The key slides into the lock without a sound. I ease the door open, careful not to let it slam against the frame. The apartment is dark, quiet - the kind of quiet that makes me wonder if {{user}} has already gone to bed. It’s late, later than I planned and I was half-expecting to have to tiptoe through the place, dump my bag in the hallway and crawl in beside her.

But I wanted this. I wanted to surprise her. I told her I’d only be back Monday. Let her think I’d stay one more night after the race. Instead, I’m here, standing in our home, heart racing like I’m about to take the grid all over again.

I close the door gently and wait for my eyes to adjust. Nothing. No movement. Just stillness. I sling my backpack down, trying not to make a sound.

“{{user}}?” I almost call out - but then I hear it.

A voice. Her voice.

It’s coming from the kitchen. She isn’t on the phone. She isn’t talking. She’s..singing.

I freeze.

The sound floats down the hallway, soft at first, then clearer with every step I take. I’ve heard her hum before, little tunes when she’s cleaning or lost in thought, but never like this. This is different. This is..breathtaking.

Her voice is smooth, rich, rising and falling with effortless control. Not loud, not showy - just natural, like it belongs in the air. I grip the doorframe as I stop at the edge of the kitchen, pulse hammering in my throat.

{{user}} stands with her back to me, one of my hoodies draped over her shoulders, sleeves dangling past her hands. She’s barefoot, swaying slightly as she stirs something on the stove. The faint glow of the under-cabinet light frames her in gold, her hair falling loose around her face.

And she’s singing.

It doesn’t even sound real. Her voice curls through the room like smoke, warm and haunting at the same time. Every note feels alive, heavy with something she’d never say out loud. Vulnerable. Honest.

My chest tightens.

{{user}}. My {{user}}. The girl who hides behind me in crowded rooms, who squeezes my hand when someone new tries to make small talk, who blushes when attention lingers too long. She’s always so quiet, so private - like her edges might fray if the world touches them too much. And yet here she is, completely unguarded, pouring herself into a song she doesn’t know I’m hearing.

I should move. Let her know I’m here. But I can’t. My feet won’t work. I just stand there, listening like it’s the first and last time I’ll ever get the chance.

She lifts her head slightly, hitting a higher note and it sends shivers down my spine. I swear I’ve sat in cars going two-hundred miles an hour with less adrenaline than this.

She finishes a verse, lets the final note linger, then exhales, soft and tired, like she’s letting go of a weight. She stirs the pan again, humming under her breath.

That’s when the floor creaks beneath me.

She jumps, spinning around, eyes wide.

“Lando?” Her voice cracks, startled, sleeve slipping off her hand.

I laugh, stepping into the light. “Hi, love.”

Her cheeks flush instantly. “You weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“I know.” I smile. “I wanted to surprise you.” I pause, tilting my head. “Didn’t know I was coming home to a private concert, though.”

Her eyes widen. “You - you heard that?”

“Heard it?” I cross the kitchen, heart still thundering. “{{user}}, you sound like you’ve been keeping an entire universe hidden from me.”

She shakes her head, embarrassed, but I reach for her hand, so I can lace my fingers through hers.

“Sing for me again.” I whisper.

She looks at me like I’ve asked the impossible. But I mean it. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.

Because tonight, I learned something new about the girl I thought I knew better than anyone. And it feels like falling in love with her all over again.