The day of the national competition arrived with a kind of electricity that seemed to hum through the entire city.
For Alexandre, it wasn’t just another race.
It was everything for him and his late mother.
The race to become the country’s racer against other countries.
The air in the stadium felt heavier than usual, thick with anticipation, cameras flashing, voices rising in waves from the crowd.
His name echoed from different corners—some chanting, some whispering, some simply watching.
He had built a reputation, carved it out with speed, discipline, and a kind of fearless precision that made people call him untouchable but today, none of that mattered as much as one thought.
Maria.
As he stood near his car, helmet tucked under his arm, he scanned the stands for what felt like the hundredth time.
Faces blurred together—fans, reporters, strangers—but not hers.
He clenched his jaw.
Maybe she’s late, she won’t forget about how important this means to me.
Would she?
No!!
With that in mind, He slipped into the car, hands tightening around the steering wheel.
The engine roared to life beneath him, familiar, grounding—but his mind refused to settle.
If she comes…
He exhaled slowly.
If she comes, I won’t hold back anymore.
No more guessing.
No more distance.
He would go after her—completely, unapologetically.
But if she didn’t…
The thought hardened something inside him.
Then I’m done.
Then a female referee holds the racing flag and counted one to three before swaying the flag in go motion.
Boom the cars dashed forward obstructing, surpassing and making sure other opponent is eliminated but to Alex everything else disappeared.
The world narrowed into speed, instinct, and sharp turns taken on the edge of control.
Alexandre drove like a man with something to prove—not to the crowd, not to his competitors—but to himself.
Lap after lap, he pushed harder, he dodge attacks and escape the traps of his competitors.
The cheers became louder, almost deafening.
His name rose above the noise as he overtook one driver after another, moving with precision that bordered on ruthless.
Final lap.
His heart pounded, but his focus sharpened.
He crossed the finish line first and the stadium erupted.
He won!!!
People rushed toward him—his team, reporters, cameras flashing in blinding bursts.
Voices overlapped, questions thrown at him, congratulations shouted from every direction but Alexandre barely heard any of it.
Because even in that moment—he was searching, His eyes moved through the crowd, scanning, hoping.
She has to be here.
But she wasn’t.
Not anywhere.
The realization hit slowly, then all at once.
She didn’t come.
Something inside him went quiet.
The cheers suddenly felt distant, almost meaningless.
He forced a smile for the cameras, answered questions he barely processed, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
So that’s it.
No explanation.
No message.
Nothing.
He swallowed the bitterness rising in his chest.
Fine.
If she didn’t care enough to show up, then he wouldn’t care either.
That was the decision he made right there, standing under flashing lights and applause.
He would move on.
And this time, he meant it.
Across town, far from the roaring crowd, Maria sat in a small café.
The contrast couldn’t have been sharper.
Soft music played in the background.
The clinking of cups and quiet chatter filled the air.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, warm but unremarkable.
She stared down at her drink, untouched.
Her phone sat on the table.
The time glowed on the screen.
The race had already started and She knew it and still, she hadn’t gone.
“Are you seriously still thinking about that guy?”
The voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
Some female waitresses sat around her, their expressions a mix of disbelief and irritation.
“Maria,” one of them continued, leaning forward, “you need to be realistic.”
Another scoffed lightly.
“He’s way out of your league.”
The words stung, even if she pretended they didn’t.
“You’re a nerd,” someone added bluntly.
“And he’s… him.”
They didn’t need to explain.
Popular, talented, desired and untouchable.
“You don’t deserve that kind of guy,” another said, softer but no less cutting.
Maria forced a small smile, trying to brush it off, but their words dug deeper than she wanted to admit.
Because a part of her believed them.
She looked down at her hands.
What was I even thinking?
The memory of him—his voice, the way he looked at her—felt almost unreal now.
Like something that didn’t belong in her world.
“Just forget him,” one of them said.
“Focus on your life.
Your job.
That’s what matters.”
Maria nodded slowly.
It was easier that way.
Safer.
“I will,” she said quietly.
And this time, she meant it.
Life moved on.
For both of them.
Alexandre threw himself into training harder than ever before.
If there was a race, he was in it.
If there was a challenge, he crushed it.
He built walls out of discipline, out of routine, out of sheer willpower.
But late at night, when everything went quiet, his mind betrayed him.
He still thought of her and it annoyed him.
Because no matter how much he tried to push it away, he couldn’t forget the girl who didn’t show up.
She heartless enough to not apologize it sent any messages.
So, forget about her.
He told himself.
Maria did the same in her own way.
She worked and worked and worked.
The café became her world—long shifts, tired feet, constant motion.
It kept her busy, kept her from thinking too much but even that wasn’t enough.
So she took on another job.
A bar.
Louder.
Busier.
Chaotic enough to drown out everything else.
If she stayed exhausted, she wouldn’t have time to feel anything.
One night, the bar was especially crowded.
Music pulsed through the space, lights flickering in rhythmic flashes.
Laughter, shouting, glasses clinking—it all blended into a constant hum.
Maria moved quickly between tables, balancing trays, keeping her head down.
It was just another shift.
Until it wasn’t.
She approached a table with drinks, her focus on not spilling anything in the chaos.
And then she saw him.
Alexandre.
Her breath caught.
For a second, everything around her faded.
He looked the same.
Maybe even better.
Surrounded by friends, relaxed, confident—like he belonged exactly where he was.
Her heart started racing.
He’s here.
A mix of emotions hit her all at once—shock, happiness, fear.
She wanted to smile.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to disappear.
Alexandre looked up.
Their eyes met.
And something shifted.
For a brief moment, there was recognition.
Something softer.
Something real.
But then it hardened.
His expression changed.
Cold.
Distant.
He looked away.
Like she didn’t exist.
But she swallowed it.
She had a job to do.
One of the girls sitting beside him noticed the tension immediately.
And smiled.
Not kindly.
“Oh,” she said, leaning back in her chair, “so you’re the waitress?”
Her tone carried something sharp.
Maria nodded politely.
“Yes.
What can I get for you?”
The girl glanced at Alexandre, then back at Maria, her smile widening.
“Serve us properly this time,” she said.
“Don’t mess it up.”
Maria didn’t respond.
She simply turned to get their drinks.
When she came back, tray in hand, she focused on staying steady.
But as she approached the table, something went wrong.
A foot.
Stretched just enough.
Placed deliberately in her path.
She didn’t see it.
She tripped.
Everything happened too fast.
The tray tilted.
Glasses slipped.
And red wine splashed—straight onto Alexandre.
The table went silent for a split second.
Then chaos.
“Oh my God!” someone exclaimed.
“Are you serious?” another snapped.
Maria froze.
Her heart dropped.
“I—I’m so sorry—”
She reached for a napkin instinctively, her hands shaking.
But Alexandre slapped her hand away.
Not violently—but firmly.
The message was clear.
Don’t.
He stood up, jaw tight, his shirt stained.
Without a word, he walked away toward the bathroom.
Maria stood there, frozen.
Then the voices started.
“What kind of waitress are you?”
“Clumsy!”
“Get the manager!”
The girl who had tripped her crossed her arms, feigning outrage.
“This is unacceptable.”
Maria’s vision blurred.
“I didn’t—” she tried to explain, but her voice broke.
No one listened.
By the time Alexandre returned, the scene had escalated.
Maria was on the floor.
Crying.
Apologizing over and over again.
Begging.
“I’m sorry… please… I need this job…”
He stopped.
His anger faded instantly.
Replaced by confusion.
“What’s going on?”
His voice cut through the noise.
“She spilled wine on you,” one of his friends said dismissively.
“We’re getting her fired.”
Alexandre frowned.
His gaze shifted to Maria.
She looked… broken.
Terrified.
Something about that didn’t sit right.
“She didn’t hurt me,” he said sharply.
The table went quiet.
“If anyone gets to decide what happens,” he continued, his voice colder now, “it’s me.
Not you.”
The girl beside him stiffened.
“Alex, we were just—”
“I said stop.”
Silence.
He walked over to Maria.
She flinched slightly when he got close.
That alone made something twist inside him.
Without saying anything, he reached down and took her hand.
Gently.
“Get up.”
She hesitated.
Then slowly, she did and before anyone could say another word, he led her out of the bar.
Leaving everything—and everyone—behind.