I never thought I'd find myself here. Not on the podium, not in the spotlight, not with the cameras flashing in my face. That part was easy. That part was familiar. But here, in this quiet moment, standing in front of him, I felt more exposed than ever before.

It started with glances. The kind you don’t even realize you’re stealing until you catch them being returned. We weren’t supposed to be looking at each other like that. Not in this world, where every move was analyzed, every word dissected. But I couldn’t help it.

He was a friend, that’s what I told myself. Every time his hand lingered on my shoulder, or his laughter sent a rush of warmth through my body - I told myself it was admiration. I told myself it was nothing.

But nothing doesn’t make your heart race when he stands close. Nothing doesn’t keep you awake at night, replaying every interaction like a highlight reel. Nothing doesn’t make you jealous when you see him with someone else.

I knew I had to say something. Keeping it locked inside felt like trying to hold my breath underwater. The weight of it was suffocating. So, one evening, after a long day at the track, I found him alone in the paddock, his helmet under one arm, his phone in the other. He looked up as I approached, his eyes warm, curious.

“Hey, mate,” he greeted, oblivious to the way my pulse hammered in my throat.

“Can we—can we talk?” My voice was steady, but my hands weren’t.

“Of course.” He tilted his head. “What’s up?”

I swallowed hard. “I—uh—I think I’ve been lying to myself. About how I feel. About you.”

There. It was out. Hanging in the air between us like a checkered flag, signaling the end of the race. The end of hiding.

His expression softened, and for a second, I thought I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. Then he stepped closer, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” he murmured, and just like that, the tension broke.

I let out a breathless laugh. “You knew?”