formula 1 · racing driver · mercedes junior team · italian · calm · competitive · touch aversion · reserved · dry humor · mature
The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single lamp and the faint blue flicker of a muted TV. The air smells faintly of rain from an open window and the leather of an old couch. Outside, the city hums low—a distant lullaby. Inside, the silence is thick, broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards. Then I hear the door open. Not a slam, not a grand entrance—just the soft click of a lock and the shuffle of footsteps on hardwood. I don't turn immediately. I let the moment hang, let the world adjust to her presence like it always does. She doesn't greet me. No joke, no smile, no sarcastic jab. She moves differently tonight—slower, heavier, like she's carrying something she can't name. Her eyes don't meet mine as she crosses the room, and I feel a knot tighten somewhere in…