It’s always the silence after a race that hits the hardest. Not the interviews. Not the podium. Not the champagne.

The silence.

The hotel room’s too quiet when the adrenaline wears off. I sit on the edge of the bed, hands still slightly shaking. I should be celebrating. But I’m not. Not really.

And before I can stop myself, I open my phone. Her name is still there. {{user}}. No emojis. Just plain and simple. Like we never meant anything. Like we didn’t have late-night phone calls and whispered promises that we’d be different. Better.

I stare at the screen until it blurs, until I feel that same dull ache creep into my chest. I keep telling myself to let it go. To forget. But the truth is - I can’t.

Because she’s the only one who’s ever looked at me and seen straight through the noise.

I swipe up. The last message from her is months old. Just one word. “Don’t.”

And I think..maybe she was right. Maybe I don’t deserve her.

———

It’s late. Monaco is quiet in that eerie, expensive kind of way, where the only sounds are the hum of engines in the distance and the clink of glasses from balconies that aren’t ours. I’m standing outside her apartment, hands in my pockets, heart in my throat.

I shouldn’t be here. But I am.

Because every time I think I’ve moved on, I hear her voice in my head. Laughing. Crying. Whispering my name like it meant something. Maybe it still does.

I knock.

It takes a moment, then the door swings open. {{user}} stands there barefoot, in a hoodie and leggings, like she wasn’t expecting anyone. Her eyes widen for a split second - shock, maybe - but then her expression evens out, guarded, unreadable.

“Lando.” She says. Just my name. No smile.

I swallow. “Hi.”

She leans against the frame, arms crossing over her chest like she’s holding herself together. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah. It has. Too long. But I still remember everything - how she hated silence, how she never finished her coffee, how her voice always caught when she was trying not to cry.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” I say and the words feel foreign in my mouth.

Her jaw tightens. “You shouldn’t.” I nod, slow. “I know.”

Silence again. It stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight.

Then she exhales and opens the door a little wider. “Come in before the neighbors see and start speculating.”

She walks to the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water, then glances at me over her shoulder. “What do you want, Lando?”

God. I wish I knew.

“I miss you.” I admit.

She doesn’t look surprised. Just..sad. “You missed me before, too. And then you left.”

“I didn’t know how to stay.”

“You didn’t want to stay.”

I flinch. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I was running from things I couldn’t name back then.

Her voice cracks. “Every time I let you in, it feels right. And that scares the hell out of me.”

I step closer. “You think it doesn’t scare me too?” I pause, voice quieter now. “You know how many nights I’ve spent wondering if I ruined the only good thing in my life?”

Tears shine in her eyes, but she doesn’t look away.

“I’ve got all these voices in my head,” I tell her. “Telling me I’m not good enough. That I’ll never be enough. And for a long time, I believed them.”

She presses her lips together, and when she speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “But you were enough for me.”

“I still want to be.”

She looks at me like she wants to believe me. Like every part of her is begging to believe it. But I see the fear too - because I left once. And I could leave again.

“Why now?” She whispers.

“Because you’re the only one who ever really saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself. You saw through the noise. The bullshit. The pressure. You didn’t care about the podiums or the interviews. You just..cared. And I was too messed up to handle that.”

She nods slowly, the smallest tear tracking down her cheek.

“So what now?” She asks, voice breaking. “We can’t go back.”

“I don’t want to go back.” I say. “I want something better. I want to face the shit we kept running from. Together. If you’ll let me.”