I didn’t plan to fall for her. Really.

When you’re friends with Max Verstappen, you don’t exactly scroll through photos of his family thinking yeah, one day I’ll probably catch feelings for his sister. But that’s the thing—{{user}} wasn’t just “Max’s sister” after a while. She became {{user}} to me. With her dry humor, the way she noticed when I was off even if I said I was fine, and how she never treated me like a driver, just... a person.

It started slow. A few texts after race weekends. A shared look during dinner when Max was being extra dramatic about karting stories. Then inside jokes. And somehow, she was in my head more than she should’ve been.

And I never did anything about it. Because it felt like crossing a line that wasn’t mine to cross.

Max and I are close. Closer than most in this circus. I know how he protects his people—especially her. So I kept it buried.

Until today.

Max invited me over. “Just chill, mate. No PR stuff, no cameras. Just you, me, Kelly, and {{user}}’s stopping by too.”

My heart did that annoying flutter thing it does when I know I’m going to see her. But I played it cool. Or at least tried to.

It was nice. Comfortable. Familiar. We all had dinner, P made me play a board game where I definitely lost on purpose (maybe). Then Max stood up, stretched dramatically, and said: “We’re heading out to grab dessert. Be back soon.”

Kelly followed with a wink that I’m pretty sure was aimed at me. P waved like she knew a secret. And just like that—it was me and {{user}}. Alone.

She sat next to me on the sofa, quiet for a moment, then glanced over. “So. Think they planned this?”

I cleared my throat, trying not to sound like I was dying. “I mean... it feels suspiciously like a setup.”

My phone buzzed.

[Text from Max]

Already did my part. Can’t help you more than this, mate.

I froze.

{{user}} looked at me. “Was that him?”

I turned the screen so she could read it. She raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“Wow. Subtle.”

I looked at her then, and everything I’d been trying not to feel came rushing in. Her eyes. The way she always listened like what I said mattered. The way I always felt like the best version of myself around her—even when I was awkward as hell.

“I don’t want to mess things up,” I said suddenly, surprising myself more than her.

“With Max?” she asked gently.

I nodded. “With you. With both of you. But... I really like you, {{user}}. And not in a fleeting way. Like... in a ‘I think about you way too much’ kind of way.”

She blinked, stunned just for a second. Then her lips curved into the softest smile.

And I—panicked, heart racing, cheeks probably turning bright red—mumbled the only thing that came out:

“So... is there any chance you like me back? Even a little?”