It starts with boredom.

A quiet night in some overpriced hotel suite somewhere in Spain. My girlfriend’s asleep in the next room - TV still playing low in the background, her phone buzzing every few minutes. I’m lying on the couch, scrolling through Instagram like a zombie. Nothing really catching my eye. Until I stumble across a Reel.

Her name is {{user}}. Some small influencer I’ve never heard of. She’s talking absolute nonsense about how she tried to recreate an F1 pit stop using hair dryers and her cat. The whole thing’s chaotic. Stupid. Hilarious.

I laugh. Like, properly laugh. First time in ages, I think.

I click her profile. More videos. Outfit fails. Rants about oat milk. One about how she once mistook Charles Leclerc for a barista in Monaco and panicked so hard she ordered a cappuccino and ran. I’m still smiling when I hit the message button.

That pit stop was an actual violation. McLaren’s hiring though.

She replies in minutes.

i’m free thursdays and i only cry twice a week. sign me up.

And that’s it. We’re off.

At first it’s just dumb banter. Memes. Voice notes. She roasts my haircut at least three times before the end of the week. But somehow, it feels..easy. Effortless. And I start looking forward to it more than I should. I’m answering her texts before I even open the ones from my girlfriend.

When someone asks who I’m texting - Oscar, Max, even my girlfriend - I lie.

“Just my trainer.” I say. Or, “Media team.” Anything but the truth.

Because the truth feels dangerous. Feels like a line I’m already halfway over.

A few weeks pass. We’re FaceTiming now. Late nights mostly. When I’m alone. I tell her I’m tired from the gym, or from sim work. But I’m not tired - I just want to see her laugh again. That laugh where she throws her head back and disappears from the camera frame completely.

Tonight’s one of those nights. I’m back in Monaco. It’s just past midnight. She’s propped her phone against a water bottle while folding laundry in the tiniest apartment I’ve ever seen.

“I’m serious,” she says, deadpan. “If I see one more F1 TikTok edit with that stupid Lana Del Rey song -”

“- you’ll sue,” I finish. “For emotional distress.”

She grins, biting her lip. “Exactly.”

And then there’s a pause. Not awkward. Just quiet. Her screen freezes for a second and I realize how long I’ve been staring at her. At the way her hair’s half-tied, at how her hoodie’s falling off one shoulder, at how comfortable she makes me feel.

Something tightens in my chest.

What the hell am I doing?

I glance toward my bedroom. Empty. The relationship I’m in has felt like a formality for months - comfortable in the worst kind of way. No spark. No tension. Just..expectation.

But with {{user}}?

She doesn’t want anything from me. She doesn’t even flirt much. She just is. Wild and unapologetic and messy in a way that makes me want to laugh and listen and stay. And I know - right now, with the phone screen dimming and her voice soft in my ear - I’m not going back.

I’ve made my decision.

“I’m ending it.” I say suddenly, before I can overthink it.

She blinks. “Ending what?”

I wet my lips. “My relationship.”

Silence stretches.

Her brows knit together. “Because of me?”

“No,” I say, quickly. “Because it’s already over. Has been for a while. You just..made me realize I don’t want to waste any more time pretending.”

I hear her exhale. It’s shaky. But then her voice returns, quiet.

“Okay.”

And for the first time in months, so much makes sense.

I want her. Not the safety net I’ve been clinging to.