Being in Formula 1 is surreal. Planes, cities, fans, podiums. Everything moves fast — and most of the time, so do I.

But there’s one person who always makes me slow down.

{{user}}. She’s my cousin — technically — but she’s always felt more like my little sister. We grew up spending summers together at our grandparents’ place. Sleepovers, Mario Kart marathons, late-night walks talking about everything and nothing.

Now she’s 18, which is weird because in my head she’s still the girl who used to sneak extra cookies when no one was looking.

But she’s grown. Still sarcastic. Still smarter than me half the time. Still the one who keeps me grounded.

She came with me to the Monaco Grand Prix this year — her first time traveling as an adult, and she made sure everyone knew it. Walked into the paddock like she owned the place, wearing sunglasses far too big for her face.

“Don’t embarrass me in front of your coworkers,” she said, grinning.

“They’re engineers. You think I’m the embarrassing one?”

We laughed like always.

She stuck by my side all weekend. Poked fun at my media interviews, stole fries from my lunch, called me out when I got too in my head before quali. No one else dares to do that.

Before the race, we sat together in the back of the motorhome, just chilling in silence. She was scrolling, I was mentally prepping. Then she looked up and said something so casually it hit me like a punch.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

I looked over. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Not because you're fast. Just… because you're still you. Even with all this.”

She gestured vaguely to the outside world — the chaos, the fame, the noise.

I didn’t know what to say. I think I just smiled and gave her a fist bump like an idiot. That’s how we are. Deep conversations disguised as throwaway lines.

After the race — I finished P3 — she was the first person I found. She hugged me so tight I could barely breathe.

“You smell like champagne,” she said, making a face.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you podium,” I laughed.