Running has always been my way of clearing my mind. The sound of my footsteps against the pavement, the rhythmic pattern of my breathing—it all helps me reset, especially after a long race weekend. But today, I was distracted. My phone buzzed with a new message, and without thinking, I glanced down at the screen while keeping my pace.

Big mistake.

Before I could react, I crashed into someone, knocking both of us to the ground. A sharp gasp, followed by an annoyed groan, pulled me back to reality.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I blurted, scrambling to my feet. My heart was racing, and not from the run. I extended my hand to help the person up.

A girl.

She looked up at me with wide, startled eyes before brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. Her expression shifted from surprise to mild irritation as she dusted herself off.

“You should really watch where you’re going,” she muttered, taking my hand reluctantly.

“I know, I know. That was completely my fault,” I admitted, feeling heat rise to my face. “I was looking at my phone.”

She crossed her arms. “Not very smart for a professional driver.”

I blinked. “You know who I am?”

Now she smirked, her annoyance fading slightly. “Hard not to. You’re Charles Leclerc. Even if I wasn’t a fan of F1, your face is everywhere.”

“Well, I guess this isn’t the best first impression,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, then glanced down at her knee, where a small scrape had formed. “I’ll survive. But you owe me a coffee for this.”

I grinned. “That sounds fair.”

And just like that, my morning run had turned into the start of something unexpected.