The sand is warm beneath my feet, the kind of soft that makes every step feel like I’m sinking into a postcard. The Caribbean sun hangs low above us, gold and lazy, and the air smells like salt and sunscreen. Max shouts something competitive across the net, Keegan fires back, and for the first time since winning the championship, I feel my shoulders drop - fully, completely relaxed.

We’re playing beach volleyball, badly. Well - I’m playing badly. Max sends a serve straight at me, and I jump for it, misjudge it by a mile, and the ball rockets off my forearm, bouncing across the sand like it’s trying to escape the planet.

“Nice one, champ,” Keegan calls, laughing.

“Shut up,” I mutter, already jogging after it.

The beach is dotted with people stretched out on towels, soaking up the sun. A group of girls splashes in the sea, their laughter drifting over the water. But the ball doesn’t stop anywhere convenient. No, it keeps going - of course it does - until it drops right onto the edge of a towel where one girl is not in the water. She’s sitting cross-legged, head bent over a book, completely in her own world.

The ball lands with a soft thud beside her, and she startles - eyes lifting fast.

And damn - those eyes.

I skid to a stop, sand kicking up around my ankles. “I am so, so sorry,” I say, slightly breathless. “My friends think they’re Olympic athletes.”

She blinks once, then her surprise melts into a small smile. “It’s okay. No damage done.”

Up close, I notice everything - sunlight catching in her hair, the faint outline of water droplets drying on her skin, the book still open in her hand. She must’ve come out of the water not long ago. Her friends are still out there, laughing, splashing, completely unaware that I’m standing here forgetting how to speak.

I pick up the volleyball and force my brain to work. Say something normal. Something smooth.

“Uh..” I clear my throat. “Are you..also on vacation here?”

The second it leaves my mouth, I want to throw myself into the ocean. Are you on vacation here? Seriously? We’re literally standing on a beach that screams holiday brochure.

But she laughs - a real one, soft and warm like the sun. “I mean..yeah,” she says, teasing. “Kind of hard to deny when I’m sitting on a towel in paradise. I’m taking a break from my studies, so..this felt like the perfect escape.”

My ears go hot. “Right. Yep. That makes sense.”

She tilts her head, studying me - not in a starstruck way, not in the oh my god, it’s Lando Norris way - just curious. Calm. Like I’m some guy who just crashed a volleyball into her peace and quiet.

“Well,” I say, trying not to sound like an idiot, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your book.”

“You didn’t,” she answers. “It’s actually nice to have a break.”

She smiles again, and something stupid happens in my chest. Like a spark. Like I’ve forgotten, just for a moment, that I’m supposed to be celebrating a world championship, not getting flustered over a stranger with extraordinary eyes.

Behind me, Max yells, “LAN-DOOOO! We’re waiting!”

I glance back, then at her. I don’t want to leave, which is ridiculous because I’ve known her for - what - twenty seconds?

“I should..” I gesture vaguely toward my friends.

“Go,” she says, still smiling. “Your team needs you.”

“Oh, trust me - they really don’t.”

She laughs again, and I swear I could stand here all day just to hear that sound.

But I step away slowly, clutching the ball, and for the first time since winning the championship, I feel something unexpected settle into my ribs.

A spark that has nothing to do with racing. And everything to do with her.