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phonemantra-blog · 2 years ago

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The Ultimate Showdown: M1 Pro vs. M2 Pro - Unleashing the Power of Apple's Revolutionary Chips Apple's latest advancements in chip technology, the M1 Pro and M2 Pro, have created a buzz of excitement and anticipation in the tech world. These chips are set to power Apple devices, particularly MacBooks, and are expected to deliver exceptional performance and efficiency. [caption id="attachment_60868" align="aligncenter" width="1280"] m1 pro vs m2 pro[/caption] Understanding Apple's Chip Evolution Apple has a rich history of chip development, starting with the transition from Intel processors to their chips. The introduction of the M1 chip marked a significant milestone, showcasing Apple's ability to create powerful and efficient chips tailored specifically for their devices. With the success of the M1 chip, Apple has continued to innovate, leading to the development of the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips. These chips build upon the foundation of the M1 chip, bringing even more improvements and features to enhance performance. Exploring the M1 Pro The M1 Pro chip is a powerhouse designed to deliver exceptional performance in Apple devices. Its architecture, CPU, GPU, and Neural Engine capabilities are optimized to handle demanding tasks with ease. The M1 Pro chip outperforms its predecessors and competing chips in real-world performance benchmarks. Its power efficiency and battery life enhancements ensure that users can enjoy extended usage without compromising performance. Software and applications are optimized to work seamlessly with the M1 Pro chip, ensuring compatibility and maximizing its capabilities. Unleashing the M2 Pro The M2 Pro chip takes Apple's chip technology to the next level, building upon the success of the M1 Pro. It introduces advancements in architecture, CPU, GPU, and Neural Engine capabilities, further enhancing performance and efficiency. With its improved architecture, the M2 Pro chip delivers even faster processing speeds and smoother multitasking. The upgraded CPU and GPU provide enhanced graphics performance, making it ideal for tasks such as video editing, gaming, and 3D rendering. Compared to the M1 Pro and other competing chips, the M2 Pro showcases significant performance improvements. Its advanced Neural Engine capabilities enable faster machine learning tasks, benefiting professionals in fields such as AI development and data analysis. In addition to performance enhancements, the M2 Pro chip may introduce additional features and optimizations tailored for specific use cases, further enhancing the user experience. The introduction of the M2 Pro chip sets the stage for even more powerful and efficient Apple devices, revolutionizing the way users interact with their MacBooks and other Apple products. Head-to-Head Comparison Now, let's compare the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips to understand their respective strengths and differences. CPU-Intensive Tasks: Both the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips excel in handling CPU-intensive tasks. However, the M2 Pro's improved architecture and upgraded CPU may offer even faster processing speeds and better multitasking capabilities. Graphics-Intensive Tasks: When it comes to graphics-intensive tasks like video editing and gaming, the M2 Pro's enhanced GPU provides a significant performance boost over the M1 Pro. Users can expect smoother graphics rendering and an improved overall visual experience. Machine Learning Capabilities: The M2 Pro's advanced Neural Engine takes machine learning tasks to new heights. Its improved capabilities enable faster and more efficient AI development, data analysis, and other machine learning applications. Power Consumption and Thermal Management: Both chips are designed with power efficiency in mind, but the M2 Pro may introduce further optimizations to reduce power consumption and manage heat generation more effectively. Price and Value: While the M2 Pro is expected to offer superior performance, it may come at a higher price point compared to devices equipped with the M1 Pro. Users should consider their specific needs and budget when deciding which chip offers the best value for their requirements. Ultimately, the choice between the M1 Pro and M2 Pro depends on individual needs and priorities. Professionals seeking the best performance and future-proofing may lean towards the M2 Pro, while those with less demanding tasks may find the M1 Pro more than capable of meeting their requirements. Frequently Asked Questions What are the key differences between the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips? The key differences between the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips lie in their architecture, CPU, GPU, and Neural Engine capabilities. The M2 Pro offers improved performance and efficiency compared to the M1 Pro, making it the more powerful option. Which chip is better suited for professionals in creative fields? Both the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips are well-suited for professionals in creative fields. However, the M2 Pro's enhanced GPU and advanced Neural Engine make it an excellent choice for tasks like video editing, graphic design, and 3D rendering, providing a more seamless and efficient workflow. Will software compatibility be an issue when upgrading to M2 Pro? Apple ensures software compatibility across their chip transitions, and this is expected to hold for the upgrade to the M2 Pro chip. Developers are encouraged to optimize their software for the new chip, and Apple provides tools and resources to facilitate this transition. Users can expect a wide range of software and applications to be compatible with the M2 Pro chip. Can the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips handle demanding gaming and 3D rendering? Both the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips are more than capable of handling demanding gaming and 3D rendering tasks. However, the M2 Pro's improved GPU performance makes it a better choice for those seeking the highest level of graphics performance and smooth gameplay. Are there any limitations or drawbacks to consider with the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips? While the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips offer exceptional performance, there are a few limitations to consider. Upgrading to the M2 Pro may come at a higher cost, and compatibility with older software or peripherals may require updates or adaptations. Additionally, the availability of devices equipped with the M2 Pro chip may be limited initially. Can I upgrade my existing MacBook with the M2 Pro chip? No, it is not possible to upgrade the chip in an existing MacBook. The M2 Pro chip will likely be available only in new models of MacBook devices. If you're interested in experiencing the power of the M2 Pro, you may need to consider purchasing a new MacBook that comes with the chip pre-installed. How do the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips impact battery life? Both the M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips are designed to optimize power efficiency. While the M2 Pro may introduce further optimizations in power consumption, both chips are expected to provide excellent battery life, allowing users to work or enjoy multimedia content for extended periods without the need for frequent charging. Will the M2 Pro chip be available in entry-level MacBook models? The M2 Pro chip may be initially introduced in higher-end MacBook models, targeting professionals and power users. However, Apple has a history of eventually bringing their latest chip technology to a wider range of devices, including entry-level models. It is worth keeping an eye on future product releases and announcements from Apple. Are there any rumors about future chip developments beyond M2 Pro? While there are no official announcements, there have been rumors and speculation about future chip developments beyond the M2 Pro. Apple is known for its continuous innovation, and, likely, they are already working on the next generation of chips that will further push the boundaries of performance and efficiency. Which chip should I choose for my specific needs: M1 Pro or M2 Pro? The choice between the M1 Pro and M2 Pro depends on your specific needs and priorities. If you require top-of-the-line performance, advanced graphics capabilities, and future-proofing, the M2 Pro may be the better choice. However, if your tasks are less demanding or if budget is a consideration, the M1 Pro still offers exceptional performance and efficiency that would meet most users' requirements. Conclusion: The M1 Pro and M2 Pro chips represent the cutting-edge of Apple's chip technology, delivering unmatched performance, efficiency, and innovation. As Apple continues to push the boundaries of what is possible, users can expect an unparalleled user experience and enhanced productivity with these revolutionary chips.

#apple #battery_life #benchmark #comparison #Display #efficiency #Features #graphics #laptop #MacBook #Performance #power #processor #specifications #speed

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rafesangelita · 3 days ago

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♡ when nerd!rafe finds explicit content of you on your laptop — aka a study session turned gooning session..

warnings: mentions of nude photos and videos, teasing, flirty banter, slight guilt, masturbation, suggestive ending

a/n: read more about nerd!rafe and bitchy!pogue!reader here !

rafe shook his head when he saw the glossy pink casing of your macbook staring back at him from the desk in the corner of his room, his phone buzzing just as he was about to send you a lengthy message about forgetting your laptop at his place for the thousandth time.

[3:57 PM] ♡ y/n : pls tell me i left my computer at your place, i was leaving the club this morning at like 3AM and couldn’t find it in my bag…

rafe sighed at your text. of course you’d be leaving the club at an outrageous hour.

[4:00 PM] Rafe Cameron : Yes, it’s here. Please remember you can’t be forgetting it all of the time, how are you supposed to do homework when you don’t have your laptop at home?

you rolled your eyes as you read over his message. ugh, he was always on your case about getting your assignments done and turned in on time.

[4:03 PM] ♡ y/n : whatever. i actually already finished everything i had to do but if you could please proofread an essay for me i’ll love you forever. i’m on my way over.

rafe let you know the front door was unlocked before opening your laptop, his cheeks burning red as a picture of you in a skimpy bikini illuminated the screen. if anyone was going to put themselves as their wallpaper, it’d be you. typing in your password, rafe went ahead and clicked on the ‘files’ icon, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when a storage notification popped up.

⚠︎ DUE TO MAXIMUM STORAGE USE YOU ARE UNABLE TO ACCESS THIS FILE. PLEASE DELETE LARGE MEDIA.

large media? what the hell did you have on here?

exiting out of the ‘files’ app, rafe opened your camera roll, his mouth going dry at the sight. scrolling up for what seemed like forever, rafe swallowed hard as his eyes took in the view of your naked form. someone seemed to be having a little too much fun with photo booth on here..

your pictures ranged from fully nude, to you posing in nothing but a g-string and other suggestive positions that all of a sudden made rafe’s pants feel ten times tighter. feeling the familiar ache in his groin, rafe looked down and cursed under his breath at the tent forming in his pants. he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt at the whole thing. here he was, going through your private photos and getting hard while you thought he was checking your essay for any errors. surely, he wasn’t going to be getting the ‘man of the year’ award anytime soon.

clicking on a video that caught his attention, rafe leaned back in his chair as he kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him. he watched as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, a teasing smile making its way to your lips before you scooted back, fluttering your lashes at the camera. rafe couldn’t recognize what exact song you had playing in the background, but he knew it had to be some kind of early 2000’s pop anthem by the way you had a very specific music taste for that era. you basically flirted with the camera as you unhooked your bra, the hot pink lace falling to the floor at your feet.

pushing his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose, he blinked when your tits came into view, the soft swells looking so perfect and plump as you rolled your sensitive buds between your fingers. you moaned, the sound shooting straight down to rafe’s cock. “fuck..” he wiped the sweat from his brow, not daring to miss a single beat of your ministrations. rafe wondered how someone could look so pretty doing such vulgar things, his hand seemingly having a mind of its own as he started palming himself in a poor attempt to relieve some of the pressure in his core.

he damn near made himself jump out of his chair at his own touch, his sensitivity flying through the roof as the video came to a stop. you were such a tease all the time, rafe felt like his current actions was a result of all the pent up sexual frustration finally rising to the surface, his skin hot and flushed as he unbuttoned his pants and took himself out of his undewears. he’ll feel terrible about this later, but right now he needed release more than anything else. with one hand fisting his cock, and the other clicking through your photos, rafe was a whimpering mess by the time you had walked up his driveway.

slipping your heels off at the door, you paused once you heard what sounded like a muffled whine come from upstairs. arching a brow, you quietly placed your bag down before tiptoeing to rafe’s room. you didn’t know what to expect upon peeking through the crack in the door, but seeing rafe cry out into his palm while cum decorated his stomach definitely wasn’t on the list. you gasped softly once you saw yourself on the laptop in front of him, his chest rising and falling as he sat hunched over at his desk. rafe was tugging one out to your pictures.. the thought alone made your head spin.

debating on whether or not you should interrupt his little moment, you thought about all the stuff rafe did for you without ever expecting anything in return. he was so cute and funny and somehow found a way to tolerate you and all your sassy remarks, it only felt right to express your appreciation. creeping up behind him, rafe spinned in his chair when his phone went off, his mind going completely blank as you stood over him with a glittery smile. “y/n—!” he choked, his eyes widening as his hands shot down to conceal his length. you took a moment to study him, your own arousal seeping through your panties as you took in his disheveled appearance.

unbuttoned shirt, chiseled abs, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose, the flush of pink that dusted over his cheeks.. you needed him bad. taking a step forward, you reached out and ran your fingers through his hair, making sure to tug the ends in order to tease him. “i would’ve never forgotten my laptop here if i had known you’d be jerking off to me..” you said innocently, your acrylic nails raking down his chest before you moved his hands away to reveal his cock. “please forgive me, y/n! i’m not a creep, i promise, i—” you shushed him, muttering a small ‘shut up.’ before ridding yourself of your panties.

rafe blinked, his chest still heaving as you held onto his shoulders for leverage. “no need to be sorry,” you reassured him, swinging a leg over his lap, “i actually think it’s kinda cute.” rafe shuddered once you sat down, your puffy, slick folds enveloping the tip of his cock as he stared up at you, dumbfounded. “you know.. you’re always teaching me things, maybe it’s time i teach you a thing or two, yeah?” rafe swallowed thickly when you shifted your weight, your hips grinding against his own as his palms found their resting place on top of your thighs.

nodding helplessly at your words, you reached down and aligned rafe with your entrance.

“hopefully you do a good job, ray, because you’re getting graded for this one.”

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dollyforever · 6 days ago

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my void success story!!

I'm feeling inspired and I just had a yummy lunch with my brother and the sun is shining so let me tell you about my manifestations and my void state journey from 5 days ago.

so, I made a post about a ritual I made to let go of your old reality, and allow endless manifestations to flow into your life effortlessly. I decided to wait some days to try it myself, because I wanted to feel very sure of my decision. As I said, this ritual is for real. Once you decide you are stepping into a different, new life and version of yourself, life won't be the same as before. Anyway, 5 days later (i miscalculated before sorry) I said, okay, let's do this. and so I did. As I was falling asleep, I meditated, and it was like nothing I've ever felt before. It was like... I don't know. something shifted inside and outside of me. For a split second, I entered the void and I forgot to manifest anything specific, so I just wished for a lucky life. when I was done, and as I fell asleep, I noticed how a massive weight had been released from my body. Like, any possible issues and worries I had before, were gone.

the next morning I woke up and I made coffee and the birds were chirping louder than usual and the house was quieter than usual. no parents screaming, no brother being annoying. and I felt so light, and so peaceful and so immensely happy. It's a feeling I can't put into words. and so, I posted on Tumblr, because I was excited about my new life.

That same day, just one hour later after that post, I found my dream apartment in my dream city where I'll go to study next year. I saw it just 4 minutes after the sweet woman renting it posted it on the apartment app thing. I texted her, and talked to my mom, and to my satisfaction, my parents instantly agreed, since the price was absolutely perfect. the apartment is sooo dreamy and big and it's in such a safe area, and ALL of the things in my manifestation list (I had made a list months before to manifest this apartment) were crossed.

ok, so I was absolutely ECSTATIC because finally, I had found my dream apartment and I said, alright, now let's search for my dream vintage clothes for uni next year. Let me tell you. I found the CUTEST rarest Abercrombie and Hollister pieces for SO CHEAP!!!! And I bought them obviously. and I sold so many clothes I didn't want anymore. I also found my dream discontinued perfume getting sold for a fraction of the original price.

Anyway, since the day was going so well, I decided to call two friends who I'm not super close with to ask them to hang out, and so we did that same afternoon. I don't want to go into detail, but basically I came out of that hang out feeling so incredibly happy and grateful for my new close friends.

Then, I got a message from a boy I met a year ago in the summer saying he was coming to my city in a few days and that we should hang out. And we did!!! It was so nice, we went to different museums and talked about art and literature and painted with watercolors in the old part of the city.

And now, around bit less than a week after this whole thing, my parents surprised me with a MacBook Air (I'm typing from it right now!!!!) my old computer was sooo laggy and horrible, and I was really hoping for a new one, specifically from apple. And they gave them free AirPods for buying it, which my brother kept :).

okay. I seriously did not make this post to brag or anything at all in that matter. I want to tell you that before this, I had been feeling super stuck and unmotivated in my journey. I feel unstoppable now. and I am so excited to manifest even more things and enter the void again. I'm still super interested in shifting (obvi) but life has felt so beautiful, I don't even wish to leave. Though I am excited to enter new realities, of course. That's a story for another day.

love, doll

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

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FROM EDEN | Chapter One (1/8)

Oscar Piastri x Francesca Gold (OFC)

Summary — Francesca Gold is an introvert with a quiet life and a YouTube channel where she talks about books, drinks too much tea, and rarely ever shows her face. She prefers it that way - tucked into her London flat with her cat, Henry, and safely hidden behind a screen.

Oscar Piastri is a Formula 1 driver. Fast-paced, high-stakes, always on the move. He hasn't read a book in years, but he's watched every single one of Francesca's videos. Just for the sound of her voice.

Following her on Instagram was a moment of weakness. He didn't think she'd notice.

She did.

Chapter Warnings - Mentions of agoraphobia + severe social anxiety, depressive episodes + very brief references to skin-picking.

Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY OSCAR 🧡

Sometimes, Francesca felt like her MacBook was an extension of her body.

It came with the territory. She spent six, sometimes eight, hours a day editing. Her management had offered to hire a professional to take over that side of things, but she always declined. She liked the process. It kept her busy. And besides, her audience had come to expect her touch — the specific pacing, the way she layered her clips with the perfect font depending on the theme of the video. No professional could replicate that.

“The team at Penguin emailed last night. They want you to do another collab next month — summer drop. It’s going to be huge,” Katie says, without preamble, the moment Francesca answers the FaceTime. Manager, best friend, chaos in a messy bun.

Francesca blinks, gives herself a second to process, then beams. “Wait, seriously? I mean, I know they had great feedback on the last video, but I just thought…” She trails off, shaking her head and letting out a breathy laugh.

God, it was still hard to believe this was her life. That she’d built this job from scratch — and was actually good at it. Good enough that one of the biggest publishing companies in the world wanted to work with her again, for the second time in less than a year.

“It’s going to be great. I’ll email you the content brief as soon as I have it,” Katie said. She was smiling too, the fine lines around her eyes deepening with joy.

Francesca often thought that was the best part of having a manager who doubled as your best friend — the fact that when something good happened, it wasn’t just her win. It was theirs.

“Pizza at my place to celebrate?” Francesca suggested on a whim, and immediately wished she could take it back. Her spine went rigid, and a glance toward the front door confirmed what she already knew — she wasn’t in the right headspace for company. Not even Katie, who was one of the only guests she’d ever had at her flat. “Uh, I mean…” She felt her face burn with embarrassment as she tried to find a way to rescind her invitation.

“I’m busy tonight,” Katie said breezily, and relief washed over Francesca like a wave. She managed a small smile. “Another night, maybe,” Katie added, her eyes warm and knowing. The softness in her voice made Francesca’s throat tighten.

She was a terrible friend.

“Yeah,” she said softly, and wished — not for the first time — that her brain would just let her be normal.

Just once, it would be nice to exist without wrapping herself in cotton wool, constantly calculating every choice, afraid of pushing too far and tipping into that place she didn’t like to think about. The edge was always there, waiting. And when she fell, it was dark.

“Another time,” she finished, quieter this time.

Katie hummed, then did a dramatic spin in her chair.

Francesca had already figured out she was in her office. It was painted bubblegum pink — hard to mistake for anywhere else.

One day, Francesca would have an office too. She already had a Pinterest board full of inspiration pictures.

For now, her flat was too small — a one-bedroom with just enough space for a two-seater table in the kitchen and a small couch tucked beneath the living room window.

But one day, she'd have more.

The walls would be lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She’d have a big desk, maybe even a chaise lounge to film her videos from — soft lighting, stacks of novels within reach.

Her gaze drifted to the window. Her sixth floor flat overlooked a busy street, which was both comforting and overwhelming. She liked the reminders of life happening outside. But sometimes, the idea of stepping into it — of opening the door and being swallowed by the noise — made her feel physically sick.

“So,” Katie said, her voice deceptively flat. “Read anything good recently?”

It wasn’t funny.

It wasn’t even a little bit funny.

But whatever tension had been lingering between them dissolved in an instant.

One blank look from Francesca was all it took for Katie to double over with laughter — and Francesca followed close behind.

—

Oscar Piastri followed you!

Francesca stared at her Instagram notifications and blinked. She only ever got alerts like that when someone verified followed her, and it always felt a little disconcerting. Being perceived was... weird.

She tapped on his profile picture, waited for the feed to load, then let out a quiet, shocked breath as her eyes widened.

Christ. Almost two million followers.

She read his bio first.

I drive @McLaren F1 cars.

Her brows pulled together.

She knew about Formula One. Her sister — back when they still spoke — had been a hardcore fan. Always waking up at absurd hours on Sundays to watch the races. Francesca had never understood the appeal. She wasn’t ever interested in sports, really.

And if she was remembering right… the cars were bloody loud.

Nonetheless, she let herself scroll through his feed, indulging the curiosity. Why not? He’d followed her first.

Which… she paused, thumb hovering over a video — a clip of him laughing with another guy, shorter, with dark hair, both of them doubled over and grinning wide.

Why had he followed her?

Was he a reader?

She chewed her bottom lip, eyes flicking back to his feed. Nothing about books. Nothing even vaguely literary. Just cars. Fast ones. The kind that had made her cover her ears and wince when her sister had played it on the TV.

Still, she kept scrolling.

There were podium photos, clips from press days, shots of cars mid-race that made her anxious just looking at them. A lot of orange. And still, nothing that explained why he would have any interest in the kind of content she posted.

Before she could stop herself, she opened a new tab and typed his name into Google.

Oscar Piastri F1.

Search.

The first result was his Wikipedia page. She clicked it, scanning quickly.

Twenty-two. Australian. Drove for McLaren. Something about back-to-back Formula 2 and Formula 3 championships. ‘I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.’ Her brain started buffering around "qualifying sessions" and "downforce," so she backed out and clicked Images instead.

Okay. He was… very symmetrical.

She immediately closed the tab, her cheeks flaming red.

And then she opened it again. This time, she searched Oscar Piastri book. Nothing. Oscar Piastri reading. Still nothing. Oscar Piastri favourite books.

No real results. Just an old fan forum thread with a blurry screenshot of him holding what looked like a paperback on a plane. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Could’ve been anything.

‘F3 champion and high school student lmao,’ one of the comments read.

Francesca let herself sink back into the couch. She pulled her knees to her chest, her free hand drifting up to her mouth, picking absently at the skin around her fingernail.

“How did you end up here, Oscar Piastri?” she whispered.

And then immediately felt ridiculous.

It’s not like a follow meant anything.

It could’ve been a slip of the finger. Maybe something his management team did to stir engagement. A glitch. Instagram glitched all the time. That was a known thing.

It really was.

Still curled up on the couch, Francesca tapped back into Instagram and navigated to the official Formula One account. Just to look. Just to see if maybe there was something that explained why a McLaren driver might follow a booktuber with anxiety and a penchant for editing videos until 2am.

There wasn’t.

But there was a countdown at the top of the page.

Qualifying. One hour to go.

Qualifying? What was that? Like… sports pre-game? Car auditions?

She frowned. Then, before she could think twice, she picked up the remote and opened the app store on her TV. A few clicks later, she was signing up for a Sky Sports subscription.

“For research,” she told Henry, who lazily stared at her from his spot on the armrest like he was judging her life choices.

“I’m just… curious, okay?” she added, navigating to the F1 channel.

Henry yawned, unimpressed and unentertained.

Francesca pulled her quilt blanket around her shoulders and settled in, one hand on her mug of tea, the other resting lightly on Henry’s back. The TV buzzed to life with dramatic music and fast edits of cars screaming around tracks.

“Oh, they really are loud,” she muttered.

Still, she didn’t change the channel.

The coverage had barely started before the noise hit her full-force — engines growling, tires screeching, the low thrum of commentary that barely kept up with the chaos on screen.

Francesca grimaced. She didn’t like it. Too loud, too fast, too… much.

Henry flinched at a particularly aggressive rev, then resumed kneading the arm of the sofa like he was above letting it actually concerned him.

Cars whipped around corners at impossible speeds, camera angles switching every few seconds. She couldn’t follow any of it. Couldn’t understand the appeal. It made her anxious, frankly — a blur of noise and danger and people cheering for machines hurtling toward potential disaster.

And then one of them did crash.

Right into the barrier.

Metal crumpled. The commentators’ voices jumped a pitch. The screen showed a flurry of slow-motion replays, sparks flying.

Her hand flew to the remote. She didn’t want to see this. She was about to switch off.

But then, like it had been summoned just for her, a name appeared at the bottom of the screen.

Oscar Piastri — overlayed over the image of a sleek orange car pulling into the pit lane.

She froze, her heart jumping in her throat.

The camera cut to him stepping out of the car. Calm. Focused. Tugging off his helmet to reveal slightly flattened curls and flushed cheeks. The camera lingered for a second too long — or maybe not long enough — before cutting away.

Francesca didn’t move.

She didn’t even blink.

“Oh no,” she whispered, sinking slightly lower into the couch. “Absolutely not.”

Henry purred beside her.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: How’s your evening? Still editing?

Francesca: yep super busy so much to do

Katie: Why are you being weird

Francesca: 😶

Katie: Wait What did you do

Francesca: nothing?? literally nothing.

Katie: Francesca.

Francesca: okay fine i may have accidentally subscribed to sky sports

Katie: YOU WHAT

Francesca: DON’T it was just for a second. i wanted to see what “qualifying” meant.

Katie: Omg Omg Did you watch it? YOU WATCHED IT DIDN’T YOU

Francesca: it was research.

Katie: Research for what???

Francesca: i think i might want get my drivers liscence soon.

Katie: HAHA BULLSHIT definitely not because a certain driver literally just followed you on instagram or anything

Francesca: shut up maybe

Katie: Fran.

Francesca: i didn’t like it i almost turned it off. but then his name came up and i just… idk. i kept watching.

Katie: Omg my baby has a crush

Francesca: shut up no ew

Katie: Right Why did you google “Oscar Piastri favourite book” at 8:07pm

Francesca: STOP STALKING MY BROWSER HISTORY GET UR OWN GOOGLE ACCOUNT

Katie: Nah

—

The Sky Sports app was still open on her TV.

Francesca hadn’t meant to leave it there. It just... stayed. Like the universe was silently daring her to press play again.

She’d lost herself to editing again — that blissful, numbing kind where hours passed unnoticed, her fingers tapping out precise cuts, adjusting audio, overlaying soft transitions like muscle memory. The world outside her screen had faded away, quiet and far off.

But now… now her video was exported, her desk light dim, the flat heavy with stillness.

And she couldn’t resist.

She clicked on Post-Qualifying Interviews, telling herself it was just to see what the drivers sounded like. That was all. She was just curious. Nothing more.

She turned the volume down to a whisper.

Henry flicked his tail in visible disapproval.

“I’m not proud of this either,” she whispered, settling into the couch like she was committing a crime. The blanket came up to her chin. The remote was gripped in her hand.

The first few drivers were all very… race-driver-y. Confident. Loud. Slightly sweaty. Lots of hand gestures and scathing words for their own performances.

And then Oscar appeared.

The interviewer asked him something technical — tires, or grip, or some other concept that meant absolutely nothing to her — and he responded with this measured, thoughtful calm. No bravado. No shouting. Just… collected.

Francesca tilted her head, studying the way his brow creased slightly as he answered, like he really cared about getting it right. The way he smiled softly at the end of his sentence, almost to himself, like a punctuation mark no one else noticed.

She didn’t even realise she was smiling too until Henry let out a judgmental meow.

“I said I’m not proud,” she muttered, hastily backing out of the video.

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening.

She tossed the remote aside and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my God,” she mumbled into her palms. “I need to go to bed. I need to stop acting like an actual crazy person.”

Henry pawed at her ankle, unimpressed.

She was going to delete the Sky Sports app first thing in the morning.

Right after she watched one more video.

Maybe two.

—

Francesca watched the Grand Prix the next day.

She made tea. She stayed in her pyjamas. She sat through the whole thing, even when it dragged and even when the commentators said things she didn’t understand. It wasn’t thrilling. It wasn’t magical. It just… was.

Oscar finished somewhere in the middle.

She turned the TV off, went to take a shower, and moved on with her life.

There were deadlines to meet. Emails to respond to. A pile of unread books that had started to stare at her like she’d betrayed them. Her expensive Sky Sports subscription went untouched the rest of the week.

But then Tuesday came.

And Tuesday was awful.

There was no real reason. No one thing she could point to and say that’s what broke me. It just felt like everything was a little too loud, her own skin too heavy. Like gravity had turned up a notch and was dragging her down with it.

She didn’t get out of bed.

Didn’t open her laptop.

Didn’t answer Katie’s texts — not even the one with a cat meme she would normally have replied to in all-caps.

Henry crawled into her lap around midday and stayed there, curled against her like a warm, quiet anchor. She lay still, wrapped in blankets, blinking up at the ceiling like it might give her answers.

Nothing did.

It was the kind of day where time slowed and thoughts didn’t. Where brushing her teeth felt like running a marathon. Where everything felt stuck.

She picked up her phone out of habit, already ready to put it back down again.

But then — the notification.

@oscarpiastri liked your post. Her latest one. A photo dump from less than two hours ago — mostly books, a coffee mug, her hand in the sunlight.

Her heart stuttered.

Not in a dramatic, fireworks-going-off kind of way. Just a small, stunned skip.

She stared at the notification like it might vanish.

Henry shifted slightly in her lap. She didn’t move.

It was such a small thing.

A double-tap.

A gesture.

But in the middle of a day where just existing felt impossible, someone — he — had seen her.

Even if it didn’t mean anything.

Even if it was random.

Even if he probably liked a hundred photos that day.

She let out a long, shaky breath and rested her phone on her chest, her hand curled loosely around it.

"Okay," she whispered to no one.

Maybe she could get up later.

Not now. But maybe later.

—

The MTC was buzzing, even though it was only a Tuesday. Debrief done. Media duties had been wrapped earlier in the morning. Everything had settled into that post-Grand Prix lull where everyone finally took a breath until the next weekend came around.

Oscar leaned back against the side of a worktable, scrolling idly through Instagram. Nothing serious. Just background noise.

Until he saw that she’d posted.

Francesca Gold.

He hadn’t meant to follow her, not really. It had been a 2am spiral the night before quali day — his sister had sent him a TikTok of somebody talking about a F1 themed romance novel, which had ultimately led him to her channel, which led to hours watching her recommend fantasy novels with painfully sincere enthusiasm.

It was just a photo dump. Books. Sunlight. Her cat, maybe — very ginger and grumpy looking. He didn’t overthink it.

He double-tapped the photo, thumb pausing just slightly over the screen.

She rarely posted pictures of her full-face. Never showed it in any of her videos. But he knew that she was pretty. Gorgeous, even.

A grin tugged at his mouth before he could stop it.

“What’s that face?”

Oscar glanced up.

Lando was standing a few feet away, arms crossed, looking far too smug for someone who had just received a stern telling-off for his comments to the press after his bang-average race performance.

Oscar blanched. “What face?”

“The one I just saw.” Lando pointed. “The ‘I’ve got a secret’ smile. You were two seconds away from giggling.”

“I don’t giggle.” He argued.

“Mate.” Lando deadpanned. “Come on. Spill.”

Oscar locked the screen and slipped the phone into his pocket, casual. “It’s nothing.”

Lando raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Nothing’s usually something.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando stepped closer, all mock seriousness now. “Is it a girl?”

Oscar gave him a long, slow look. “You’re very nosy.”

“That’s not a no.”

He looked away without meaning to.

“Oh my God, it is a girl. Who is she? Wait—” He snapped his fingers. “I saw something on twitter about you following some… I don’t know what they call them. She reads books.” He said.

Oscar exhaled through his nose, resigned. “She posted on Instagram. I liked it. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm. And now you’re smiling like a man with secrets.”

Oscar didn’t answer, just tugged the zipper of his hoodie down a little and pushed off the table.

“You’re going to message her, aren’t you?” Lando called after him, voice teasing.

“I’m going to find food,” Oscar said over his shoulder. “Stop projecting, Norris.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He ignored it until he’d found a quiet, empty spot to sit.

And then he opened her page again. Let himself look properly this time. The soft light coming from the window. The cat. The books. The half-face showing in the last photo; all dark hair and hazel eyes.

He smiled again.

And this time, no one saw.

—

iMessage – Francesca & Katie

Katie: Hey. Please stay away from Twitter for a bit

Francesca: uh oh why what happened have i been cancelled for not liking the new sjm book? lol

Katie: Nothing major. Just… people noticed something. Some tweets about you and oscar 🤦‍♀️ They’re being annoying. That’s all.

Francesca: … there literally is no ‘me and oscar’ katie. what kind of annoying?

Katie: The “who even is she” kind And the “typical influencer girl” stuff Ignore them. They’re bored and jealous.

Francesca: typical influencer girl. oh my god i’m going to dissolve into the floor now don’t mind me. just fully evaporating

Katie: You are literally FINE You didn’t do anything. He followed you. He liked your post.

FRANCESCA i didn’t even follow him back 😭😭😭 would that make it worse? i might just do it

KATIE Lmao. You don’t have to do anything. Your account, your space, your joy. You’re allowed to post a picture of your cat, ffs

Francesca: henry is a public figure.

Katie: LMAO Okay yeah that’s true

Francesca: god i hate being perceived. i feel gross. like i did something wrong.

Katie: You didn’t. I promise. People will forget about this in like 48 hours. Faster if you don’t engage. Also: do not google yourself. Do not check the quote tweets. Seriously. Step away. People are being disgusting. Talking about your mental health.

Francesca: oh my god they hit the pentagon

Katie: STOP. You’re ridiculous. Don’t make me laugh right now. I’m angry. Go cuddle the public figure Tomorrow, we pretend that this never happened.

Francesca: … okay. but if i die of embarrassment, pls delete my browser history

Katie: Of course.

—

It had been two weeks since she’d worked up the courage to leave her flat.

In that time, she’d dived head-first into the history of Formula One.

She’d developed an emotional attachment to Nico Rosberg.

And every time she saw Oscar’s face or heard his voice, her stomach did this weird little twist she tried very hard to ignore.

She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to follow him back.

Twitter had moved on after a few days. The comments had been vicious — picking apart the parts of her mental health issues that she’d made public, calling her a terrible match for the Australian driver (capital letters, like that somehow made it worse). It was mean, sure, but also probably laced with some truth.

It was laughable. She knew what a WAG was now. And she could literally never.

Cameras, fashion critiques, every movement scrutinised. There was a reason she didn’t plaster her face all over the internet. Sure, most people had pieced together what she looked like by now — it wasn’t some big scandelous secret — but she could still walk through London relatively unnoticed, on the very rare occasion that she did.

And that was how she liked it.

—

Oscar made it onto the podium in Japan.

Francesca had watched the race live, heart hammering against her ribs like it was her out there driving. Henry had abandoned her half an hour in — bored or annoyed or both — but she’d stayed curled up on the couch, eyes fixed on the screen, half-hidden behind her quilt.

When he crossed the line in third, she let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-overwhelmed-sob.

She was proud of him. Which was ridiculous, really. She didn’t know him. He was nobody to her. But still — she'd watched, taught herself the rules, learned the names of the tracks, made a list of all of the weird acronyms, and somewhere between doing all of those things, she’d started cheering for him like it mattered.

She opened the Instagram app before she could talk herself out of it.

Went to his profile.

Paused.

Her thumb hovered over the message icon, heart beating too fast, palms clammy.

What would she even say?

Well done? I was cheering for you from my couch.

No. God, no.

He had millions of followers. He probably got hundreds of thousands of messages. Messages from people he actually knew. From people who weren’t... whatever she was.

She hadn’t followed him back. That felt important. It made her invisible. Safe. Unknown.

And still, the urge to say something curled up inside her, warm and nervous. She wanted him to know. Just a little. That she’d seen it. That she was proud of him.

Her thumbs started to type, slowly, hesitantly:

Congratulations. You were incredible today. I’ve been cheering for you.

She stared at the words.

Then deleted the message.

Then retyped it.

Eventually, she shook her head, hastily swiped out of the Instagram app, locked her phone and let it slide to the other end of the couch.

She buried her face in Henry’s fur, blinking fast.

Maybe next time.

—

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