You and Lando had once been inseparable. School afternoons that turned into evenings. Karting tracks where you sat on the barriers cheering until your throat hurt. Inside jokes no one else understood. Back then, it felt like nothing could pull you apart.

Then he joined Formula 2.

Your world became lecture halls, exams, internships. His became airports, simulators, podiums. Calls turned into occasional texts. Texts turned into silence.

Six years passed.

Now Carlos Sainz had been driving for Ferrari. This year, he had finally won his first Grand Prix. You had watched it on television, heart racing like you were sixteen again. You hadn’t messaged him. He hadn’t messaged you.

You had both changed.

On your twenty-fourth birthday, your friends surprised you with tickets to Silverstone. You had always loved racing—it was stitched into your childhood—so it felt like the perfect gift. Walking through the paddock that day felt surreal, like stepping into a memory that had grown up without you.

The four of you looked like you belonged on a runway rather than a racetrack. You wore a short black dress that fit like it had been designed specifically for you, heels clicking confidently against the asphalt. You were no longer the shy girl who used to hide behind oversized hoodies. You knew who you were now. You knew what you wanted.

Heads turned as you walked past. You noticed, but it didn’t faze you.

One of those heads belonged to Carlos.

He glanced your way casually at first. Then again, slower this time. His gaze lingered, curious, undeniably drawn in. There was no flicker of recognition—just interest.

Your friends disappeared toward a hospitality suite to grab drinks, leaving you waiting outside the team garages. You leaned lightly against the barrier, pretending not to notice him approaching in your peripheral vision.

Footsteps stopped in front of you.

“Hi. I’m Carlos.”

His voice was slightly softer than you remembered, touched with nerves. When you looked up at him, you had to resist the urge to smile at the familiarity of his expression. A faint blush crept across his cheeks.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” he added quickly, hands slipping into his pockets. “But I couldn’t help but come up to you.”

For a moment, you simply studied him. The same blue eyes. The same awkward charm. Just sharper now. Older.

You tilted your head slightly. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, clearly trying to gather confidence on a racetrack he normally dominated. “I just thought… I’d regret it if I didn’t.”

Six years ago, you would have melted instantly.

Now, you let the silence stretch just enough to make him wonder.

“That’s brave of you,” you said smoothly.

Something in your voice made him look at you more carefully. His eyes narrowed slightly, scanning your features like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

There it was—the moment.

Recognition didn’t hit all at once. It crept in. The curve of your smile. The way you held eye contact. The familiarity he couldn’t place.

“Wait,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow.

And suddenly, you saw it in his face.

The realization.