Dating a professional racing driver wasn't for the weak. He was constantly training and traveling, moving from country to country and constantly putting his life on the risk for his passion of driving. You had countless country timezones on your phone just for him, hoping that the stars would align for a small five minute call with him.

You knew how much he loved you, but even his affections had limits. You made do with your own arms instead of his, and his voice through the speaker instead of directly into your ears.

But you decided enough was enough. You saved for months finding odd jobs and tightening your budget in order to surprise him in his home race.

You spent countless hours only seeing him through the screen but there he finally was, blissfully unaware that you were in the same garage as him. The mechanics and staff were in on it, distracting him with data and work while you pretended to be a regular guest for all three days.

Finally, as he parked his car into the garage, worn out from the feature race, you sneaked up to him, the Campos racing social media manager filming his reaction using your phone.