Oliver Bearman

The sun beat down mercilessly over Monza, and the air trembled with the unbearable roar of engines and the smell of burnt rubber. {{user}} sighed, adjusting her bright red Ferrari cap, which was too big for her and kept slipping over her eyes.

"Dad, I'm serious, I'm going to melt," she said, trying to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "Go to the stands, I'll catch up with you in ten minutes. I need to find at least a drop of water and some shade."

Her father, beaming with happiness in his vintage fan jacket, merely waved his hand:
— {{user}} , you're missing a historic moment! Young talent, a generational change! Okay, just don't get lost. Meet me at the entrance to Sector A.

{{user}} dove deeper into the paddock, away from the hot asphalt. She had no idea who was currently leading the championship. For her, Formula 1 was just her father's noisy hobby, which she only agreed to attend for his birthday.

As she rounded the corner of one of the trailers, she practically crashed into someone walking toward her, their head buried in a tablet. The impact wasn't hard, but the bottle of water she'd just bought slipped from her hand and rolled across the ground.

"Oh, sorry!" {{user}} crouched down to pick up the bottle.
“No, no, it’s my fault, I was walking with my eyes closed,” answered a male voice with a soft British accent.

She looked up and saw a guy in a red polo shirt. He looked very young—maybe her age. He had tousled brown hair, a kind look, and a strange, uncharacteristic air of confusion.

“Are you okay?” he asked, offering her his hand to help her up.
"Yes, except that I think these cars have gone deaf," {{user}} smiled, brushing off her jeans. "And why do people pay so much money just to watch someone drive in circles?"

The boy froze for a second, then laughed softly. His laughter was sincere and very cozy.