The season was relentless—race after race, city after city. It was exciting, sure, but exhausting too. And the worst part? I barely got to see her. She was halfway across the world, dazzling crowds with her voice. Our schedules rarely aligned, but we somehow made it work.

Today I couldn’t pick up when she called. I wanted to answer, but I couldn’t. Not now.

“Hey, I can’t call right now. Everything okay?” I texted her quickly.

Her reply came almost instantly. “Yeah, just wanted to hear your voice. Miss you.”

I sighed, staring at the words. “Miss you too,” I typed back.

The next few days passed in a blur of practice sessions, media duties, and strategy meetings. I followed her tour updates on social media whenever I could, watching her light up arenas while I prepared to take on circuits.

Then I had an idea. A crazy, last-minute, borderline irresponsible idea.

Her next show was in London. My next race wasn’t for a few days. It was a logistical nightmare, but if there was one thing I’d learned, it was how to make the impossible happen.

The arena was packed. I slipped into the VIP area, my cap pulled low to avoid drawing attention. Her energy was magnetic, her voice carrying through the massive venue. I couldn’t stop smiling.

And then, it happened.

She glanced toward the VIP section, her eyes scanning the crowd before landing on me. For a moment, she froze, her lips parting as if she wasn’t sure if it was really me. I lifted my cap slightly, giving her a small wave.

Her reaction was worth every ounce of effort it had taken to get here. Her face lit up, a mix of shock and pure joy. She faltered on a lyric, laughing into the microphone before catching herself.

When the set ended, she ran backstage, where I was waiting. Before I could say anything, she threw her arms around me, burying her face in my chest.

“You’re insane,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

“Maybe,” I admitted, grinning. “But I missed you.” I hugged her tightly.