The air in Abu Dhabi feels thick. Oppressive. Like I’m breathing through a wet towel. My fireproof sticks to every inch of my skin, the sweat already soaking through before I’ve even zipped up my suit. I’ve rolled it down to my waist for now. Jon stands behind me, holding a small fan to the back of my neck, trying to give me even a hint of relief. It’s useless, really - but I’m grateful anyway.

The championship stands on a knife’s edge. I’m leading the points. Barely. Just a few ahead of Oscar. One race left. One chance to finally take this title I’ve been chasing for years.

I close my eyes and breathe.

⸻

It’s hell inside the cockpit.

Fifty degrees, maybe more. Sweat runs down my back, into my gloves, stinging my eyes despite the balaclava. The drink tube’s long since gone warm, offering nothing but a reminder of how dry my throat is. My hands grip the wheel tighter with every lap.

And then it happens. Turn 9.

The rear twitches. I catch it - but it’s enough. Enough for Oscar to slip by, DRS wide open and before I can even shout, he’s gone.

“No!” My voice cracks through the radio. “No, no, no!”

The laps tick down. Ten to go. Nine. I try everything. Different lines, battery modes, braking points. But the gap’s too much. My tires are starting to go and his pace is perfect. Flawless.

And with every sector, the dream slips further away.

When the checkered flag falls, I cross the line second. Not just in the race. In the championship, too.

World Champion: Oscar Piastri.

I pull into the spot marked with the giant white 2. I don’t move. The engine cuts out, but I stay strapped in, my fingers still curled around the wheel. The roar of the crowd, the fireworks, the celebrations - they’re all muffled noise. Like I’m underwater.

Eventually, I unbuckle. Climb out.

And then I see her - my girlfriend {{user}}

Standing behind the barriers, eyes locked on mine. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. She just looks at me the way no one else does - like she feels it too. All of it.

That’s what breaks me a little more.

⸻

The hotel room is quiet.

I head straight for the bathroom and step into the shower. I twist the handle all the way to cold. The water hits like ice. My skin protests, but I don’t move. The water pounds against my shoulders as I lean both hands against the wall, forehead pressed to the tile, trying to force the replay to stop.

The moment I lost it. The moment I knew it was gone.

Eventually, I get out. Don’t bother drying my hair. I just pull on a pair of joggers and step out onto the balcony.

She’s there, sitting on the lounger, legs pulled up under her. She turns as soon as she hears me. Doesn’t say a word. Just stands. Crosses the space between us and wraps her arms around my bare torso, her cheek against my chest.

I bury my face in her shoulder and exhale. Shaky. Exhausted. Empty.

She holds me like she’s the only thing still keeping me upright.

And maybe she is.

I don’t know how long we stand like that. Five minutes. Ten. Maybe more.

Then, finally, I whisper it. “Without you here today..I think I would’ve broken.”