national treasures| Charles Leclerc

six

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The garage is quieter now, the crew busy packing up, the post-race tension slowly settling into exhaustion. 

I'm leaning against the wall, trying to shake off the sting of a rough finish, when Lewis comes up beside me, his usual calm presence a steadying force.

"Tough day," he says, and I can't help but nod, managing a small, tired smile.

"Yeah, you could say that," I reply, exhaling deeply. 

"The pressure just gets to you sometimes, you know? It's like I've got to prove myself every single lap, or I'm out."

Lewis nods, eyes on the track as if he's been there himself a thousand times—which he has. 

"I know the feeling," he says quietly. 

"It's tough being the one people expect to fail, and then proving them wrong every time. But, trust me, that weight isn't just about them. It's about you—about finding peace in what you're doing and why you're doing it. Otherwise, it eats away at you."

I look down, letting his words sink in. 

The thought of finding peace sounds so foreign. 

I've been racing against expectations, against doubters, against my fears for so long. 

But underneath all that is something even harder to face—the part of me that's racing against the past.

Without meaning to, I start talking, words I didn't realize I was holding back slipping out. 

"It's not just the pressure of F1," I admit. 

"It's... it's him. Charles. I never really got over the way he left. It was like one day we were everything to each other, and the next, he was gone, just like that." 

I pause, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me.

"And it's like I've been carrying that around ever since. I keep telling myself I'm past it, but it's still there."

Lewis listens, nodding without judgment, his gaze steady. 

"That's heavy, Camille," he says softly. 

"Racing does something to relationships—tests them, sometimes breaks them. But it's up to you what you carry forward. You've got to figure out if you're holding onto him because of who he was... or who you thought he'd be."

I hadn't really thought of it that way. 

All these years, I'd built Charles up in my mind, holding on to the memory of who we were, who I thought he was. 

I was so focused on becoming what I thought I needed to be that I never stopped to ask if he was even the person I still wanted.

"You're right," I say, feeling something loosen, like the first step toward letting go. 

"Maybe I've been racing against this idea of him, of what we could have been."

Lewis gives me a small, encouraging smile. 

"This life, this sport, it's intense. But if you're going to survive in it, you've got to find ways to let go of what holds you back—whatever that may be."

As he walks away, leaving me with my thoughts, I realize I have a choice here.

To keep carrying the weight of a broken past or to start letting it go, piece by piece.

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The hotel room is silent, and dark except for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the curtains. 

It's the kind of silence that brings up everything you've been trying to ignore, and tonight, that means Camille.

I've lost count of how many times I've tried to shove these thoughts down, telling myself that what's done is done and that I made the right choice all those years ago. 

But then, there's always a night like this—alone, with no distractions—and I can't ignore it. 

The regret creeps in, settling into every corner of this empty room, of me.

I wonder what it would've been like if I hadn't left things the way I did. 

If I'd just dared to keep her close, to make it work somehow. 

Camille always understood me and saw things in me no one else ever did. 

She's the one person I could always be myself around, with no pretense, no expectations. 

And I threw that away, thinking I had to choose between her and my career.

Now, she's here, in F1, and the sight of her in the paddock feels like a slap in the face—a reminder of everything I let go of. 

The memory of her laugh, her stupid jokes to calm my nerves before races, her fiery determination—it all comes flooding back. 

I can't believe how easily I convinced myself that leaving her behind was for the best.

Maybe we would've grown apart anyway; maybe the distance and the pressures of this life would've been too much. 

But part of me can't help wondering if we'd still be close if she'd still be my best friend—or maybe even more. 

I can picture us travelling the world together, finding those quiet moments to escape the chaos, leaning on each other through everything.

But I left her behind, and now she's out there, stronger than ever like she doesn't need anyone. 

It's something I admire, even if it kills me a little. 

I just wish I'd found a way to keep her in my life, instead of pushing her away. 

I wish I'd been brave enough to hold on to what we had.

But what would she say if I tried to tell her any of this? 

After everything, maybe the last thing she wants is me barging back into her life, digging up the past. 

So I sit here in silence, the regret weighing heavy, and wonder if I'll ever get a chance to fix it—or if I'll just keep wishing for something I gave up a long time ago.

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