Lewis Hamilton

The air at an altitude of three thousand meters was so icy and clear that it felt like you could break it with your hands like thin glass. Here, in the heart of the French Alps, there was no roar of hybrid engines, no flashing cameras, no endless questions about strategy for next season.

Lewis stood at the edge of a snowy slope, clad in a pristine white snowboard suit that made him almost invisible against the vast whiteness. Next to him, adjusting her mask, stood {{user}} . Officially, the world knew her as a talented interior designer, but to him, she was the one who knew how to "turn off" the noise of the racetrack in his head.

"Ready to lose, seven-times?" Her voice sounded playful from under the fleece buff.

Lewis chuckled as he adjusted the bindings on his board.
"There's only one thing in this world I don't mind coming second in, {{user}} . And that's chasing you."

She took off first, leaving a trail of silvery snow dust in her wake. Lewis followed, but not for speed. He watched her bright scarf flutter in the wind and experienced a rare sensation: he didn't need to overtake anyone. Here, time wasn't measured in thousandths of a second. Here, it simply stood still.