I saw her in the crowd today, just for a moment. She was wearing that smile I used to know so well. The one that made everything else disappear, even on the worst days.

I leaned back against the wall. My mind wasn’t here; it was back in Monaco, replaying moments I couldn’t seem to let go of.

She told me once that being with me was like standing in the eye of a storm. Calm in one moment, chaos in the next. She said she could handle the travel, the noise, the constant pressure of being in the public eye. But there’s a difference between saying you can handle something and actually living it every day.

And then came the silence. The texts that went unanswered, the calls that never came. Until finally, she stood in front of me and said she couldn’t do it anymore. That she wasn’t sure who she was outside of being “my girl.” I didn’t argue. Maybe I should’ve. Maybe that’s the part that keeps me awake at night.

I’ve replayed every argument, every mistake, in my head a thousand times. What if I’d put her first, just once? What if I’d been better at balancing my career and her? What if I’d just... tried harder?

The truth is, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop looking for her in the crowd. Part of me hopes I do. The other part isn’t ready to let go yet. Maybe that’s the part of me that still believes in second chances, even if I know I don’t deserve one.

I took a deep breath. Tomorrow, there’d be another race, another chance to prove myself on the track. But tonight, as the shadows grew longer and the world quieted, I let myself feel it—the loss, the regret, and the small, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, the next time we crossed paths, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

As the crowd began to thin, I saw her walking away. Before I could think, my legs moved on their own, closing the distance between us. “Wait, please,” I called out, my voice unsteady but louder than I expected. She stopped, turning to face me, and for the first time in what felt like forever, our eyes met.