Thanks to Norris

part 62- qualy

Saturday — Free Practice 3

The sun was higher now, cutting through the crisp morning air with more confidence. Spa was waking up fully, and so was the competition. Free Practice 3 felt different—not just because it was the last chance to dial in the car before qualifying, but because the stakes were rising.

Charles was right there with us. The three of us—me, Lando, and Charles—trading fast laps and pushing harder than ever. The rivalry was friendly but fierce, and every lap was a battle for bragging rights before Sunday. Charles was slicing through corners with that smooth, precise style of his, never overdriving, but always pushing the limit.

After the session, I found Charles near the paddock café, sipping on an espresso and scrolling through his phone. I walked up, careful not to startle him.

"Hey," I said, sliding into the empty seat beside him.

He looked up, surprised but smiling. "Hey! Didn't expect you so soon."

I shrugged. "Had to catch you before you disappeared into the media circus."

We sat in easy silence for a moment, the hum of the paddock all around us. Then I leaned in, lowering my voice.

"About last night..." I began, glancing around so no one else could hear.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

I smiled softly. "I told Lando we had to start fresh, but I also told you because... well, Lewis is like a brother to me, and you—you're my best friend on the grid. So I want you to know what's really going on."

Charles nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful. "I get it. And honestly, I'm glad you told me. It means a lot."

We shared a look, that unspoken understanding between teammates who had been through it all.

Just then, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye—Lando walking by, his head turning slightly as he spotted us whispering and laughing together.

When our eyes met briefly, I caught something—maybe a flicker of jealousy or uncertainty—in his expression.

Later, as Charles and I stood up to leave, we exchanged a quick hug goodbye.

Lando's gaze lingered longer than before, watching us closely as we parted ways.

The dynamic was shifting.

And I wasn't sure if that made things easier or more complicated.

Before qualifying, I had every intention to talk to Lando. I caught sight of him near the garage, standing with his back to me, eyes fixed on the track as if trying to read the asphalt like a book.

I approached cautiously and called out, "Lando, can we talk for a minute?"

He turned his head just enough to glance my way, but without a word, he turned back and walked off—disappearing into the bustle of the paddock before I could say anything.

I froze for a second, feeling the weight of his silence settle over me. Then Toto's voice broke through the quiet, "Time to get in the car!"

Shaking off the knot in my stomach, I focused on the task ahead.

Qualifying started with a rush of adrenaline. The track was sticky but fast, perfect for pushing the limits. I felt the familiar hum of the car beneath me, the tires gripping as I powered through Eau Rouge, my heart pounding with each corner.

Lap after lap, I edged closer to my best time, balancing aggression with control. The pit wall's updates kept me sharp—sector times flashing green, the team's voices crackling through the radio with encouragement and precision.