It was well past midnight when I stepped out of the Ferrari factory in Maranello. The air was cold, sharp, and quiet, too quiet for a place that had once been my dream. Another bad weekend, another round of debriefs and desperate talks about “upgrades” and “potential.” I’d heard it all before. This wasn’t the season I’d imagined when I left Mercedes. They promised me a car that could fight, that could win. Instead, I was fighting just to stay sane.

My bodyguard waited in the van by the gates, engine running, headlights dimmed. I liked it that way, no cameras, no noise, no fans. Just silence. I wasn’t in the mood to be anyone’s hero tonight.

But as I walked toward the van, I saw her.

A woman sat on the sidewalk just outside the gate. Young, maybe a few years younger than me. Her legs tucked close to her chest, a small purse by her side. She looked… tired, but calm, like she’d been waiting forever. When she noticed me, she didn’t scream, didn’t rush over. She just whispered my name.

“Lewis.” She said in a whisper, almost like she couldn’t believe I was finally there, after she had waited for me whole day.

Something in her voice stopped me. Soft, almost fragile, but full of meaning. I turned, locking eyes with her. She was beautiful, not the kind of beauty that demands attention, but the kind that quietly pulls you in. The streetlight caught on her short, sparkly dress, making her look like a fairy out of place in this cold, mechanical world of mine.

“I’m sorry, I’m not doing autographs or photos tonight.” My voice came out low, rougher than I intended

I saw it immediately, the way her face fell, the light in her eyes dimming. She didn’t argue. She just sat back down, quietly, like I’d taken something from her. My chest tightened, guilt pushing through my irritation.

“You should go home. Maybe another time.” I added, trying to sound kind, but it didn’t come out that way, the irritation I was feeling due to my current situation in my career was speaking for me.

“Don’t worry. There won’t be another time. I won’t ever wait for you again. I guess I got you wrong. Maybe you’re not the sweet man I thought you were.” She said, delusion in her voice. Her words cut deep, sharper than I expected.

“You don’t even know me, I just had a messy day.” I replied, the edge in my tone heavier than I meant, my eyes were still locked on her.

“I get that, I really do. But I’ve been here since morning. I didn’t even eat. I just wanted to say hi, not take a photo, not ask for anything. But you’re right, I don’t know you. I had another idea of you.” She said, this time colder. She adjusted her dress sleeves, lowering them. That’s when I saw it, a tattoo on her arm. My racing number. My initials. Permanent proof of what I’d meant to her.

And then she turned, walking away under the dim yellow lights. For a moment, I stood frozen. Her words replayed in my head, louder than any engine I’d ever driven. She didn’t even eat for an entire day to wait for me. She has been there from the morning, up until now, past midnight. I didn’t understand why it hurt so much, why her hurt suddenly felt heavier than the season itself.

Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was regret. Or maybe… it was love at first sight, and I’d just let her walk away.

“Wait… you shouldn’t go like that. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” I said more urgently. My voice was quieter this time, the irritation still there but fading beneath something softer.