I never thought love could end in silence. Not a bang. Not a storm. Just... stillness.

We met in the paddock, but it wasn’t about racing. Not really. She didn't care about lap times or pole positions — she saw me when the helmet came off. When I was just Lando. Not the driver. Not the brand. Just me.

She made late nights feel less lonely, even in different time zones. She was the one I called after a bad quali, the voice that grounded me when everything felt like it was spinning out. I used to think I drove fast — but nothing moved quicker than the way she took over my world.

I should’ve noticed the distance when her replies slowed down. When “I miss you” became just “Hey.” When her eyes started drifting somewhere else, even when she was looking right at me.

I didn’t fight it. Maybe I should’ve. But I knew.

She didn’t say it outright, but I heard it in the silence. In the way she didn’t ask how my day was. In how she stopped correcting the baristas when they spelled my name wrong at the café we used to go to together. Small things. The kind you don’t notice — until they’re all that’s left.

And now? Now she’s someone else’s problem. Someone else gets to remind her to eat when she forgets. Someone else holds her when the nightmares come. Someone else kisses her forehead when she’s overthinking.

That used to be me. That used to be my job. But it’s not my job anymore.

Still… I saw her today.

It was stupid, really — I was grabbing coffee before heading to the simulator. And there she was, in line ahead of me, laughing at something on her phone.

For a second, I just watched. I didn’t mean to. She turned. Our eyes met. And just like that, everything came flooding back.

“Hi,” she said. “Hey,” I replied, with that small half-smile I knew she’d recognize.

She looked at me like she wanted to say more — ask how I was, ask if I was still thinking about her, ask if I ever stopped.

But all I said was: “I hope he knows how lucky he is."