The first time I saw her, she was standing alone in the McLaren hospitality area, nervously holding a small cup of coffee like it was her only lifeline. Her fingers trembled slightly around the paper cup, and she looked so out of place—like she had accidentally wandered into a world she didn’t belong to. But she was meant to be here. I could tell.

I wasn’t sure who she was or how she ended up here, but I knew one thing—she had never been around this environment before. It was written all over her. The way she kept glancing around, eyes darting like she was afraid someone would call her out for intruding. The way she stood, shifting her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, like she wasn’t sure whether to stay or walk away.

I had seen so many confident, experienced people in this world—drivers, engineers, journalists, people who had been in the paddock for years and carried themselves like they owned the place. But she was different. Shy. Unsure.

And somehow, I couldn’t look away.

Her hair fell softly around her face, and she bit her lip, scanning the crowd like she was searching for an escape route. When her gaze landed on me, she froze. Her eyes widened slightly, and I could swear I saw the hint of a blush creeping onto her cheeks before she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to be caught staring.

I smiled.

Cute.

I took a sip of my drink and decided, right then and there, that I wanted to know her. Talk to her. Figure out what she was doing here and why she looked like she was a second away from running for the exit.

So I took a step toward her, watching as she stiffened at my approach. She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe as I stopped just a foot away from her, close enough to see the nervous way she clenched her fingers around her cup.

And then, I said, "You don’t have to be so nervous, you know. I don’t bite. Well… not unless you ask nicely."