In the Speed of Love - English Version

Chapter V

Initial Notes: I've added the subtitled theme song for this chapter above for those who aren't familiar with the lyrics. Later, there will also be a version of Phuwin singing it—it's worth listening to.

"What I like about Formula 1 is that you can be both an artist and a scientist at the same time." — Alain Prost

After a relaxing shower, Phuwin threw himself onto the bed, the day's fatigue beginning to weigh on his muscles. He closed his eyes, but his mind was still buzzing with restless thoughts. The events of the evening seemed to replay in his head like a movie, and without realizing it, he brought his fingers to his lips, feeling a slight shiver. The almost-kiss. The memory of Pond's intense gaze and the closeness between them made him sigh.

Still with his eyes closed, he reached for the phone next to him, hesitating. The screen softly illuminated the room, and he stared at the device, a contradictory feeling rising within him—a mix of anxiety and expectation. He knew that, at some point, the driver would call. But when? And what would he say when it happened?

Phuwin rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling while holding the phone tightly. He felt vulnerable, but at the same time, a small part of him couldn't help the smile forming at the corner of his mouth as he imagined Pond's voice on the other end of the line.
Phuwin sighed deeply, dropping the phone onto the pillow beside him. He turned over in bed, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders, closing his eyes softly.

"I really hope you call me," he murmured to himself, his words fading as sleep slowly took over. The image of Pond, warmly smiling, was the last thing on his mind before he drifted off.

When Pond didn't call the next day, Phuwin did his best not to let anxiety take over. "He must be tired," he thought, reminding himself of the intense emotions a professional driver must experience.

The next day, Phuwin tried to distract himself and even searched for news about Pond. The country was still celebrating the driver's thrilling victory over the weekend, but the exit from McLaren and the injustice of someone with Pond's talent being off the grid next year left him melancholic. He remembered how passionately Pond had spoken about racing during GP week, and this only deepened his sense of empathy for the driver.

By the third day, the restlessness turned into a light desperation. Every time his phone made a sound, his heart raced, the weight of uncertainty becoming harder to ignore.

On the fourth day, he opened and closed his phone screen countless times, checking for any missed messages or calls. Every time he found nothing, his heart sank a little more.

On Thursday, he was in the shower, water running down his body, when he heard the phone ring. A wave of expectation washed over him, and his mind immediately associated the sound with Pond. In a hurry, he wrapped himself in a towel and rushed out, still wet, towards the bedroom.

As he approached the bed, he slipped, falling to his knees on the floor. Quickly, he grabbed the phone and saw that the number on the screen was unknown. With a mix of anxiety and hope, he answered hurriedly. "Hello?" he said, his voice filled with expectation.

On the other end, a cold, robotic voice replied: "Are you familiar with the new phone plans available for your line?"

Phuwin couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. Still sitting on the floor, with his body wet and the towel tangled around him, he looked at the phone with a mix of frustration and disbelief. "Seriously? Phone plans?" he muttered, ending the call with an impatient touch.

Irritated, Phuwin got up and threw the phone onto the bed with force, the muffled sound doing nothing to ease his frustration. He walked to the mirror, looking at his own reflection: his hair still wet, the towel poorly adjusted around his waist, and a slightly scraped knee from the fall. The sight only intensified his irritation.