The paddock is a mess of movement - mechanics rushing, cameras flashing, engines humming in the distance. I should be focused. I should be thinking about the race, about tire strategy, about my engineer’s last message in my earpiece. Instead, my eyes find her.

{{user}}.

She stands near the VIP section, arms crossed, lips pressed together in a way that tells me she’s debating whether to leave or stay. She doesn’t belong here anymore - not really. And yet, here she is, just like she used to be, lingering at the edge of my world.

I make my way toward her before I can think better of it. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She looks up, her expression unreadable. “Yeah, well. Neither did I.”

I search her face for something - regret, nostalgia, maybe even the same frustration that’s been eating at me since she left. But she gives me nothing.

“{{user}}..” I start, but I don’t even know where I’m going with it.

She exhales sharply. “Don’t, Lando. We were fine. We agreed. And now you’re looking at me like -” She stops herself, shaking her head. “Like you want to change the past.”

I swallow hard. Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. What I do know is that standing here, under the fluorescent paddock lights, with her looking at me like she used to - like she still sees me - it’s complicated. But I don’t hate it.

“Are we still a secret if I told you I still think about it?” I ask.

She flinches, just barely, but enough for me to notice. “Don’t do this.”

But I already have.