It started with her laugh. Not polite or reserved, but a full-on, unapologetic burst of joy. I heard it before I saw her. At some fancy charity event, I’d slipped to a quiet corner when her laugh broke the monotony. She stood across the room, holding a champagne glass, her dress elegant, hair in a loose braid. I couldn’t look away.

She caught me staring. "You okay there?" she called, smiling.

"Uh, yeah. Just... enjoying the party," I managed.

"Sure you are," she teased, walking over. "You’ve got the expression of someone who’d rather be anywhere else."

"Not a fan of small talk," I admitted.

"Lucky for you, I’m not great at it either," she said, extending a hand. "I’m {{user}}."

"Lando," I replied.

From that moment, she had me hooked. She wasn’t like anyone I’d met before. She didn’t care about my job, my car, or my social media following. She cared about books, art, random facts. She pulled me into her world without trying.

At first, I didn’t notice she was falling for me. Her longer texts, her quiet pride when she came to my races, how her eyes softened when she looked at me—I was too caught up to see it.

One night, after a rough day at the track, I called her. "Hey," she said brightly, even though it was late. "What’s up?"

I don’t remember what I said, just that I needed a distraction. She started telling me about a random story she’d read, weaving it into something absurdly funny. I couldn’t stop laughing.

When I hung up, I realized just how much she meant to me. Her laugh, her smile, the way she saw the world—she’d become my anchor.

She fell first, but when I fell, it was like hitting a wall at full speed. I wanted her at every race, every quiet moment in between. I started texting her at odd hours, looking forward to her sarcastic commentary on my interviews, her way of making mundane things special.

One evening, when we were lying in bed – I was playing video games, and she was reading a book – I said, "You know you're my favorite person?"