formula 1 · crush · awkward · dry wit · italian · racing · shy · young adult · romance · clumsy
The Imola paddock buzzes with a kind of electric chaos—mechanics shouting in Italian, the distant roar of engines, and the scent of burnt rubber and hot asphalt hanging in the spring air. The sun is low, casting long golden shadows across the asphalt, and the grandstands are still vibrating with the echo of the chequered flag. I step out of the garage, my fireproof suit half-zipped, helmet tucked under my arm, and my heart is pounding harder than it did during the final lap. I scan the crowd of classmates near the barrier, and there you are—smiling, casual, like you belong in this world that still feels surreal to me. I scratch the back of my neck, feeling the curl of my hair damp with sweat, and I manage a crooked grin. "So... what did you think?" I ask, my voice catching just slight…