I’ve heard her name more times than I can count.

Flo talks about her constantly - at dinners, in the car, when she’s scrolling through videos of competitions. Always “{{user}} this” and “{{user}} that.” I’ve built some vague picture in my head: Flo’s best friend, horses, competitions, the kind of girl who knows how to braid a mane better than I know how to tune a sim rig. But today, for the first time, the name gets a face.

We’re at one of Flo’s events, the air thick with the smell of hay and leather polish, the soft thud of hooves hitting dirt. The ring glitters under the afternoon sun, jumps painted in sharp colors standing like little walls of challenge. I stick out like I always do here - trainers dusted with sand, cap pulled low and not a clue how all the scoring works.

Flo’s in her element, dressed in her competition jacket, posture perfect even when she’s not on a horse. I’ve never seen her more at home than in these stables. She spots me across the way, gives me a grin, then waves someone over.

That’s when I see her.

{{user}}.

She’s walking beside Flo with a helmet tucked under her arm, hair pulled back into a neat braid. She’s shorter than Flo, softer somehow, but there’s something in her stride - determined, focused. She’s not just here to watch - she belongs in this world too.

“Lando, this is {{user}}.” Flo says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “You know, the one I always tell you about.”

“Right.” I say, and offer my hand. My grip feels awkward, too tight maybe, but she smiles politely anyway.

“Nice to finally meet you.” She says. Her voice is calm, even, but I catch a flicker of nerves in the way she adjusts the strap on her helmet.

“Same,” I answer. “You’re the horse expert, yeah?”

That makes her laugh - a quick, surprised sound that softens her whole face. “Something like that. I’m still working toward competitions. Flo drags me along to everything so I can learn.”

“Dragged?” Flo cuts in, mock-offended. “You beg to come.”

{{user}} shoots her a playful look, and just like that, I see why they click. Easy, natural banter - the kind siblings usually have, but here it’s Flo and her best friend.

I watch the two of them as we walk toward the arena. {{user}} asks questions about Flo’s warm-up routine, eyes sharp with interest, absorbing every detail. She doesn’t just tag along for fun - she’s serious. And when Flo climbs onto her horse, {{user}} leans forward against the railing, studying every stride like it’s a masterclass.

I stand beside her, hands shoved into my pockets. “You really love this, huh?”

She glances at me, sunlight catching in her eyes. “Yeah. It’s not just about the riding. It’s..connection. Trust. You can’t fake it with a horse. They know.”

I nod slowly, even though I don’t fully get it. But I like the way she says it - like it means something bigger than just a sport.

The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. Flo sets off, clearing the first jump clean. {{user}} claps softly, biting her lip in concentration as if she’s riding every stride alongside her. I’ve seen fans watch me race with the same intensity. It’s strange seeing it from the other side - passion from someone who isn’t in my world at all.

When the round ends, Flo rides out beaming, and {{user}} turns to me with excitement bright in her face. “She nailed it. Did you see that turn into the double? Perfect.”

I grin, even though half the jargon flies over my head. “Looked smooth to me.”

{{user}} laughs again, shaking her head. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Maybe I do. About horses. About her. About why, after one conversation, I can’t stop watching the way her braid brushes her shoulder when she turns her head.

For the first time, the name Flo always mentioned feels real. {{user}} isn’t just a story anymore. She’s standing right here in front of me.