I knew something was off the moment I saw her.

We had been friends for years—long before Formula 1, long before any of this madness. She had always been the one to keep me grounded, to remind me that life wasn’t just about racing, about winning or losing. And I had always been the one to watch over her when things got tough.

Today was one of those days.

She sat across from me in the café, her fingers wrapped around a cup of tea, but her eyes weren’t really there. They flickered, distant and unfocused, like she was staring at something just beyond reality. I recognized the signs immediately.

“Hey,” I said softly, leaning in. “You still with me?”

No response.

I reached for her hand, careful and slow. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

She blinked, her body going rigid for a few seconds, and then, just like that, she was back. Her shoulders tensed, and I saw the flicker of panic in her eyes before she realized where she was.

“It happened again, didn’t it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just a few seconds. I’ve got you.”

Her fingers gripped mine, holding on like I was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world. I didn’t mind. I never did.

She let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead into her palm. “I hate this,” she muttered. “I feel like I’m losing time. Like I’m not even—”

“You’re here,” I interrupted gently. “You’re with me. That’s all that matters.”

She looked up, meeting my gaze, and I could see the frustration, the exhaustion. This wasn’t new to either of us, but it never got easier. And yet, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything.

I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” I said. “Fresh air might help.”

She hesitated, then nodded. As we stood, I threw an arm around her shoulders, keeping her close.

“You always know what to do,” she murmured as we walked.

I smiled, nudging her playfully. “That’s what best friends are for.”