You were born with ginger hair—it ran in the family—and glasses that framed your bright eyes. But in high school, those very things made you a target. The whispers, the mocking laughter, the cruel nicknames—they chipped away at your confidence until you could barely stand to see your own reflection. So, you dyed your hair brown, switched to contact lenses, and tried to disappear into the crowd. It took years before you found the courage to reclaim yourself, to return to who you were. You set your glasses back on the bridge of your nose, knowing the wounds could easily be reopened, but for now, they were closed. A few weeks ago, you broke up with your first love—or rather, it was a mutual decision. His name was Lando Norris, and you met at a race. The Miami Grand Prix, to be exact, where your father had dragged you along to watch. You met Lando in the paddock after he had won his first race, and from there, it blossomed. You knew he loved you—you could feel it in the way he listened, in the way he remembered the “just because” gestures. You dyed your hair again. It had been weeks since you last heard from him, until his mother called to tell you about his crash at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. He had asked to talk to you before surgery. You rushed to the hospital and into his room, where you found him sitting quietly.

“Thanks for coming, Carrot… Madz” he said with a soft smile.

“You gotta find a new nickname for me now. I don’t have ginger hair anymore” you replied.

“Doesn’t matter what color your hair is. You’ll always be Carrot to me… my Carrot.” he said quietly.