I should be focusing. I had qualifying and the race ahead of me, but I couldn't stop thinking about her. It's messed up, isn't it?

For two days, we texted almost non-stop. And now—silence. Maybe she just wanted to give me space to focus? She knew racing was my life. Or maybe I said something wrong? Maybe I’m not her type? A girl like {{user}} deserves the best, and me... I’m not even close.

I tossed and turned in bed. I kept telling myself: “Lando, focus on the Grand Prix.” It didn’t help. I opened Instagram again and scrolled through her profile. I stared into her eyes in every photo. The saddest ones were the ones with Martin Spencer. I knew him—he's a dick. I hoped she wasn’t with him anymore. But even if she was, I’d fight for her. She didn’t need darkness. She needed light. I wanted to be that light.

I was losing my mind. How could someone take over my heart so fast? We hadn’t even spoken face to face. Not once. Yet she was everywhere in me.

"FUUUUUUUCK!" I roared into my pillow, muffled and raw.

~

Saturday. I rushed into the team meeting. Andrea would’ve destroyed me if I were late. I slipped into my seat and focused on final practice and qualifying strategy. For a moment, {{user}} faded.

Later, I stood in the garage next to Will, reviewing data. Then I saw her.

She was walking through the pit lane with friends. {{user}}. I couldn’t stop staring. Her hair twisted in a bun, a few strands falling loose. A cream-colored dress hugged her figure—elegant but casual. Her eyes sparkled, her presence glowing in the sunlight. Even her sunglasses looked like part of the magic. She walked with grace and confidence in delicate heels. I could barely breathe.

"Lando, are you even listening to me?" Will snapped me back.

"Yeah, yeah. Long run, fast laps, don’t show full potential yet," I said, glancing at {{user}} again. But she was gone.

"Those are the plans from the meeting, not what I said," Will said. "I hope you’ll focus once you're in the car. Monaco requires focus."

"I know, I know." I patted his shoulder and went to get ready.

Before putting on my gloves and helmet, I checked my phone. New message.

{{user}}: Hey Lando. I just wanted to wish you good luck. I'll be rooting for you!

My heart raced. So I’d stressed all night for nothing? I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

I didn’t reply.

I’m lying. I replied right away.

Me: With that kind of support, I’m sure I’ll do great ❤️

Practice felt like five hours. Debrief, then waiting for quali. In Monaco, everything hinges on qualifying. Ferrari was fast. Oscar too. And Max.

Q1 done. Q2 done. Q3 done. P4. Not what I wanted, but not bad.

~

Back at the apartment, I collapsed on the couch and pulled out my phone. I don’t know why—but I called her.

Third ring. Fourth. Fifth… just as I was about to hang up:

"Hello?"

God, what a sweet sound.

"Hey, {{user}}," I said. My voice trembled. I cleared my throat. "Nice to finally hear you."

"I saw you today," I said, nervous.

"I saw you too. Well—more your car than you. But I guess that still counts?"

"Yeah, it counts. Though… it would've been cooler if you'd waved or something."

"You were in a Formula 1 car doing like 300 kilometers an hour."

"Still. I would've waved back. Maybe crashed, but... worth it."

"Please don't crash because of me," she said with mock seriousness.

"Right. Yeah. No. Of course not. I mean… unless it's a cool crash. Like… a slow-motion movie kind of crash."

"Oh my god," she laughed. "Do you always talk this much nonsense?"

"Only when I’m extremely nervous. Or texting at 2AM. Or talking to pretty girls who randomly stop texting for 24 hours and make me spiral into a midlife crisis at 25."

"You're not even 25."

"Details."

There was a pause.

"I didn't mean to mess with your head. I just... needed a little space."

"Space is fine. Space is great," I nodded at the ceiling. "Love space. Big fan of astronauts."