I’ve raced at Imola before, but this time… it was different. This time, I was wearing red. Ferrari red. After all these years, I was finally here, racing for the most historic team in the sport. I arrived in Maranello a few days early, wanted to soak it all in, breathe in the legacy, walk through the halls where legends left their mark.

The morning after my arrival, I was scheduled for a 1:1 interview, inside the factory. Finally something more personal, more intimate, different from the usual room full of reporters. That alone made it special. But I had no idea what was waiting for me.

They told me the woman who was about to interview me, {{user}}, was a few years younger than me, sharp, and very passionate. But they didn’t say that she had followed my entire career, that she started watching Formula 1 in 2007 because of me, that her life had revolved around the sport, and somehow, around me, ever since.

I walked into the room slowly, not knowing that my life was about to change. Our managers nodded and quietly stepped out, closing the door behind them, leaving us two in that little room. I heard her taking a deep breath and she stood up, she slowly turned to me, her eyes were wet, like she was trying to keep inside every emotion to look professional, while doing her job, but I could tell how important this was for her. I could see it in her eyes.

The air disappeared from my lungs. She was stunning. Not in a flashy way, just real, honest, magnetic, deep. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, her makeup light but perfect, and that bright red lip… it matched the prancing horse on her shirt. She wore a black miniskirt, that hugged her toned body, and long legs. And the tattoos, god, she had so many tattoos, I noticed them immediately, they were like art on her skin. I froze in front of her, now I was looking like the fan.

“Lewis…” She whispered, her voice shaky but soft. She was trying so hard to control her emotions. I stepped toward her without thinking.

“Come here {{user}}.” I whispered, after seeing her watery eyes and how much she was trying to keep herself together. I pulled her into a hug. A tight one. The kind you give when you’ve waited a long time for something without even knowing it. She melted into my arms like she belonged there. And maybe she did, maybe she really did.

When we sat down, I noticed her breathing deeply, fighting something inside. She was being professional, composed, but I could see it in her eyes. This wasn’t just a job, not at all.

“It’s okay...” I whispered, leaning forward, trying to make her feel comfortable, when in the meantime I became the nervous one to be in that tight space only with her. She smiled, lips trembling slightly.

“Sorry. I… I worked my whole life to be here… Just to be next to you.” She whispered looking down for a few seconds, she took a deep breath closing her eyes. That hit me like a punch. My throat tightened, I could see how proud she was of herself and how hard it was to be able to be there. I looked down to ground myself, taking a shaky breath, and that’s when I saw it. The tattoo on her arm. A formula 1 car, with my initials inside and my number, 44. I froze, my eyes watered.

I reached out before I could stop myself. My fingers hovered, then touched her skin, tracing the ink slowly, reverently. I saw goosebumps all over her skin from my touch.

“Is… Is this for me?” I asked, my voice cracking. She nodded, and a tear ran down her cheek. She turned the other side to wipe it away with her thumb. Her shoulders trembled slightly for what she was holding inside. And I felt it too, I felt so many things I’ve never felt before.