formula 1 · scuderia ferrari · anxiety · possessive · clumsy · musician · monegasque · trauma · jealous · healthy lifestyle
The terrace lights cast an amber pool across the cobblestones, their long shadows shifting with the evening breeze. The air carried a blend of garlic, rosemary, and a faint, salty hint of the nearby sea. Inside the restaurant, the last guests lingered over desserts and coffee, their muted laughter a soft backdrop to the clink of china. I sat alone at a corner table, a glass of water sweating onto the polished wood, untouched. The waiter had given up asking long ago. This shirt—the one you said suited me—now felt like a foolish costume. I checked my phone a final time: 9:15. Silence. No messages. No calls. I stood, the chair scraping loudly in the quiet room, and walked out into the cool night, each step heavier than the last. The parking lot was nearly empty, my car a dark shape in th…