𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐑𝐈 | 𝐂𝐋𝟏𝟔

𝐋𝐈𝐈

·˚ ༘

────────────────────────────────────────

October 25th 2024

CHARLES LECLERC

I tried to focus, to let the routine of the day keep me grounded. It was just another free practice day—nothing special, just laps around the track, fine-tuning the car, pushing the limits where I could. I walked through the paddock with the usual confidence, nodding to the familiar faces, exchanging quick smiles and hellos. Everything was as it always was, or at least that's what I kept telling myself.

Sliding into the car, I felt like I was back in my element, a comforting feeling. For a while, I managed to push everything else out of my mind. The turns, the speed, the focus on performance—it was supposed to drown out the noise in my head.

But then, during a break, I checked my phone. Just a quick glance, nothing more, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw the notification under @zahra_nichols. An Instagram notification, something about a new post, and suddenly, my mind was racing. We hadn't talked in a while—not properly, at least—and seeing her name pop up like that hit me harder than I expected.

It feels like it's been ages—weeks, maybe a month. It wasn't like her to go silent, but then again, we weren't exactly on the best terms. What was she posting? Was she okay? Was she trying to send me a message, or was this just her moving on, living her life without me? I tried to push the thoughts away, but they clung to me, gnawing at my concentration, making it harder to focus on the task at hand.

When I got back on the track, the car didn't feel the same. My usual precision was off, my timing just a fraction slower, my mind not fully in the game. I kept thinking about Zahra, about the silence between us, and about how things had gotten to this point. We used to talk every day, share every detail, every thought—but now, it felt like there was an ocean between us. I couldn't help but wonder what she was up to, if she was still mad, if she even cared to think about me anymore.

The team radio crackled, pulling me back to the present. I responded automatically, following the instructions to tweak my approach to the next turn. But my heart wasn't in it, not completely. I was just going through the motions, trying to get those points, trying to stay at the top. It was what I did, what I had to do, but it didn't feel the same without knowing she was somewhere nearby, rooting for me—or at least, thinking about me.

I finished the session, pulling into the pits and taking off my helmet, the cool air hitting my face as I climbed out of the car. My engineer rattled off some data, but I only half-listened, nodding along as my thoughts wandered back to Zahra. Maybe I'd call her later, see if we could talk. Or maybe I'd just wait—wait until she was ready to talk to me. All I could think about was what went wrong and how I could fix it—if I even could. Either way, I needed to get my head back in the game. There was still a race to win. 

ZAHRA NICHOLS

I stared at the email for what felt like the hundredth time, the words blurring together as my mind raced. Vanity Fair. A job offer. It was everything I'd once dreamed of—interviews with celebrities, writing pieces that weren't just about lap times and pit strategies, but about fashion, culture, entertainment, the things that made life colorful and interesting. It was a golden ticket to a world I'd always dreamed about, yet here I was, indecisively overthinking it all.