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mrsfancyferrari · 3 months ago

Text

A Lover's Touch

Summary: In a world of where soulmates can be found easily, Charles was struggling a lot to find his one. PT 1

Song: After Hours · The Weeknd

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Part 2 - Part 3

Word count: 12.9k

MASTERLIST - F1

Charles sighed, another wave of that dull, persistent ache washing over him. It was the kind of feeling you attributed to a long day, an early morning, anything but the truth: a hollow space where his soulmate should be.

In this world, finding your soulmate was practically a given. A man simply had to pay attention to the pervasive sense of well-being that blossomed the closer he got, like basking in the sun after a long winter. Women, on the other hand, experienced the opposite. A gnawing anxiety, a yearning that intensified with proximity, only to be extinguished by the kiss that confirmed the connection.

Charles had always envied the ease with which others navigated this aspect of life. He'd seen friends practically vibrate with happiness as they zeroed in on their matches, their faces glowing with a newfound understanding.

He’d witnessed public displays of affection, the relief on the woman’s face palpable as the kiss settled the tremor in her soul. But for Charles, nothing. Just the ever-present, low-grade ache.

He was currently seeing Alexandra, a vibrant artist with paint-stained fingers and a laugh that could fill a room. He liked her. A lot. They shared a passion for old movies, bad puns, and late-night talks fueled by cheap wine.

But there was no soul-deep connection, no magnetic pull, no burgeoning sense of peace. And, crucially, no agonizing need emanating from Alexandra.

They had been upfront with each other from the beginning. A pragmatic agreement born from a realistic understanding of their world.

“If one of us finds their soulmate,” Alexandra had said, swirling the wine in her glass, “we break up. No hard feelings. Friends, maybe? If that’s not too weird?”

Charles had agreed, the thought of losing her already a small pang in his chest. The potential for a real connection, even if not the connection, felt too valuable to pass up.

He was at Alexandra's apartment now, ostensibly to help her hang a new series of paintings. The walls were already a riot of color, abstract swirls and bold strokes that somehow managed to create a sense of harmony.

She was humming softly as she fiddled with a level, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Looking at her, bathed in the afternoon light streaming through the window, Charles felt a surge of affection. He appreciated her easy smile, her quirky sense of humor, the way she always seemed to see the best in him.

But still, the ache persisted. Proof, if he needed it, that she wasn’t the one.

He handed her a hammer. "So," he said, trying to sound casual, "how are you feeling? Any, you know… existential dread?"

Alexandra snorted, a smudge of paint adorning her cheek. "Existential dread is kind of my default setting, Charles. So, no. Nothing specific." She hammered a nail into the wall with practiced ease.

He felt a pang of guilt. He was testing her, probing for signs, hoping against hope that maybe, just maybe… But he knew it was futile.

Over the next few weeks, Charles found himself increasingly preoccupied with the idea of soulmates. He started paying closer attention to the people around him, subtly observing couples, searching for that telltale glow of contentment on the men's faces, the relieved serenity settling on the women's.

He noticed that happy couples were everywhere.

Everyone had found their soulmate somehow, except him. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Charles clenched his jaw, the familiar sting of frustration pricking at his temples. "Carlos, you better stop asking that question," he warned, his voice tight. He hated this. Hated the constant reminder of his perceived failure.

Charles grimaced, shoving a forkful of carbonara around his plate. "Carlos, you know the answer to that. Lay off, will you?"

Carlos just grinned, a smug, infuriatingly happy expression plastered across his face. "Just checking in, mate. You've been at this for years. How many 'almosts' are we up to now? Thirty? Forty?"

He gestured across the Ferrari cafeteria with his fork towards Rebecca, his soulmate, who was engrossed in a conversation with a mechanic.

They looked sickeningly content.

Charles felt a familiar pang of envy. In this world, finding your soulmate was supposed to be easy. A biological compass, really. For men, the joy, the sheer rightness of being near your soulmate was unmistakable, a balm to the soul.

The further away they were, the heavier the weight of longing became.

It was a system that supposedly guaranteed happiness. Supposedly.

He hadn't felt that blissful uplift even once. He'd chased fleeting moments of "almost" – a slight lift in mood, a subtle easing of his constant, low-level yearning – only to be disappointed.

A waitress at a local trattoria, a tourist sketching the Duomo, a woman he’d helped carry groceries – all dead ends.

"It's not exactly something you can force, Carlos," Charles sighed, pushing his plate away, the carbonara suddenly tasting like ashes. "It'll happen when it happens."

Before Carlos could launch into another unsolicited pep talk, the cafeteria doors swung open, letting in a gust of warm air and a whirlwind of nervous energy.

A woman stood there, slightly breathless, your cheeks flushed with a nervous energy that radiated across the room. You were… striking.

Charles immediately felt… lighter. The persistent, low-level hum of anxiety that usually buzzed beneath his skin seemed to quieten.

He felt a sense of ease he hadn't experienced in years.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," you said, your voice laced with a genuine apology. "Traffic was a nightmare. I'm… I'm the new social media manager."

You swiped a hand across your forehead, a gesture that only amplified Charles's initial assessment: you were flustered, stressed, but undeniably composed.

For Charles, the world seemed to narrow to just you. The slight tremor in your voice, the way you clutched your bag, the subtle shift in your posture as you addressed the room – it was all acutely, intensely noticeable.

He felt a strange, almost protective urge to reassure you.

But he didn't say anything. Maybe it wasn't you. Maybe it was just a coincidence, a fleeting surge of positive energy unconnected to anything real.

He looked around the room, searching for any sign that anyone else was experiencing a similar shift. Carlos was grinning like an idiot, but that was just Carlos being Carlos.

No one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Well, welcome!” Carlos boomed, his voice cutting through Charles's internal debate. “I’m Carlos, and this brooding gentleman over here is Charles.”

You turned your attention to Charles, and your eyes met his. He felt a jolt, a small electric shock that ran right through him. Your eyes were captivating, filled with a weariness that tugged at something inside him.

He forced himself to maintain eye contact, searching, hoping for any sign, any flicker of recognition on your face that mirrored the growing certainty within him.

But all he saw was polite curiosity.

"Nice to meet you both," you said, offering a tentative smile. "I'm… Y/N."

"Welcome to the team, Y/N," Carlos said, his smile widening. "We're happy to have you."

You took a seat at the desk opposite Charles, and as you settled in, arranging your papers and fiddling with your laptop, he continued to observe you. The feeling of well-being hadn't dissipated.

If anything, it had intensified. It was like a low, comforting buzz that resonated throughout his entire being.

He stole glances at you throughout the morning, carefully monitoring his own reactions. He felt energized, focused, almost… happy.

This was it. This had to be it.

He'd heard stories, of course, of the almost instantaneous connection, the overwhelming sense of rightness. But he'd dismissed them as romantic exaggerations.

He was a Formula 1 driver, not a fairytale prince.

Yet, here you were.

"So," you began, clearing your throat, trying to ignore the uncomfortable prickling sensation building behind your eyes. It was a familiar feeling, one that always intensified around... well, around the right person. "Let's talk strategy. We need to ramp up engagement, create compelling content, and showcase the human side of the team."

Carlos, ever the professional, jumped right in. "I was thinking we could do more behind-the-scenes videos. Show the fans what a day in the life of a driver is really like."

"Excellent idea, Carlos," you said, scribbling down notes. "We can also highlight your training regimes, your collaborations with engineers, and your interactions with the team."

You turned to Charles, expecting him to contribute. But he just sat there, staring at you, a strange, almost dazed, expression on his face. The comfortable buzz he felt was almost intoxicating, making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

"Charles?" you prompted, the prickling behind your eyes intensifying. You felt a slight pressure building in your temples, a familiar ache that threatened to blossom into a full-blown headache.

"Uh... yes," he stammered, snapping back to reality. "Sorry. I was just... thinking."

You forced a smile, the muscles in your face strained. You needed to get through this meeting. “Thinking about what it's like to be Charles Leclerc?" you asked, trying to keep your voice light and conversational, masking the desperation clawing at your throat.

"Yeah! I think it would be a good idea for the fans, you know? A day in the life, that kind of thing," he commented, radiating an enthusiasm that only amplified your suffering. "You think it would work?"

"Definitely," you managed, the word feeling like a shard of glass caught in your throat. "It's all about connecting with the fans, showing them the human side of the drivers. We could film you training, doing media obligations, even grabbing a coffee." You rattled off the ideas, desperate to keep the conversation flowing.

You continued outlining the PR activities planned for the season, the endless interviews, sponsor events, and social media appearances.

Your voice was steady, your demeanor professional, but inside, you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. The other members of the Ferrari PR team, seasoned professionals, seemed oblivious to your internal struggle.

"So," you said, finally reaching the end of your presentation, the word "finally" wanting to burst out of you. "That's the general overview. We can discuss specific schedules and logistics later."

Charles and Carlos shook their heads.

"Okay, great," you said, gathering your notes. "Then, Charles, which time are you free?" you asked, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably.

You were feeling faint, the edges of your vision blurring. "For the 'Day in the Life' video, I mean."

Charles was distracted, fiddling with the Ferrari cap in his hands. "Um, I'm free next Tuesday, I think?" he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Good," you said, pushing through the fog in your brain. "I'll come over with a cameraman to record the day in your life, is that okay?"

"Sure," he grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.

You managed a weak smile in return before gathering your things and making a hasty retreat from the hospitality room. The air outside felt marginally better, but the pounding in your head refused to subside.

You had a brief meeting with the other social media managers and editors, running through the ideas you'd presented to the drivers and outlining the content calendar for the next few weeks.

You felt like an imposter, trying to project an image of competence and enthusiasm while battling a pain that threatened to overwhelm you.

It was a dull, persistent ache, a hollow pit in your stomach that resonated with an inexplicable longing. It was the Soulmate Sickness, as your grandmother used to call it, with a dramatic sigh and a knowing look. Every woman in the world knew what that meant: your soulmate was nearby.

The closer they were, the more intensely you felt the ache. It was a cruel irony of fate: men felt blissful contentment when near their soulmate, a sense of completeness and belonging; for women, it was an agonizing reminder of the connection, a pull toward someone they wouldn't truly be at peace with until that kiss.

You knew the stories. Women driven mad by the constant ache, unable to function, their lives consumed by the desperate need to find, and then kiss, their soulmate.

And now, here you were, feeling the first tendrils of that very despair wrap around your heart on your first day at your dream job.

Lunch was a torturous affair. The Ferrari hospitality room was a vibrant, bustling place, teeming with engineers, mechanics, team managers, even the drivers themselves. Every single person felt like a potential source of your pain.

You picked at your pasta, forcing down each bite as the ache amplified, a constant, throbbing reminder of the unknown man who was probably enjoying the greatest day of his life.

You told yourself it was just nerves from the new job. The pressure of living up to expectations. But deep down, you knew the truth. This wasn’t just butterflies. This was something far more profound, far more insistent.

You were close to him. Very close. Whoever he is.

You leaned back in the seat, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths, trying to regain control. The ache lessened, but it was still there, a dull background hum that buzzed beneath your skin.

You must have found your soulmate, you thought, the idea settling in your stomach like a lead weight.

here was no other explanation for it. And that terrified you.

It could literally be anyone in the Ferrari hospitality room. An engineer with grease under his nails, a stern-faced strategist, a camera-shy photographer, or even… Don’t even go there.

You didn’t need this right now. You were just starting your first day at your dream job. A job you’d worked years for, poured your heart and soul into. You couldn't let some primal, biological imperative derail your career before it even began.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, starting the engine. “Okay. You can do this. You’re strong. You’re capable. You’re going to ignore this feeling. You’re going to focus on your work. You’re not going to let some random guy you haven’t even met ruin everything.”

Easier said than done, of course. . . . .

Charles felt it the moment you walked out the glass doors of the Ferrari factory. A dull ache, a low thrum of dissatisfaction that had been a background noise in his life, suddenly amplified, blossomed into a full-blown longing.

It was a feeling he instantly recognized, a feeling every man in their world was intimately familiar with.

The closer you were to your soulmate, the better you felt. The farther, the worse.

And this… this was the worst he’d ever felt.

He’d only met you a few hours ago.

He'd found you intelligent, quick-witted, and surprisingly unfazed by his fame. He hadn’t thought much beyond that. Hadn’t needed to. He'd always assumed his soulmate would be… obvious.

A grand, sweeping feeling, not a dull ache that exploded into unbearable yearning the second you left his sight.

Now, driving home through the winding streets of Italy, all he could think about was you. Your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the intelligent questions you'd peppered him with.

The longing intensified with every mile he put between them. The confirmation was undeniable.

He practically threw open the door to his apartment, the silence amplifying the hollow feeling in his chest. He needed to figure this out. He needed to figure out you.

He spent the bulk of the next few hours running through other possibilities, but it all kept centering on you. He felt an energy and inspiration around her that he didn't feel with anyone else. As his thoughts grew chaotic, he realized he needed to talk to someone.

Someone who knew him, who understood him, and who wouldn’t dismiss this as some fleeting infatuation. He needed to talk to his mother.

He grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found her name. He took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

“Hi, maman,” he said, when she answered, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Charles! Mon chéri, how are you? It’s been too long.” Her voice was warm and full of genuine affection.

“I’m good, maman, busy, as always. But I wanted to ask you something. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated? Is this about a girl other than Alexandra, Charles?” There was a knowing amusement in her voice.

He hesitated. “Maybe,” he admitted. “Look, you know about soulmates, right? About the feeling men get when they’re close to theirs?”

“Of course, I know. Why? Have you… found the one?” Her voice was laced with anticipation.

“I think so. But it’s… intense. I barely know her, but the feeling is overwhelming. It's all I'm constantly thinking about. Have I ever mentioned her? Her name is Y/N, she's new to the social media team.” He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

There was a pause. “Someone from your work, Charles? How long has she been working there?”

“I think today was here first time. And no, I've never mentioned her to you. I didn't think anything of it before."

"And you're sure? You truly feel the ache and longing? It is not just a passing infatuation?"

"Maman, I'm sure. I can barely function."

His mother sighed softly. "I see. Well, mon chéri, I don't know her either so I won't know much. This is uncharted territory for me. But you know the rules. You know what women experience with their soulmates."

Charles groaned. "Don't remind me. The poor girls--having to deal with the pain until they get rid of it with a kiss? And if she is my soulmate and I'm just making assumptions, I'll look like a complete idiot."

"That is a risk you will have to take, mon chéri. But if it is truly meant to be, it will all work out. Perhaps you should take a chance? Is she single? And do you even know if she's interested?"

Those were good questions that Charles didn't know the answer to. "I haven't got a clue."

"Then you must find out, Charles. Do not let fear hold you back. This could be the most important thing you ever do."

He knew she was right. He couldn’t ignore this, couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. He had to find out if you felt it too. He had to know if he was right.

"Okay, maman," he said, a newfound determination entering his voice. "I'll do it. I'll talk to her. I'll find out."

"That's my boy," she said, her voice full of pride. "I have faith in you, Charles. Now tell me more about this (Y/N)..."

They talked for another hour, his mother peppering him with questions about you, your personality, your work ethic, your smile.

He described you as best he could, trying to convey the spark he felt whenever you were near.

The sterile white of the break room seemed to press in on you, mirroring the suffocating feeling in your chest. You clutched your phone, the cool plastic a small comfort against your trembling hand.

"Dad, I think I found my soulmate," you whispered into the receiver, the words heavy with a sadness that threatened to consume you.

"Really, baby? Why do you sound sad then? Do you not like them?" His voice, warm and familiar, crackled through the speaker, a stark contrast to the icy fear gripping your heart.

"I don't even know who they are," you muttered, staring blankly at the faded motivational poster on the wall. “I was just working, it was my first day, and I just… felt it. This horrible, gnawing ache. It’s constant, Dad. Like a phantom limb screaming for connection. I’m terrified."

A pause stretched between you, thick with unspoken memories. "Is it because of what happened to Mum?" he finally asked, his voice laced with a cautious tenderness.

"Yeah," you managed, the single syllable choked with emotion. The ache in your chest intensified, a physical manifestation of the dread that had been your constant companion since your mother-

"Look, sweetheart," your dad continued, pulling you back from the abyss of memory, "I know this is hard. But you can't let what happened to Mum. This is your soulmate. Maybe… maybe things will be different. You owe it to yourself to find out."

You knew he was right, logically. But the knot of fear in your stomach refused to loosen. "I don't know, Dad. What if… what if it's like what happened to Mum? What if it makes me miserable?"

"Then you walk away. You're strong, Y/N. You're smart. You can handle anything life throws at you. Just… don't let fear paralyze you."

His words, as always, offered a sliver of hope. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "Okay," you said, the word barely audible. "Okay, I'll… I'll try."

"That's my girl. Now, tell me about this job. How was your first day?" He deftly steered the conversation away from the soulmate dilemma, a tactic you were grateful for.

You spent the next few minutes recounting the whirlwind of activity that defined your first day as a social media manager for Scuderia Ferrari.

You’d always been passionate about racing, and landing this job was a dream come true. The adrenaline-fueled atmosphere of the paddock, the roar of the engines, the sheer dedication of the team – it was intoxicating.

Your responsibilities included managing their social media presence, creating engaging content, and interacting with fans. It was a demanding role, but one you were eager to excel at.

As you spoke, you deliberately pushed the unsettling ache to the back of your mind. You focused on the thrill of the job, on the excitement of being a part of something so iconic.

“It was insane, Dad. Honestly, I felt like I was dropped into a beehive. But everyone was so welcoming. And the cars… they're even more beautiful in person."

By the time you hung up, the edge of panic had dulled. The ache was still there, a constant reminder, but you felt a renewed sense of resolve. You would face this, whatever it was.

You wouldn't let fear control you. . . .

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The heat of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit presses against you, even in the relative cool of the Ferrari garage. You lift your camera, framing Carlos as he adjusts his racing gloves.

“Looking good, Carlos! Give us a little intensity for the fans.” He throws you a practiced, smoldering glare. Perfect.

Your job is straightforward: capture the behind-the-scenes energy, the pre-race jitters, the quiet moments of focus before the storm.

You’re Ferrari’s social media manager, tasked with humanizing the drivers, making them relatable, building that connection with the tifosi. You love it, most days.

You pan the camera towards Charles' side of the garage. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, stretching his neck, a tiny, nervous habit you've noticed over watching him on the TV. “Charles, a word for the fans? Pre-race thoughts?”

He stops, turns, and that devastatingly charming smile flashes across his face. “Just focused, ready to give it my all for the team. Forza Ferrari!” He winks at the camera, and your stomach does a little flip. Annoying.

You’ve felt it more and more often lately, especially around Charles. That…ache. A dull, persistent anxiety that settles in your chest, a yearning that tugs at the edges of your awareness.

And it's happening with Charles Leclerc.

You lower the camera, forcing a professional smile. “Thanks, Charles. Good luck out there.”

“See you after the race,” he says, the words laced with a casual warmth that sends a shiver down your spine.

He gives you a fleeting glance, something almost…knowing in his eyes, before turning and heading towards his car, disappearing into the controlled chaos of the pit lane.

You flush, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. This can’t be happening. You know Charles has a girlfriend. You’ve seen the pictures splashed across the internet, the Instagram stories.

It's a glamorous, very public relationship. And the rules are clear, etched into the very fabric of your society: your soulmate is someone available, someone unencumbered.

You can't steal someone else's. It's just not done.

The starting grid is announced over the loudspeakers, and the garage erupts in a flurry of activity. You busy yourself with filming the mechanics' final checks, the engineers hunched over telemetry screens, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest.

You’ve always taken the soulmate phenomenon for granted. It’s just a fact of life. Everyone experiences it, this biological imperative designed to ensure connection, stability, the continuation of society.

You’ve felt the faintest twinges before, in passing, around men you’ve met briefly. Dismissible, almost forgettable. But this…this is different. This is a constant, throbbing ache that threatens to consume you, particularly around Charles.

You meticulously avoid thinking about it, focusing instead on your work. You rule out the possibility entirely.

Charles is taken. End of story.

You even make a mental list of all the other eligible men in the paddock, mechanics, engineers, even other drivers – anyone but Charles.

The race begins, a blur of roaring engines and screeching tires. The giant screens in the garage display every angle, every overtake, every heart-stopping moment. You film the reactions of the team, the collective held breath as Charles and Carlos battle for position.

The final laps are agonizing. Charles is leading, but Max is closing in. The tension in the garage is palpable. You find yourself gripping your camera so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Then, it happens. Charles crosses the finish line. Victory.

The garage explodes in cheers, shouts, and high-fives. You film it all, the raw, unadulterated joy of the team, the shared sense of accomplishment. The crowd is ecstatic.

Charles, still helmeted and dripping with sweat, is guided into parc fermé. You film him climbing out of the car, pumping his fist in the air, soaking in the adulation. He looks…triumphant. Magnificent.

You jostled for position, aiming your camera, capturing his big smile as he hugged his race engineer and the rest of the team. He moved with an exhilarating energy, a palpable buzz of adrenaline that rippled outwards.

He was a magnet, and you found yourself drawn closer, your professional detachment wavering.

And then, he saw you.

His smile widened, somehow becoming even brighter. Before you could think, could prepare, he was striding towards you, his arms outstretched. The awareness hit you like a physical blow.

The gnawing anxiety, the sharp, almost unbearable yearning that had been quietly simmering beneath the surface for weeks, now flared into an inferno.

The closer you were to your match, the more intense the yearning became. And right now, the intensity was almost unbearable.

He pulled you into a tight hug. Your phone, trapped between the two of you, emitted a muffled squeak as it was squished against his chest.

His smell, a heady mix of sweat, gasoline, and something uniquely Charles, filled your senses. It was intoxicating, addicting.

He was feeling it too. The way he squeezed you, the pure, unadulterated joy radiating off him in waves. He was basking, thriving, feeling the best he'd ever felt.

It was confirmation. Undeniable, irrefutable confirmation.

He was your soulmate. But how was that possible? He already had a girlfriend.

Your head swam. The crowd roared, but it sounded distant, muffled. The ache intensified, threatening to overwhelm you. You felt like you were going to faint.

He let go, and your legs momentarily forgot their job. You stumbled, your balance completely gone.

Charles reacted instantly. He reached out, his hand gripping your arm, effectively blocking you from the view of the nearest camera. His grip was firm, supportive. He pulled you closer, shielding you from the prying eyes.

"Sorry," you mumbled, finding your footing. Your voice was shaky. You needed to get out of here, to process this, to… to breathe. The feeling was too much.

He searched your face, his brow furrowed with concern. "Are you alright? You went a bit pale there."

You plastered on your most professional smile, even though your insides were screaming. "Just a bit overwhelmed. It's… it's a big win."

He didn't seem entirely convinced, but he let it go. "You were filming everything?"

You nodded, holding up your phone. "Got some great shots. The team's going to love it." You forced yourself to meet his gaze, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. "Congratulations, Charles. You deserved this."

His smile returned, genuine and warm. It sent another jolt through you, tightening the knot in your stomach. "Thank you. And thank you for everything. You do an amazing job."

"It's my job," you said, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

"Exactly," he said, his eyes twinkling. "And you're very good at it."

He turned back to the crowd, basking in the cheers, signing autographs, and accepting congratulations. You took the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed, swallowed by the throng of red-clad fans.

You needed to escape.

You found refuge in the relative quiet of the Ferrari hospitality suite. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the murmur of conversation were a welcome change from the sensory overload of the garage.

You found a quiet corner and sank into a plush armchair, your phone still clutched in your hand.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. This was a disaster. A beautiful, glorious, terrifying disaster.

Your mind raced. What did this mean? What were you supposed to do? Did you tell him? Did you pretend you didn't know? How could you possibly continue to work alongside him, to maintain even a semblance of professionalism, with this knowledge hanging between you?

Your phone buzzed. It was a text from your boss.

"Amazing content! The fans are going wild! Get some shots of the podium ceremony and then meet me in the strategy room. We need to plan the social media blitz for the next 24 hours."

Right. Back to reality. Back to work.

You took another deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. You could deal with this. You had to.

You grabbed your phone and headed back into the fray.

The podium ceremony was a whirlwind of confetti, champagne, and roaring cheers. You filmed it all, capturing Charles's triumphant grin as he hoisted the trophy high above his head.

You interviewed team members, capturing their jubilant reactions. You worked on autopilot, pushing down the anxiety, ignoring the ache.

Later, in the strategy room, you sat around a large table with your boss and several other team members, brainstorming ideas for social media posts, videos, and live streams. You contributed your suggestions, focusing on data, engagement, and trend analysis.

You were a machine, efficient and effective.

You glanced at your phone. A notification from Instagram. Charles had posted a photo of himself on the podium, holding the trophy. The caption read: "Forza Ferrari! Grazie Mille!"

You quickly liked the post. You had to. It was your job.

As you worked late into the night, crafting social media posts and scheduling content, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life had irrevocably changed.

You were no longer just a social media manager. You were… something more.

“Dad, I think I’m broken,” you mutter into your phone, voice barely above a whisper.

“Why is that, baby?” your father replies, his tone tinged with concern and curiosity, a familiar warmth that reassures you even now.

You sit up, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “I think Charles Leclerc is my soulmate,” you explain, your heart thudding heavily in your chest, “but he already has a girlfriend.”

“So?” he asks, as if trying to sift through the fog of your anguish.

“What do you mean, 'so?' He already loves someone else,” your voice rises slightly, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“You’ve dated other people who weren’t your soulmate, didn’t you?”

“Well…” You fall silent, realizing he has a point, but it’s not just about dating. You’ve been aware of the perfect connection that exists out there—an electrifying touch that ignites the air around you as you near your true soulmate, a sensation that you’ve yet to experience despite countless suitors.

“But this feels different, Dad,” you finally manage to articulate, your voice cracking. “I’ve felt it—this allure, this pull whenever I'm near him. It’s like I’m supposed to be drawn in, but I can’t get close enough. And now he’s with someone else.”

Your father exhales softly, and for a moment, you think he's contemplating your plight. “Sweetheart, sometimes soulmates have their own timing. Life isn’t always a clear path. It can twist and turn in ways that feel frustrating.”

You groan, flopping back down onto your bed, the familiar nagging feeling in your chest intensifying. “But it’s not fair. I don’t want to wait. What if he’s never free?”

You hear him sigh. “You’ll find your way, darling. None of this is broken. You’re simply allowed to feel.”

But feeling is exhausting. With a grumble, you hang up the phone and toss it to the side.

You pull the covers up around your shoulders, your mind spiraling into thoughts that latch onto one another like tangled threads. . . .

In a world where finding your soulmate was practically a given, it felt ludicrous to deny the truth that lingered like an uninvited guest in the back of your mind. You had tried everything to resist.

The tingling sensation of well-being that blossomed in Charles’s presence was undeniable. Every crease in his smile felt like warmth on a cold winter day, and yet every time you were near him, you felt a gnawing anxiety that scratched away at your insides, waiting for that inevitable kiss that would confirm what you both already knew.

But you avoided Charles at work—until that dreaded Tuesday arrived.

As the clock ticked toward your call time, dread clawed at your stomach. You were tasked with interviewing Charles for a video segment about his recent successes in racing, a seemingly innocent job that had broader implications—one of which was unveiling the truth of your connection.

The whole ordeal left you on edge, not just because of the content of the interview but because of the man you were supposed to be interviewing.

You arrived at his house in Monaco early, fidgeting nervously with the equipment, tapping your foot against the polished floor.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" your cameraman, Mark, asked, sensing your anxiety as he set up the camera. "It's just a video. You could probably wing it."

"You don’t understand," you said, crossing your arms tightly. “It’s not just about the interview.”

As if the universe had conspired to gift you a moment of reprieve, you heard a distraction—a small bark followed by the sound of paws padding against the floor.

You took a deep breath, prepping yourself for whatever awaited you beyond the door.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself, trying to muster confidence.

You knocked, and after a heartbeat, the door swung open. There stood Charles, his tousled hair glowing softly in the morning light. Cradled in his arms was Leo, who seemed just as excited to see you.

“Hey there, superstar!” Charles greeted, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he shifted Leo to his side. The dog wagged his tail furiously, seeming to sense the tension in the air. “You made it early!”

“Yeah, um…” you fumbled your words, trying to navigate the delightful familiarity of his presence. “I figured it would be good to start on time.”

“Of course!” Charles stepped aside, allowing you into his immaculate home. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted through the air, and as you entered, you could feel that familiar sense of well-being swelling inside you.

It was infuriating how easily it came.

Leo plopped himself at your feet, looking up at you with expectant eyes. “He likes you,” Charles commented, chuckling as Leo nudged your shoe with his nose.

“Who wouldn’t? He’s a sweetheart,” you replied, squatting down to scratch behind the dog’s ears, trying to mask the flutter of emotions that rose within you. “You’re the lucky one, huh, Leo?”

Charles laughed, a rich sound that sent butterflies tumbling through your stomach. “He’s definitely the lucky one in this household. Come on, let’s get the cameras rolling before I lose my nerve in front of you.”

He led the way into a cozy living room adorned with art and memorabilia from his racing career.

As you settled in, you realized that despite your intentions, you could feel that gnawing anxiety creeping in. It was as if every question you planned to ask was swiftly brushed aside by the rush of feelings that accompanied Charles’s presence.

With Mark now behind the camera, you cleared your throat. “Uh, so, how does it feel to be one of the top drivers in the world?”

Charles shifted in his seat, looking relaxed but attentive. “Honestly? It feels unreal every time I put on that helmet. The roar of the engine, the thrill of the race—it’s like this exhilarating dance with danger. But, you know, having my family and a strong support system means the world.”

The sincerity in his voice stroked against your heartstrings. “That’s incredible. Speaking of support, who do you think has had the biggest impact on your career?”

He shrugged, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Aside from Leo?” he teased. “Honestly, it’s you. Your support during last week was amazing.”

Your heart stuttered, and you choked on the words that caught in your throat. “Me?”

“Of course! Whenever you’re around, things just feel easier. I can’t quite explain it,” he said softly, leaning forward as if he was letting you in on a profound secret.

The air crackled between you, and suddenly, the interview felt less like a professional exchange and more like an uncharted territory. You knew you had to breach the elephant in the room, but unease held you back.

“Charles, I—”

Just then, Leo sprang up and knocked over the camera, causing a flurry of laughter to erupt as Mark jumped up to steady it. “Leo! Not now!”

You glanced back at Charles, heat flaring up your cheeks. “Why must you distract us like that?”

Charles grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “I think he senses the chemistry.”

You shot him a skeptical look, but there was no denying the truth in his words. As the camera slowly righted itself, Charles turned serious for a moment.

“Maybe he’s trying to help,” Charles replied, gesturing toward Leo, who had taken residence in your lap, wagging his tail like a flag of friendship.

“Right, because if there’s one thing a dog knows, it’s romance,” you quipped, eliciting a chuckle from Charles that warmed you from the inside out.

“Well, he definitely knows love,” Charles said, a softness returning to his tone as he reached out to scratch Leo behind the ears.

The gesture was so tender, so effortlessly intimate, that you felt a familiar gnawing in your chest, the yearning that intensified with each stolen glance at him.

After a moment, you resumed the interview, Leo settling in your lap like a warm blanket. “What inspired your latest project, Charles? Is it something personal?”

Charles leaned back, a thoughtful expression clouding his features. “Honestly? It’s more than just art for me. It’s about connection. I want people to feel understood. When I see someone looking at my work and they smile, or their eyes light up, it makes everything worth it.”

You nodded, engrossed in his words, but all the while, the underlying tension was like a thread unspooled, weaving a fabric of dubious comfort.

“That’s admirable,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “But do you think art can replace human connection?”

His gaze sharpened, the levity of a moment ago dissipating into something contemplative. “I think art can enhance it,” he replied. “But at the end of the day, it’s about the people in our lives. The ones we cherish. The connections we nurture.”

A hint of unease slithered through you at his answer. The thought of deep connections—those that sparked a sense of well-being—made your heart race, but the yearning you felt, a subtle gnawing anxiety, was just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

You shifted your gaze, avoiding the intensity of his eyes.

“So what else does Charles Leclerc do in a day?” you asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

Charles's expression lightened as a grin spread across his face. “Well, I hope you brought your running shoes because I have to take Leo for a walk,” he said, glancing at his dog, who perked up at the mention of his favorite word.

Leo barked, his tail wagging furiously against your lap.

You looked at Mark, the cameraman, who was observing the interaction with a knowing smile. “You up for some running?” you asked him, half-joking, half-earnest.

“Sure,” he replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

Charles rose from his chair, and Leo leapt to the floor, ready for action. “Let’s hit the trail then! I know a great path nearby that winds through the park.”

The late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a golden hue over the park where Charles and you had decided to take Leo for his much-needed walk.

The vibrant greens of the grass contrasted with the vibrant colors of the flowers that had begun to bloom, a perfect backdrop for the evening. Leo bounded ahead, his tail a blur as he explored the scents of the world around him.

Charles chuckled as he watched Leo dart after a butterfly. “He’s like a kid, isn’t he? Full of energy and wonder.”

You smiled, glancing at the exuberant dog. “He definitely knows how to enjoy life. It’s contagious, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Charles agreed, turning his attention back to you. His eyes sparkled with a warmth that sent that familiar sense of well-being blooming in your chest, an unmistakable sign of his connection to you.

Mark, the cameraman, adjusted his camera, capturing the scene. “This is great! The light is perfect here. Just keep talking; I’ll get some candid shots.”

“Sure thing,” you said, trying to focus on the conversation and not on the persistent sensation of gnawing anxiety that accompanied you whenever you got closer to someone like Charles.

“So,” you began, trying to shake off the nervous energy, “do you take Leo on walks like this often?”

“Whenever I can,” Charles said, his smile widening. “He’s my little buddy. It’s good for both of us. You know how it is—work can get hectic, but he reminds me to take a break and enjoy the simple things.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his sentiment wash over you. “I get that. Sometimes I feel like I’m so caught up in deadlines and projects that I forget to take a moment to breathe.”

“Hey, we should do this more often then. Get out, walk, enjoy nature,” he suggested, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.

“Sounds like a plan! I could use some fresh air,” you said, a little lighter now.

As Leo darted back to your feet, his wet nose nudging against your leg, you bent down to give him a scratch behind the ears. “Hey there, buddy! How’s my favorite dog?”

Leo responded with a happy bark, and you looked up to see Charles watching you, his gaze soft and appreciative.

“You’re great with him,” he said. “It’s nice to see.”

“Thanks! I just love animals. They have a way of making everything feel less complicated, don’t you think?”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “Totally. They don’t judge or overthink things. They just love.”

You felt a twinge of vulnerability, the familiar yearning in your chest growing more intense as you met his gaze. “And what about people? Do you think we overthink love too much?”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging lightly. “But it’s hard not to, especially when you know what it feels like to find your soulmate.”

“Right,” you said, your voice softer. The weight of his words settled over you, a mixture of warmth and anxiety. “But what if it’s not as simple as it seems? What if we’re all just…lost?”

Charles moved closer, his expression earnest. “You’re not lost. You just need to follow your instincts. Pay attention to what makes you feel good. That’s the key.”

“Easier said than done,” you replied with a teasing smirk, but inside, the knot of anxiety twisted tighter.

Mark was busy adjusting his lens, trying to catch the candid moments. “You two are great! Just keep being yourselves. The chemistry is palpable!”

You felt a rush of warmth at the compliment but also an echo of that gnawing feeling, the sense that something was waiting, just out of reach.

“Hey, how about a little race?” Charles suggested, glancing down at Leo, who was now eyeing a distant squirrel.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you can keep up?”

“Bring it on!” he grinned, playfully nudging you. “I’ll give you a head start.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, fine. Let me know when you’re ready.”

As he counted down, you took off, your heart pounding not just from the run, but from the thrill of the moment. You could hear Leo’s paws thumping behind you, the sound of Charles’s laughter ringing in your ears.

You didn’t want to think about the anxiety, the longing, or what it might mean. You just wanted to feel free, even if just for a moment.

You reached the far end of the open field, glancing back over your shoulder to see Charles and Leo closing the gap.

Charles had an effortless grace to his stride, and even as you stood there catching your breath, you felt that familiar warmth radiating from him.

Charles caught up to you, his chest heaving with laughter. “You’re faster than I expected!”

You grinned, your chest rising and falling. “You underestimated me!”

His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift. “I did! You’re like a gazelle out here.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “A gazelle? Really?”

“Okay, maybe more like a clumsy gazelle,” he corrected, grinning as he bent over to pet Leo, who had finally returned, panting with excitement.

“Hey, no need to insult me!” you laughed, and the familiar warmth of his presence wrapped around you, banishing the anxious thoughts—if only for a moment.

“Guys, come back so we can wrap up the interview!” Mark calls from a nearby bench, his voice echoing slightly as it carries through the trees.

“Guys, come back so we can wrap up the interview!” Mark, the cameraman, calls from a nearby bench, his voice echoing slightly as it carries through the trees.

You glance back at Charles, who has a boyish grin plastered on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. His exuberance is infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to forget the gnawing anxiety that usually accompanies your moments with him.

“You ready?” Charles asks, his breath coming in light pants as he straightens up, brushing stray leaves from his shirt.

You nod, the sunlight dancing in your chestnut hair as you brush your fingers through it. “Let’s go finish this.”

But as you start to walk, the gnawing anxiety returns, creeping in slowly like a shadow. The closer you get to him, the more palpable it becomes, a reminder of the connection you cannot seal. It’s a force you can’t escape.

For him, it’s a sense of peace, a warmth that envelops him, but for you, it’s an unbearable longing that only seems to worsen.

You carry Leo in your arms, feeling the comforting weight of his playful exuberance. He wriggles, trying to escape your hold to chase after a butterfly.

“Alright, alright, little buddy,” you say, gently setting him down. He takes off, bounding with enthusiasm.

“Seems like Leo has no problem being carefree,” Charles muses, watching the puppy chase the flitting insect.

“Yeah, if only we could take a page from his book,” you say lightly, but your heart feels heavy.

You glance back at Mark, who is fiddling with the camera, waiting for the two of you to return. You sigh, pushing the tumultuous thoughts away, if only for a moment.

You want to savor the little things—Charles’s laughter, Leo’s exuberance, the way the sun filters through the trees.

You glance back at Mark, who is fiddling with the camera, waiting for the two of you to return. You sigh, pushing the tumultuous thoughts away, if only for a moment. You want to savor the little things—Charles’s laughter, Leo’s exuberance, the way the sun filters through the trees.

As you walk back toward the bench, Leo frolics in the grass, tumbling and rolling as if to illustrate pure joy. Charles kneels beside him, scratching his ears, and you feel an unshakeable pang in your heart.

“Alright, you two, let’s wrap this up!” Mark calls, gesturing for you to take your places.

As you settle down beside Charles, you can’t help but feel the weight of your feelings bearing down. You catch his eye, and there’s something electric between you.

“So, coming to the end of this interview, do you think you’ll win the championship this year?” you ask, your voice a mixture of professionalism and underlying affection.

“I’m confident that me and Ferrari can achieve big things this year,” Charles replies, his expression earnest, his eyes sparkling with hope.

“That’s what we like to hear,” you respond, letting the moment linger just a second longer than necessary. Your heart races, and not just from the anticipation of the race season ahead.

There’s an unspoken rhythm between you, pulsing in the air like a melody only you two can hear.

You ask more questions, the interview flowing smoothly. Charles speaks with passion about his dreams and aspirations, his love for the sport evident in every word. But all the while, you feel the gnawing anxiety that accompanies your every interaction.

You want to close that distance, to extinguish that yearning, and the idea of a kiss hangs in the air like a tantalizing promise.

“Okay, that’s a wrap! This has been ‘A Day in Charles Leclerc’s Life.’ I hope you guys enjoyed the video and enjoyed me beating him in a race,” you say, your voice light and teasing.

“No way! I gave you a head start,” Charles shoots back, laughter bubbling in his chest.

“There’s no proof,” you shrug, a playful smile spreading across your face.

“Okay, okay,” he concedes, shaking his head with a smirk. “But one day, I’ll challenge you to a real race. And I won’t let you get away with a head start.”

“Is that a promise?” you counter, your heart racing for reasons beyond the thrill of competition.

He chuckles, a low, warm sound that wraps around you. “It’s a promise. But let’s not forget—every time we race, you have to hold my hand as we get started. You know, for luck.”

You both laugh, the sound filling the spacious area, weaving through the barking of Leo, enjoying his carefree afternoon. Mark flashes a thumbs-up, signaling the end of the scene.

You grinned, a surge of pride warming you.

“Leo, it's time to go home!” you called, your voice laced with playful exasperation.

The miniature dachshund, a furry, low-slung missile, ignored you completely. He zipped across the grass, your ID lanyard dangling precariously from his mouth like a hard-won trophy.

Charles was doubled over, his laughter echoing through the spacious park, a sound that made your heart skip a beat.

“He really likes your lanyard, I think,” Charles chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“He likes anything he can chew on,” you retorted, but your voice was light, your frustration dissolving in the warmth of his amusement. You resumed your pursuit. “Leo! Come back here, you little menace!”

The chase continued, a comical dance of wills. Leo, fueled by mischief, weaved between trees and benches, the lanyard flapping like a tiny, rebellious flag.

You were gaining on him when he veered sharply, heading straight… for Charles’ legs.

Charles yelped, a surprised sound that only made you laugh harder. Leo, triumphant, dropped the lanyard at his feet and sat, panting, tail wagging furiously.

“Traitor!” you declared, feigning offense. You scooped up the lanyard and clipped it back onto your shirt. “He’s clearly playing favorites.”

Charles knelt, scratching Leo behind the ears. “He has good taste, wouldn’t you say?” His eyes met yours, a mischievous glint in their depths.

Heat bloomed in your cheeks. “I… suppose so.” You busied yourself with putting the lanyard away, avoiding his gaze. “We should probably get going. Mark’s almost packed up.”

Mark was indeed packing up, efficiently dismantling the equipment, blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging within you. The relief of leaving this park, this proximity, was almost palpable.

The walk back to the car was a pleasant one, objectively speaking. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of freshly cut grass lingering in the breeze.

Charles walked beside you, Leo trotting happily at his heels. It should have been idyllic. Instead, it felt like walking a tightrope strung precariously high above a chasm of suppressed emotions.

“I really enjoyed today,” Charles said, his voice soft, breaking the comfortable silence. “It was… relaxing.”

You forced a smile. "I'm happy I was able to make you comfortable," you said, the words feeling hollow even to your own ears. Comfortable for him, maybe.

He stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "You know," he began, tilting his head slightly. "Most interviewers just ask questions. You actually listened."

You swallowed, the anxiety tightening its grip. "That’s… kind of the point of an interview," you managed, trying to laugh it off. "Besides, it's your life. It’s fascinating."

"Is it?" He stepped closer, and the internal hum escalated into a full-blown alarm. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drummer urging you to flee. "Or are you just being polite?"

You averted your gaze, focusing on a distant tree. "I wouldn't waste my time if I wasn't genuinely interested," you mumbled.

Charles chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes meeting his. The amusement was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

Before he can respond, Mark’s voice cuts through the tension. “Y/N! Am I still giving you a ride home?”

“Uh, oh yeah…” You falter mid-sentence as a wave of panic washes over you. The realization hits you like a cold shower, drawing your attention away from Charles and back to the alarming truth.

Your bag—your essential items, including your keys—are still at Charles’ house. “Shit,” you mutter.

“Um, you can go without me,” you say, mortified now, as a flush of embarrassment floods your system. You can’t even look at Charles. “I left my bag in Charles’ house.”

A flicker of something crosses Charles’ face that you can’t quite decipher—concern? Amusement?

“Okay, see you tomorrow,” Mark calls as he turns on the ignition in his car and pulls away, leaving you alone with Charles.

Now that the silence has settled around you like a thick blanket, you feel the gnawing uncertainty of your emotions wrapping tighter.

Your conflicting instincts tempt you to stay, to dive deeper into the maddening connection of your fate and his, while another part of you urges you to run—run far, far away from this simmering tension and the anxiety that burns you from within.

“You’re okay with walking there, right?” Charles asks, his brow slightly furrowed, eyes searching yours for affirmation.

“Yep,” you manage to reply, though the word barely escapes your lips.

As you walk, Leo, Charles's loyal dog, bounds between you, a bright streak of fur and happiness that somehow lightens the weight pressing on your heart.

You steal a glance at him, noting his handsome features, the way the light catches his dark hair, and the tension in the air thickens—a familiar feeling that both excites and scares you.

The awkward silence envelops you both, filled with unspoken words and parallel thoughts. You’re lost in your own mind, analyzing what Charles meant earlier, wondering if he sensed the connection your heart insists is there.

You catch a glimpse of frustration flickering in Charles's eyes; he’s wrestling with an internal battle of asking if you feel the same, if you both belong to this invisible thread of destiny.

Before long, you arrive at his house—a cozy, unassuming space that feels utterly alive with its charm. Charles opens the door, gesturing for you to enter first while he carries Leo in his arms.

The familiar scent of cedarwood and freshly brewed coffee envelops you as you step inside.

“Just grab your bag and let’s get out of here,” you say to yourself, trying to mask the heaviness that clings to your heart.

But as you move towards the living room, Charles’s voice halts you, a note of sadness threaded through his tone. “Could you please stay for a while? Leo really likes you.” Leo barks in enthusiastic agreement, his tail wagging furiously.

Your resolve begins to soften at the sight of Charles's hopeful expression, the way his eyes shine with an almost childlike earnestness.

You look down at Leo, wagging his tail expectantly, and your heart sinks a little further. “Okay,” you finally say, a reluctant smile breaking through the anxiety.

You both settle onto the plush sofa, Leo scrambling onto your lap, his warm presence comforting against the storm of emotions inside you.

As you play with Leo, tossing a soft toy for him to chase, Charles watches you with an intensity you can hardly bear. His admiration for you lingers in the air, and you can’t ignore the flutter in your chest.

“Leo thinks you’re the best,” he says, a gentle laugh escaping his lips. “I think he has good taste.”

You chuckle, trying to mask the heat rising to your cheeks. “If Leo approves, then there must be something good about me.”

“I do think you're wonderful,” he comments, and for a moment, the world around you fades. His sincerity wraps around you, igniting that undeniable pull between you both.

“Thank you, Charles,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing, betraying the wall you had built around your heart. If Leo had any say in the matter, he certainly seemed to be steering you in Charles’s direction.

Leo decided he was ready for some action again, leaping from your lap to chase after the soft toy you had tossed across the room. The joy on his face was immeasurable, a reminder of life’s simplest pleasures.

You wondered if it was too late to change the subject before you allowed yourself to drown in the depths of connection that was blooming—an uncharted territory you feared to venture into.

“May I take a picture of you and Leo for my ‘Cute Leo’ folder?” Charles asked, his eyes sparkling like the stars. Before you could respond, he pulled out his phone, and you found yourself nodding, an odd mixture of excitement and dread flipping your stomach.

The click of the camera sounded as you smiled down at Leo in your arms, your affection for the dog pouring out in earnest.

“Perfect,” he m, glancing at the screen before a look of longing crossed his features. You caught a glimpse of the image—your face beaming with love and happiness, a stark contrast to the inner turmoil festering inside you.

“What do you think about soulmates?” Charles asked suddenly, breaking the momentary silence, the question landing heavily between you like an anchor.

You froze, your heart pounding as you looked up into those earnest eyes. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to read his expression, warm curiosity mingling with something deeper.

“Like, just your opinion on them,” he rambled, the casualness of his tone masking the weight of the subject. “Do you think you have one? I’m curious.”

You hesitated, the words wrapping around memories you had tried to suppress. “Well, I think everyone has a soulmate, but for me, I don’t think I want to meet mine,” you said slowly, drifting your gaze to Leo, who was now engrossed in an imaginary chase.

“Why?” Charles’s question was soft yet insistent, a kind invite for you to unfold the truth. You could feel the warmth emanating from him; it was a stark contrast to the chill that had purposefully wrapped itself around your heart.

You took a deep breath. “An accident happened in my family. It changed my thoughts about soulmates. I believe they come with too much trouble and pain,” you explained, the words flowing out before you could even think them through. In that moment, you realized you were baring a part of yourself that you rarely shared, but perhaps the weight of your thoughts would be understood—especially if he might be your soulmate.

Charles’s expression fell, and you felt your heart splinter as he absorbed your words. Did he not understand the implication behind them? Did he not know that you believed the tether between you was fraught with risk?

“I see,” he said quietly, but the shift in his demeanor was palpable—the distance grew between you, as if an ocean had poured in to separate your worlds.

“Your thoughts are different, of course,” you attempted to lighten the mood, forcing a strained grin. “You’ve already found your soulmate, right?”

He nodded, but the agreement held a quiet hesitance that did not escape you.

“… with Alex.”

His heart sank as he grappled with the realization. “You think Alex is his soulmate?”

He froze, his eyes wide with realization, as if the universe had just collapsed around him.

Did you—could you—really believe that Alex was truly his soulmate?

Before he could muster a response, your phone rang, jolting you both from the oppressive silence. You glanced down at the screen to see your dad’s name flashing.

“Oh! I forgot I was getting dinner with my dad! I have to go, sorry,” you said hurriedly, shoving your phone back in your pocket, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air.

“Do you need me to drive you there?” Charles asked, glancing at you with sincerity.

“It’s not necessary; it’s just Cantinetta Antinori,” you replied, adopting a nonchalant tone that didn’t quite mask the tightness in your chest.

“Right. No problem,” he murmured, but you caught the muted disappointment in his voice, a low tremor that tugged at your insides. It felt like a tether unraveling, and you hated it.

You stood up from the couch, leaving Leo behind as you tossed your bag over your shoulder. “Thanks for letting me play with Leo a little. See you tomorrow, Charles.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he said, his tone infused with an aching bittersweetness as he followed you to the door and opened it.

You hesitated for a moment, caught by the sight of him standing there, hands tucked into his pockets.

You could feel his gaze lingering on you, and you walked away, fighting the urge to turn back and reassure him, to do anything to stop that look of muted disappointment from settling in his features.

“Right, Leo, let’s go visit Maman,” he sighed, trying to infuse a sense of normalcy into the moment, the dog wagging its tail in response.

Charles shrugged off his coat, the familiar scent of lavender and simmering herbs enveloping him. “Maman! I’m home,” he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the cozy, book-lined hallway.

A moment later, a woman with kind eyes and a flour-dusted apron emerged from the kitchen. “Charles! You’re back early. Did the interview go well?” Pascale pulled him into a warm embrace.

“It was… great,” Charles said, carefully avoiding her gaze.

“Great, eh? That’s good. Dinner will be ready in an hour. Why don’t you relax?” Pascale patted his cheek. "I'm making your favorite."

He managed a smile. “Sounds wonderful, Maman.”

Pascale then looked at Leo, his dog, a golden retriever, on the floor. "How have you been?"

Leo barked happily, running around her feet. Pascale laughed, stooping to pet Leo before returning to the kitchen. Charles followed, leaning against the counter, his mind replaying the events of the afternoon.

"So, what are you thinking about? Y/N?" Pascale suddenly asked, startling him.

He jumped. “Um, yeah, I told you she interviewed me, right Maman?”

“Yeah, you should be happy then,” she said with a knowing look in her eye.

“I was, and I still am. She’s amazing, beautiful, and funny but…” he paused, a shadow falling over his face.

“But?” Pascale asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I asked her about soulmates, and she said something about having an accident in her family which made her not want to find her soulmate. She also thinks that Alex is my soulmate, but I couldn't say anything because she had to meet her dad at some restaurant,” he ranted, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Pascale looked at her son with sympathy. "Okay, fils, breathe. Now, I'm curious, do you have a picture of her?"

“Um… yes, I do,” he said, fumbling for his phone. He pulled it out and showed his mother the picture he’d taken of Y/N holding Leo in her arms earlier that day. She had an easy smile and her eyes sparkled.

Pascale smiled as she looked at it. "She is very pretty. She looks familiar, but from where?" She handed the phone back. "What restaurant was she going to?"

“She said Cantinetta Antinori,” he replied.

Pascale’s brow furrowed. "I've been there a few times." She paused, a distant look in her eyes.

Charles, seizing on this new thread of conversation, asked, “How do you get a soulmate again?” He needed a refresher, a grounding in the established reality that you seemed determined to ignore.

Maybe if he understood the mechanics better, he could understand her resistance. He knew the theory, of course, but hearing it again, reaffirmed, might help.

Pascale considered his question carefully. "You meet them around the age of 12-13," she said slowly, her gaze drifting off as she mentally scanned her memories, searching for any significant event or interaction from that period.

"You have an instant connection with the person, at least that's how it was with me and your father," Pascale smiled, thinking about her late husband.

Charles thought about any girls he had met at that time. Was it anyone in school or any girls who were in karting? He had always been passionate about racing, and it was through this hobby that he had met many of his closest friends. But as he went through the list of girls he had known, none of them seemed to fit the bill.

"What if you don't meet them at that age?" Charles asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What if you don't feel that instant connection?"

Pascale shook her head. "It's not always instant, Charles. Sometimes it takes time for the connection to develop. And sometimes people meet their soulmates later in life. It's not a hard and fast rule."

Charles nodded, taking in this new information. He had always thought that finding his soulmate would be a simple, straightforward process. But now he was beginning to understand that it was more complicated than he had initially thought.

"How do you know when you've found them?" Charles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pascale smiled, her eyes softening with affection. "You just know," she said, her voice filled with certainty. "It's like a feeling of completeness, of wholeness. It's like you've found a piece of yourself that you didn't even know was missing."

He smiled too, thinking about her. "Well, it definitely feels like that," he admitted, a blush creeping up his neck.

"Oh maman! The food!" he exclaimed, jolted back to reality by the pungent smell of burning garlic.

He leaped up, rescuing the pan just as Pascale shrieked in mock horror. "Charles! You scared me! And look at what you almost made me do to dinner." She chuckled, waving a wooden spoon at him playfully.

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Maman. Lost in thought."

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Charles, still buzzing from his go-karting victory, walked along the familiar street towards home. The plastic trophy, a symbol of his triumph, felt warm against his palm.

His family had promised a celebratory barbeque, and the aroma of grilling burgers already tickled his senses.

He was twelve years old, practically a teenager, and life felt good.

As he passed Cantinetta Antinori, the scent of garlic and simmering tomatoes usually a comforting aroma, was overridden by something else: the unmistakable sound of crying.

It was a soft, muffled sound, but persistent enough to slice through the celebratory bubble he'd been inhabiting. Charles, usually one to avoid emotional entanglements, found himself drawn towards the source.

Behind the restaurant, tucked between the brick wall and a overflowing dumpster, sat a girl. She was about his age, maybe a little older, with long, dark hair that obscured her face. Her shoulders shook with each sob.

Even from a distance, Charles could tell she was pretty, the kind of pretty that made him feel a strange flutter in his chest he couldn't quite decipher.

Ignoring the nagging voice in his head that urged him to keep walking, to focus on the promised party, Charles approached cautiously.

The stories his older brother, Lorenzo, told about girls – complicated, dramatic stories – flashed through his mind. But he couldn't just leave her there.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little higher than usual, "are you okay?"

The girl froze, her sobs abruptly cut short. Her head snapped up, and she blinked at him, her eyes red and swollen. She frantically wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, smearing the remnants of her tears.

"Um, I'm okay," she mumbled, her voice thick with emotion.

The lie hung in the air between them. Charles wasn't stupid. "You don't sound okay," he countered gently, edging closer. "Is something wrong?"

She hesitated, her gaze flickering between Charles and the ground. He noticed she was wearing a simple blue dress. He also felt a… something. A strange pull, like a gentle current tugging him closer.

It was faint, barely noticeable, but definitely there. It was a warm, comforting feeling, like wrapping himself in his favorite blanket on a cold day.

"It's nothing," she insisted, but her voice cracked on the last word. More tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, emboldened by the strange comfort that emanated from her, sat down beside her on the cracked pavement. He kept a respectful distance, unsure of how close was too close.

"Everyone cries sometimes," he said, trying to sound wise beyond his years. "It doesn't mean it's nothing."

She finally met his gaze, her dark eyes filled with a vulnerability that tugged at his heart. "It's my mom," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "She passed away."

Charles's own breath hitched. He didn't know what to say. He'd never experienced anything like that. He just sat there, silent, feeling utterly helpless.

"It was really sudden," she continued, the tears flowing freely now. "She was fine one day, and then…she just didn't wake up."

Charles reached out and awkwardly patted her arm. "I'm really sorry," he said, the words sounding inadequate even to his own ears.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Everything feels…wrong."

"I can't imagine," Charles said, wishing he could offer her more than just empty words.

Then, an idea sparked in his mind. He held up his tarnished trophy, a shy, hopeful smile gracing his face. "My family are celebrating my win. Do you want to come and celebrate with me?"

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering within their depths. "Are you sure?" she asked, her voice thick with emotion.

Charles smiled, a genuine, bright smile that chased away some of the shadows in his own heart. "It's okay, it's my party! Come on," he said, standing up.

He held out his hand to her. She hesitated for a moment, then wiped her tears and took his hand. He pulled her up gently.

"Well, we have to be quick, my brothers might finish all the food," he said, grabbing her hand and starting to run, a playful grin on his face.

She stumbled a little at first, but soon matched his pace, a faint smile finally gracing her lips.

The aroma of barbeque hit them long before they reached the house. The air thrummed with laughter and music. A string of brightly colored lights crisscrossed the backyard, illuminating a scene of chaotic celebration.

Charles' family was large and boisterous, a whirlwind of hugs, loud conversation, and the constant clinking of glasses.

"Hi, Maman!" Charles called out, not letting go of her hand.

Pascale, his mother, a woman built like a sturdy oak tree with a smile as warm as summer sunshine, turned towards them. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in her, still clinging to Charles' hand.

A knowing smile spread across her face.

"Charles! Congratulations, mon chéri!" She engulfed him in a bone-crushing hug, then turned her attention to her.

"And who is this lovely young lady? A friend from school?" Pascale's eyes were knowing.

Charles' eyes widened in embarrassment. He hadn't even properly learned her name! He'd been so caught up in the simple, radiating joy that had bloomed within him ever since she'd agreed to come to his party – a joy so potent it felt like sunshine warming his bones.

He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "What's your name?"

"Y/N L/N," she whispered back, her voice barely audible above the party noise.

"This is Y/N, Maman. She's celebrating with us!" Charles beamed, squeezing her hand reassuringly. The feeling of rightness was almost intoxicating for him.

Y/N offered a small, hesitant smile. "Hello, Madame." The gnawing anxiety felt almost unbearable, a constant flutter in her chest like a trapped bird.

And yet, underneath, something felt… safe when she was with Charles. It was a faint, unfamiliar sensation, easily drowned out by the anxiety, but it was there.

“Please, call me Pascale,” his mother’s smile never faltered. “Come, come, you must be starving! Let me get you something to eat.” She steered them towards the barbeque, where Charles's father, Hervé, was presiding over a veritable mountain of grilled meats.

The rest of the evening was a dizzying swirl of faces and food for Y/N. Charles, radiating an effortless confidence he'd never possessed before, introduced her to his boisterous brothers, Arthur and Lorenzo.

“So, Charles, finally found a girl who can tolerate your driving?” Arthur teased, ruffling his younger brother's hair.

“Yeah, she must have a strong stomach!” Lorenzo chimed in, winking at Y/N.

Charles flushed with embarrassment. He was too busy beaming at Y/N to notice the heat creeping up his neck. "Leave her alone," he mumbled, but there was no real heat in his voice. He was just too happy.

Y/N managed a weak smile. She felt like she was walking through a dream. The anxiety never truly left her – it was a persistent hum beneath the surface – but it was tempered by the genuine warmth and acceptance she felt from Charles's family. They didn’t treat her like an outsider, but welcomed her into their midst with open arms.

Charles, for his part, never left her side. He kept up a steady stream of conversation, pointing out funny anecdotes about his family, explaining the rules of karting, and generally just making sure she felt comfortable. The warm, happy feeling never left him, growing stronger with each passing moment.

As the evening drew to a close, and the last of the fairy lights began to flicker, Y/N felt a sharp pang of sadness. The thought of going back to her quiet, often lonely, existence was almost unbearable.

She’d never experienced anything like this before – a feeling of belonging, of being seen, of being… important.

“Thank you,” she said quietly to Charles as they stood by the gate, the last of the guests drifting away. “For inviting me. For everything.”

Charles blushed, kicking at a loose pebble on the ground. He was suddenly shy, the carefree confidence of earlier replaced by a nervous energy. "It was nothing. I had fun."

He looked up at her, his eyes earnest and a little vulnerable. "We should do it again sometime."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. The anxiety spiked again, almost overwhelming her, making her breath catch in her throat.

But beneath it, that faint sense of safety flickered, growing a little stronger. She managed a small, hesitant smile. "Maybe."

Charles, feeling braver than he had ever felt before, reached out and gently touched her hand.

His entire body thrummed with contentment, a feeling so pure and untainted that it made his head spin. "I hope so."

Y/N, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions swirling inside her, acted on instinct. She leaned forward and quickly pressed a kiss to his cheek, the briefest, lightest touch.

Then, before he could react, she turned and ran, disappearing into the night.

Charles stood there, stunned, his cheek burning where her lips had touched. The simple joy was now charged with something else, something electric and confusing and intensely exciting.

He touched his cheek, a goofy grin spreading across his face. Though he never saw her again after that day. . . .

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