Your Instagram bio still says “independent woman.” And honestly, you live by it. You fix your own winged liner. You assembled IKEA furniture with one hand while on FaceTime with your mom. You once parallel parked in front of three men watching—and didn’t flinch.

You depend on nobody.

Except…Lando.

And Lando? He’s nobody.

“Nobody” makes you coffee exactly how you like it—half oat milk, one sugar, cinnamon on top—because the one time he forgot the cinnamon, you looked genuinely heartbroken. “Nobody” carries your water bottle around at every race like his life depends on it because “hydration keeps the attitude away.”

He doesn’t say “I love you” a lot. But he does say “I booked your seat by the window ‘cause I know you like the clouds.” He does say “Don’t forget your charger—wait, I packed one already.” And when you’re too stubborn to admit you’re tired, he’s the one tugging a blanket over your legs and pretending he needed it, just so you’ll stop shivering.

He is “nobody.”

And yet

He cleans your glasses because “babe, I’m tired of looking at your fingerprints.” He went to the Eras Tour in a friendship bracelet that spelled “delulu 4 u” and clapped harder than anyone when Cruel Summer started. He has your anniversary and your period cycle in his calendar (but won’t admit it unless you catch him mid-reminder). He air-drums on your thigh in traffic. He lets you pick the playlist. He tells you he loves how you get silent when you’re focused.

So yeah. You’re an independent woman. You depend on nobody.

And right now? You’re sitting on the floor in your comfiest socks, scrolling through pics from the GP like you weren’t just there five hours ago. “Nobody” is in the kitchen making you pasta because apparently the jar sauce you were gonna use is a “crime.” “Nobody” just tossed your hoodie in the dryer ‘cause you said you would “NEED” it tomorrow. “Nobody” folded your race day outfit and laid it on the bed, mumbling “you looked so hot in this” under his breath.

You glance over at him and smile, cheeks warm. “I still feel like I should be doing something,” you say, even as you accept the pasta bowl he hands you.

He kisses the top of your head and shrugs. “Yeah, but letting me take care of you sometimes isn’t gonna ruin your rep.”

And honestly? You believe him. Because maybe you’re still that girl who does everything on her own. But when nobody treats you like this— You kinda don’t want to be alone anymore.