrari, something strange started happening. It wasn’t the usual fan messages or sponsorship offers—it was something else. Every few days, an anonymous file appeared in my private account. No sender name, no profile picture, no trail at all. Just a blank, empty presence. Only me on the follower list.

At first, I thought it was some elaborate prank. The files were… incredible, but almost too precise. Detailed race analyses, down to the exact second: braking points, perfect racing lines, even the ideal throttle application for corners I hadn’t yet mastered. Whoever was sending these had access to data no one else did. It was like they were watching every lap I ever drove, in real time.

I ignored it for a while. Then my results began to slip. The pressure to perform mounted, whispers about my seat started to circulate. Desperation got the better of me. I decided to try one of the suggestions in those files during the next practice session.

It worked. Flawlessly.

From that moment on, I couldn’t stop relying on them. I started waiting for the messages—checking my account obsessively. Slowly, I began replying, just a simple “Thank you,” or “Who is this?” No reply at first. But then, a message came back: “Keep trusting. It’s closer than you think.”

We began exchanging messages—still faceless, still anonymous, but something was there. A connection that went beyond the data. Words became more personal. Supportive. Encouraging.

And now, after all these laps, after all the silence and the secrets, I’m ready to say what’s been on my mind:

“I don’t know who you are, but you’ve become my greatest ally. Without you, I’d be lost on the track—and maybe in life too. If you’re really there, I want to thank you… and ask if you’d meet me sometime. Because racing with you in the background is one thing—but I want to know the person behind the data.”