Invisible string is a story about Angelys Diaz, a model disillusioned by her glamorous life, and Franco Colapinto, an F1 driver seeking something real. Their unexpected connection reveals the power of authenticity and the invisible ties that can pul...
'Sometimes, the best things are the quiet ones, the moments that sneak up on you when you least expect them."
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The soft glow of the Parisian evening sun filtered through the windows, casting long shadows across the apartment. Angelys sat by the window, the gentle hum of the city below a distant background to her thoughts. Her fingers lightly traced the rim of her tea cup as she stared out, her mind wandering. She hadn't seen Franco in a while—weeks, maybe months—and yet the thought of him lingered in the corners of her mind, always present but never fully acknowledged.
It was a strange feeling, this connection they shared. It was unspoken, hovering between them, threading its way through every conversation, every glance, yet neither of them had addressed it head-on. In the moments they had spent together—both in Paris and on the road, at races and in quiet moments—it felt effortless, as if they had known each other for years. And yet, there was always this undercurrent, something deeper that neither of them seemed brave enough to explore.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her reverie. It was a message from Franco, as expected.
Franco: "I'm outside. Can I come up?"
Her heart skipped a beat. She quickly stood, her breath catching in her throat as she set the cup down and hurried to the door. She hadn't expected him to show up today. But then again, Franco had a way of surprising her when she least expected it.
When she opened the door, there he was—standing on the other side, looking effortlessly composed, just like he always did. His presence had a way of filling the space around him, making everything feel more alive.
"Hey," she greeted him, a smile tugging at her lips, though it was softer than usual, more nervous.
"Hi," he said, his voice warm, like it always was. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he stepped forward and handed her a small bouquet of flowers.
For a second, she was taken aback. This wasn't the first time Franco had brought her flowers, but there was something different about this moment. The first time had been in Monte Carlo, an unspoken gesture after a night of real conversation. But now, this felt like something more—a bridge between the past months and whatever was quietly unfolding between them.
"Flowers?" she asked, taking them gently, her fingers brushing against his. "You didn't have to."
He gave her a small, crooked smile. "I wanted to. It's been a while, and I thought... well, I thought you might like them."
She looked at the flowers, then back at him. There was something simple, almost intimate, in the gesture. It wasn't about grand romantic declarations, but about presence—about showing up, in whatever way they could.
"Thank you," she said softly, holding the flowers to her chest. It wasn't just a thank you for the gift, but for the consistency, the quiet way he had been there in the moments she needed him. "You're sweet."
He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze soft, and Angelys felt her pulse quicken. She knew he saw more than she was ready to let him. He always had a way of seeing past the masks she wore, past the walls she had built around herself. And she hated that she couldn't hide from him.
Franco stepped inside without another word, and she closed the door behind him. He made his way to the living room, dropping down onto the couch with a quiet sigh.
"Long day?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though there was an underlying current of something deeper in her voice.
He nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. "You could say that. A lot of pressure, a lot of people asking for things. You know how it is." He paused, his eyes shifting to meet hers. "But it's always better when I get to come here."
Her heart stilled at the sincerity in his voice. She didn't know what it was, but there was something about him, about the way he spoke, that made her feel like she was the only one in the room. Even in the chaos of his life, he made time for her.
She set the flowers down on the coffee table, her fingers lingering on the soft petals for a moment. Then, without thinking, she joined him on the couch. They sat side by side, the silence comfortable, yet charged with something unspoken. The world outside seemed to fade away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them.
"You know, I've been thinking about the races lately," Angelys said quietly, breaking the silence. "And how much you've changed since we first met. I don't think you realize it."
Franco looked at her, an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Changed how?"
She smiled slightly, turning her body towards him. "I don't know. You just... seem different. Lighter, maybe. Like you're not carrying as much weight on your shoulders as before."
He chuckled softly. "Well, I guess that's because I don't have to do everything alone anymore."
She wasn't sure if he meant that in the way it sounded, but her chest tightened nonetheless. He was close. Too close. And for the first time, she could feel the quiet space between them shifting—like it was waiting for something, something neither of them was brave enough to say.
"Franco..." Her voice faltered, and she couldn't look him in the eye.
He tilted his head, his gaze searching hers. "What is it?"
Her heart beat faster, her throat dry. For a moment, she considered pulling back, running away from this fragile moment, but then his hand found hers. It was simple, but the touch made everything feel more real.
"I just..." she started, her voice quiet but steady. "I don't know what we're doing, Franco. What this is. But it's not just friendship, is it?"
Franco squeezed her hand gently, his eyes softening. "I don't think it ever was, Angelys."
The words hung between them, hanging in the air like the heavy weight of everything they hadn't said. But neither of them moved away. Neither of them pulled back.
Instead, he leaned in, and she let him. And when his lips touched hers, soft and tentative, it wasn't the start of something new. It was the beginning of something they had both known was there all along.
And when they pulled away, there was no need for words. The truth was clear. Neither of them had to say anything.
He smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "You're not alone, you know. Not anymore."
And for the first time in a long while, Angelys felt like maybe—just maybe—she could let go of the weight of everything she had been carrying.
