You’d had your license for six months, but you still hated driving. The thought of getting behind the wheel made your stomach twist. Every time you did, your palms went clammy, your shoulders locked up, and your thoughts ran wild with everything that could go wrong.

Lewis had noticed, of course. He always did. So one quiet afternoon, he decided it was time to help you through it — not as a world champion, but as your partner.

Now you sat in the driver’s seat of his car, parked at the edge of a calm, open road on the outskirts of town. The sun was dipping low, soft and warm through the windshield. Your fingers were tight around the steering wheel, your heartbeat too loud in your ears.

Lewis reached over and rested a hand on your knee. “Hey,” he said softly. “You’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll take it slow, yeah?”

You nodded, drawing a deep breath. “I just… I don’t know why I get so nervous.”

“That’s normal,” he said with an easy smile. “It’s a lot, being in control of a car. But you’ve got this. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

He was patient, guiding you through every step — adjusting the mirrors, easing off the brake, feeling the road instead of fighting it. His voice stayed calm, steady, never once showing a hint of frustration.

“Good,” he murmured when you started moving. “See? Smooth. You’re doing great, love.”