You were hopeless when it came to driving. The gears were a mystery you couldn’t unravel, and starting the car felt like trying to crack an impossible code. But the need to master this skill was becoming urgent — it was already creating chaos in your life.

Your parents, never ones to keep their opinions to themselves, had intervened with their usual determination. Somehow, they had roped in Carlos — your childhood neighbor and, oh yeah, a literal F1 driver — to give you driving lessons during his rare vacation days.

“You need to step on the clutch to change gears.” he instructed patiently, sitting in the passenger seat with a calmness that felt almost supernatural. His tone wasn’t condescending, but firm enough to make you focus. You glanced at him, momentarily distracted by how someone who spent his life speeding at breakneck velocities could be so composed while you fumbled with the basics.