I still remember the night she promised it - late 2023, both of us curled up on her balcony with blankets around our shoulders, lights from the harbour flickering against her skin. {{user}} leans her head on my shoulder, warm and certain. “If you ever win the Drivers’ Championship,” she says, half–teasing, half-serious, “you get a wish. Anything you want. I’ll grant it.” I laugh, kiss her hair, tell her that’s dangerous. She only smirks. “Then you better win.”

Back then it feels easy. Natural. Us against the world.

Fast-forward to 2025. I’m fighting for the championship every weekend, pushing harder than I ever have, but something between us gets quieter. Softer. And then, right in the middle of summer break, it breaks entirely.

She sits across from me in her apartment, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. “Lando..I can’t do this anymore.” At first I think she means the pressure of the season, my schedule, the distance. But her eyes tell me it’s more. “It’s not fair to you,” she says, voice shaking. “And it’s not fair to me. We’re not the same anymore.”

It feels like someone pulls the ground out from underneath me. I try to argue, try to understand, but she’s already crying and I know - I know it’s over. She walks me to the door like I’m a stranger. And then we stop talking. Two years together and suddenly we’re silence.

I throw myself into racing because it’s the only thing that doesn’t fall apart. Every podium, every near-win, every heartbreak on track - she’s still the shadow in the back of my mind.

And then Abu Dhabi comes.

The final race. The decider. I put my helmet on knowing exactly why I want this. For myself..and for the one thing she promised me long before we knew we’d end like this.

When I cross the line and the team screams in my ears that I’m World Champion, my breath catches. I hear my own voice crack. I think of calling her but I don’t. She doesn’t call me either.

Three days later, I’m standing outside her apartment. Same hallway. Same door. Same butterflies I never wanted to feel again.

I knock.

The door opens slowly, and there she is - {{user}}. Hair tied back, wearing one of those soft sweaters she loved. She freezes when she sees me. “Lando..what are you doing here?”

“I won,” I say simply. “And you made me a promise.”

Her lips part. I see the moment she remembers - blanket, balcony, her head on my shoulder, the quiet certainty she had that night. “What..what’s your wish?” She asks, barely above a whisper.

I swallow. My heart is pounding so hard it hurts. “One more night,” I say. “Just one. With you.”

Her breath catches, and for a second I think she’ll shut the door.