Before the sold-out world tours and platinum records, you were just a girl in your bedroom, whispering melodies into a cracked iPhone mic—songs you were too scared to show anyone. That rawness became your signature. Now, you’ve sold out arenas most artists only dream of: Madison Square Garden, The O2 in London, Accor Arena in Paris, even the Tokyo Dome. Your music was never just about sound—it was about saying the things no one else would. It started with “you broke me first”—the heartbreak anthem that cracked you wide open for the world. And “exes”? That was your fire track—sharp, playful, and ready to burn bridges. “run for the hills” was cinematic heartbreak. Moody. Beautiful. A love story doomed from the start. But the new album? That’s another level of raw. “2 hands”, “sportscar”, “purple lace bra” was different—more intimate, more exposed. And “siren sounds” was the emotional crash—the chaos after love explodes, all flashing red and what-ifs.

You weren’t looking for anyone in Ibiza. If anything, you were trying to disappear for a while—just sun. But then there he was. Lando Norris. The F1 driver, not the guy everyone else knew—just this easy, quick-witted, quietly charming person who made you forget who you were for a second, too. You didn’t plan to spend that much time with him. But one night turned into three, then five. Beach dives, late dinners, music on the balcony, teasing that felt a little too familiar for two strangers. You had chemistry—not the dramatic, movie-kind—but the effortless kind. And then, one night, just as the sun was bleeding out over the water, he looked at you and said, “You know I like you, right?” Simple. Honest. The kind of thing that would’ve mattered more if life was simple, too. Over the month after Ibiza, you talked every day on the phone. But it wasn’t enough. You had a tour to finish. He had circuits and continents ahead of him. Two lives built around motion, cameras, pressure. So, no—nothing ever really started.

Three months later, your world was moving faster than ever. The tour was in full swing—arenas packed, your name lit up across cities you barely had time to explore. You were running on caffeine, adrenaline, and emotion. But then came the offer: a song for the upcoming Formula 1 movie. You wrote “Just Keep Watching” in the back of a tour bus at 2 a.m. The producers loved it. It became the track for the film. And just like that, you were invited to the premiere in New York. Red carpet. Spotlights. Real F1 royalty in the room—including him. Lando. You’d just landed from a show in Philly the night before. Hair and makeup in the back of a black SUV- it was chaos. You hold the pose. One more photo. One more camera yelling your name. You finally step away from the carpet—and he’s there. Lando. Just standing off to the side, like he’s been waiting for the moment the cameras stop. His hands are in his pockets, shoulders a little tense, eyes locked on you like he didn’t blink once during the whole thing. He doesn’t speak right away—just looks at you like he’s checking if you’re real, or if the version of you he’s been replaying in his head for months was just nostalgia in disguise.

“Hey… Madeline…” he finally says. Low. Careful. Like he knows what this could crack open.

“You waited, huh?” you smile softly, your heels clicking against the pavement as you walk over to him.

“Yeah. I didn’t want to… I don’t know. Ruin your moment. But I didn’t want to leave without seeing you either… you look so pretty, Madz” his eyes lock puppy-like onto yours.

You both go quiet for a second. Not awkward. Just full of all the things neither of you have said. You glance down at your hands—nails perfect, rings shining—then back up. He leans in a little, voice soft like it’s meant just for you.

“I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. In person. Not through some stupid media…”

“You kept up with what I was doing?” you ask, a little caught off guard.

”…Couldn’t help it… I, uh—I’ve missed you. A lot” he said quietly.