I’m standing just outside the garage, half-focused on the numbers my engineer is rattling off. Tire degradation, fuel loads, wind direction - same routine as every weekend. I nod along, trying to stay present, but my mind’s already drifting. I feel the usual pulse of adrenaline, the calm before the chaos.

Then I catch something in the corner of my eye.

At first, I don’t think much of it. Just another person walking past. Happens all the time. But then I turn my head, not fully, just enough to see her.

She’s weaving through the paddock crowd, her hair catching the light. She’s got sunglasses pushed up into her hair, a white tank top, jeans that hug her legs just right. Around her neck, a bright orange lanyard sways against her chest, the F1 pass bouncing slightly as she walks. Definitely not press. Not staff. Just a fan, maybe. But there’s something about her - something I can’t explain.

I blink once.

And then again.

It’s that kind of moment you see in movies. The double take. Like your brain glitches for a second. She’s still walking, weaving through the crowd, a little uncertain. And then she turns her head, just slightly, like she feels me watching. Our eyes meet for half a second.

It hits harder than it should.

And then she’s gone - swallowed up by the chaos of the paddock.

“Lando?” My engineer says, pulling me back.

“Yeah. Sorry. I - uh - what did you say?”

He repeats something about tire pressures, but I’m not listening. Not really. All I can think about is her.

Who is she?

And how the hell do I find her again?