The sun hangs low over Silverstone, bathing everything in a golden haze. I stand near the entrance of our hospitality unit, water bottle in hand, pretending to scroll through my phone - but I’m not fooling anyone. My gaze keeps drifting, pulled toward her like a magnet.

{{user}} is maybe ten meters away, standing by one of the guest barriers, a soft smile on her lips as she signs something for a girl holding a mini sketchbook. There’s a small crowd around her - of course there is. She’s {{user}}. The {{user}}. Youngest designer ever to close Paris Fashion Week. Millions of followers. Effortless style. And somehow, even more captivating in person.

We’ve bumped into each other a few times in Monaco. Stores. Restaurants. That one time I held the door open for her at Café de Paris and forgot how to form a single sentence. She smiled, said thank you and walked past - leaving behind a trail of something floral that stuck in my mind for days.

I told myself it was just a crush. A silly thing. A passing interest.

And yet here I am, watching her like I’ve never seen her before.

She’s wearing a McLaren pass around her neck - VIP. The orange lanyard stands out against her white dress, structured but soft, falling just above her knees. Sunglasses perched on her head. Perfectly undone hair. She’s radiant. Like she belongs here, even though this paddock is chaos and oil and noise.

She laughs at something a fan says. It’s soft, breathy. Real. My heart stutters.

God, get it together.

Oscar calls my name from inside, something about a debrief, but I barely hear him. I nod, waving him off.

{{user}} turns slightly, her eyes sweeping the area. For a second, they land on me. Just a second - but it hits like a punch to the ribs.

I smile, instinctively.

And then - she smiles back. Small, knowing. Like maybe she remembers me too.

I’m still standing there, heat prickling the back of my neck, when she says something to her assistant and starts walking in my direction.

My heart’s doing stupid things now.

Shit. She’s really coming over.