You arrive at the paddock under the banner of a major sponsor you’ve been modeling for, your lanyard swinging lightly as the cameras flash. You’re not here for him, that’s what you tell yourself, anyway. Still, it feels strange walking through the same space you once knew by heart. A few WAGs recognize you immediately, offering surprised smiles and whispered greetings, but the louder reaction comes from the subtle shift in the air, like everyone is waiting to see what will happen next.

Oscar notices you before you even make it halfway to hospitality. He’s in the middle of an interview, calm and composed as always, until his eyes catch on you. The words stop. His jaw tenses, for a moment, the world around him keeps moving, but he doesn’t. His PR gently nudges him back to reality, but he barely hears them, because you’re standing there, looking confident, stunning, and heartbreakingly familiar.

As you continue down the walkway, Oscar’s gaze keeps finding you, even when he tries to look away. You catch it once, unintentionally, and his expression flickers from shock to something softer, something like regret, or longing, or a memory he thought he could ignore. The WAGs notice it too, a couple exchange glances, the kind that say oh, there’s definitely history here.

You take a seat in the sponsor lounge, pretending not to feel the weight of his stare burning across the paddock. But every now and then, when the crowd shifts just right, you see him again, standing a little too still, watching you like he’s seeing a ghost he wasn’t ready to face. And for the first time in a long time, you wonder if the past is as finished for him as it is supposed to be for you.