national treasures| Charles Leclerc

three

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I'll never forget the way he looked that day, standing by the karting track we used to practice on, the afternoon sun casting shadows across his face.

He had that same determined look in his eyes, but there was something else there too—something I didn't understand at the time.

He'd told me he was leaving for Formula 1.

That this was his shot, the dream he'd been chasing since we were kids.

I should've been happy for him.

But instead, there was this sinking feeling in my stomach, as if I knew what was coming even before he said it.

"Camille..."

His voice was quiet, almost distant, as if he'd already started pulling away.

"I don't think we can keep this up. Not with everything that's ahead."

I remember the rush of emotions.

Shock.

Confusion.

The desperate need to say something to make him stay.

I wanted to argue, to ask why we couldn't find a way, why he couldn't still be part of my life.

But the words stuck in my throat, tangled with the hurt.

He'd already made up his mind, and all I could do was watch him slip away.

"I'll stay in touch."

He promised, his hand brushing mine for what would be the last time.

"I swear, Camille. This isn't goodbye."

But it was.

Weeks passed, then months, and nothing.

No calls, no messages.

It was as if he'd vanished.

Like all those years together had meant nothing.

And with every day that went by, I had to force myself to accept that he was gone.

That the person who knew me better than anyone else had chosen to leave without a backward glance.

The worst part was not knowing why.

Why did he cut me off so completely?

Why he couldn't even give me the closure I needed?

I spent months replaying that day in my mind, hoping for answers that never came, trying to let go of someone who had been my whole world.

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Leaving for Formula 1 was supposed to be everything.

And it was, in a way.

The chance to race at the top, to finally prove myself.

But it came with a price, one I wasn't prepared to pay.

Leaving Camille was harder than I let on.

I'd told myself it was for the best, that I couldn't drag her into the unpredictable life I was about to jump into.

Racing in Formula 1 wasn't just a career; it was everything—consuming, relentless.

And as much as I wanted her by my side, I knew that trying to hold onto her while being so far away wasn't fair.

Not to her, and not to the dreams we both had.

But I didn't expect it to feel like this.

Empty.

Like I'd left a piece of myself back there with her.

I promised I'd stay in touch, and that we'd find a way, but as the weeks turned into months, my life became a blur of training, travel, races, and pressure.

Every time I thought about calling her, I convinced myself it was better this way.

I didn't want her to wait around, to be hurt by a life I couldn't share with her in any real way.

Still, there were nights when I'd sit alone after a race, replaying moments with her in my mind.

The late nights at the track, her laughter, and the way she'd look at me right before a race made me feel like I could take on the world.

And every time, a part of me wondered if I'd made a mistake, if I'd given up something real, something I'd never find again.

But I told myself to push it all down, to stay focused.

I couldn't afford distractions—not when I was finally living the dream we'd both chased.

And even though I tried to move forward, there was always a shadow, a quiet ache in the background, reminding me of the one thing I'd left behind.

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