After the race in Brazil, I was drained, more frustrated than ever. As the van pulled up to the hotel, I braced myself, seeing the fans outside. I love them, I do, but tonight… tonight, I just wanted to be alone. Still, I put on a smile, stepped out, and did my best to be there for them.

Among the cheers and signs, I noticed her. She stood calmly, no shouting or desperate waving, just waiting, a quiet presence in the crowd. When our eyes met, something in her gaze softened. It was like she saw through the fake smile, right to the exhaustion beneath. When it was her turn, she surprised me, no phone or pen thrust forward.

“Are you okay? Do you need a hug?” She whispered looking at me with the warmest eyes I’ve ever seen. It floored me. No one ever looked past my image like that. I quickly nodded, I hugged her. The crowd cheered, but I tuned it out, sinking into that hug. She felt safe, steady, like she’d given me this rare moment to just be… me. I didn’t want to pull back, but eventually, I did, glancing into her kind, beautiful face. I wanted to say something, anything to keep this feeling alive. I needed this to continue. Oh god, what is happening to me? I never felt like this.

With the fans watching, I couldn’t ask for her number outright. So, I asked my bodyguard for a piece of paper, quickly scribbled my number, and carefully handed it to her. She took it, probably thinking it was an autograph, and I walked away with one last look over my shoulder.

Inside, I caught her smile as she started down the sidewalk. And I noticed she unfolded the paper while walking. It wasn’t my autograph. I wrote on that paper this, with my number under.

“Please, let’s meet again. I need to feel again what that hug made me feel.”