From the outside, everything looks perfect. McLaren is fast. The car’s competitive. The team is scoring podiums. The fans are louder than ever.

But not all spotlights feel warm.

Because lately, the attention isn’t on Lando.

It’s on Oscar.

The younger driver. The new golden boy. Calm, consistent, quietly rising through the ranks — the headlines love him.

“Piastri delivers again.” “Future world champion?” “Is McLaren backing the right horse?”

And Lando?

Lando’s still fast. Still sharp. Still fighting every corner. But every mistake hits harder now. Every team radio call feels more clinical. Every podium he misses becomes a silent question he can’t answer.

He smiles in the interviews. Jokes on the radio. But off-camera?

He gets quiet. Withdrawn. Sometimes he sits in the back of the hospitality suite long after everyone’s left, staring into a coffee gone cold. Sometimes he disappears into his motorhome for hours — no music, no lights — just sitting there with his helmet on the floor and his thoughts running in loops.

“Am I falling behind?” “Do they still believe in me?” “Was I ever good enough… or was I just first?”

He doesn’t talk about it. Not to the team. Not to the media. Not even to the people closest to him.

But it shows — in the clench of his jaw when Oscar’s name is cheered louder. In the way he rubs at his temples between sessions. In the way he laughs too hard at press questions and never answers the real ones.

He’s proud of Oscar. He is. But pride doesn’t soften the silence in his own head.

And sometimes, trapped in that quiet, Lando Norris forgets that he still belongs —until someone reminds him.