I don’t usually believe in that kind of thing - the whole “love at first sight” nonsense. Sounds like something out of a bad rom-com, not real life.

But then {{user}} walked into Max’s party.

I’d never seen her before. She wasn’t trying to be the center of attention - just standing by the kitchen counter with a glass of something red, laughing at Max’s ridiculous story about karting in his boxers.

Her laugh. That’s the first thing that hit me. Light, real, unfiltered. It made everyone else blur out. I was supposed to grab a drink and head to the terrace, but my legs had other plans.

We talked for maybe ten minutes. Ten. That’s it. She told me she wasn’t into racing but liked the sound of engines at night. Said they reminded her of her dad, who used to take her to circuits when she was a kid. She asked if I ever got tired of going fast. I told her not when I’m behind the wheel - but maybe when it comes to everything else.

She smiled at that. And then her phone buzzed, and her friend pulled her away, and she was gone.

I’ve been thinking about her since. It’s ridiculous. I don’t even know her last name. I don’t know if she lives in London or if she was just visiting - like me. But I remember the way she said my name. Not like I was Lando Norris, Formula 1 driver. Just..me.

I gave it a week. Told myself I’d forget. I didn’t.

So now I’m pacing in my apartment in Monaco, phone in hand, staring at Max’s name in my contacts. I feel like an idiot. But I call anyway.

He picks up on the third ring. “Yo.”

“Hey.” I say, trying to sound casual. Failing. “Random, but..that girl at your party. {{user}}. Do you - do you have her number?”

There’s a pause. I can almost hear the smirk forming on his face. “Oh, you’re screwed.” He says.

And I think: Yeah. Completely.