The Silverstone paddock is buzzing. There’s something electric in the air today - maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the fact that I’m racing on home soil, or maybe it’s just her.

My girlfriend- {{user}}.

She’s walking alone through the paddock, just past the McLaren hospitality area. Sunglasses on, but she still draws attention like a magnet. It’s almost funny - how subtle she tries to be, how low-key she dresses - and yet people still notice her.

I stand just inside the garage, headset resting around my neck, half listening to the engineers, half watching her. She’s got that casual confidence in her stride, like she belongs here - but I know her heart is probably thudding like mad.

She told me last night she was nervous about today. Not the racing, not the chaos. Us.

Because we’re still a secret.

No one knows - not officially. A few close friends, the inner circle, sure. But the public? The media? It’s all whispers. Speculation. And we’ve worked hard to keep it that way.

Until now.

I see it the moment it happens. A small group of fans spots her, pointing. One girl clutches her phone to her chest and practically gasps. Another asks something - too far for me to hear - but {{user}}’s reaction tells me everything.

She freezes. Just for a second. Then she gives a polite smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and looks down. Nervous. Caught.

I can see her chewing on the inside of her cheek, the way she always does when she’s unsure. One of the girls leans in and says something again - probably asking directly.

Are you and Lando together?

{{user}} tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, awkwardly laughing. But her hands are clenched into fists at her sides.

And that’s when I smile.

Not because I’m amused - but because I know exactly what she’s feeling. And I want her to see something different. Something steady.

So I take a step forward, just enough for her to catch me in her peripheral. Her head lifts.

Our eyes meet.

She’s still mid-conversation, but her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something but forgets the words. I tilt my head, grinning at her. Not a smug grin. Not a we’ve-been-caught kind of smirk. Just..soft. Reassuring.

I want her to know it’s okay.

The headset’s snug against my ears, but I barely register the chatter in the background. My focus is on her - on the flush of pink rising in her cheeks, on the corner of her mouth twitching into a shy smile as she looks back at the fans and shrugs.

She doesn’t deny it.

And I don’t look away.

One of the engineers nudges me with his elbow, whispering something cheeky about “your girl causing a stir.” I chuckle under my breath, eyes still on {{user}}.

That’s the thing about this sport - everything moves fast. But in that moment, it’s like time slows. Her face relaxes. Her shoulders drop. And even though we’re surrounded by thousands of people, it feels like we’re the only two who really understand what’s happening here.

For the first time, the idea of us being known doesn’t feel terrifying.

It feels like the most natural thing in the world.