#f1grid

"Hold on a sec can you guys look after the parents please." Lando walked in his phone facing him before he propped it in front of you and Max. 

Both of you saw the red icon indicating it was filming you. You looked up as those around you began laughing at your confused faces. 

"What is this?" You asked smiling at the joke you weren't getting. 

Aside from many other things one of the small factors that made you and Max so perfect for each other was the way you both were so disconnected from the internet even before having Lea and Ivy. It was easy to play viral pranks on you because you both were simply never aware they existed. 

"What are we supposed to do?" Max turned around to look for Lando who had disappeared. 

"Is this live or something?" You furrowed your brows leaning closer to the camera. 

"PAPA! Look at what I drew!" Lea ran towards her dad completely distracting you both from the filming phone. 

Lea climbed up on her dad's lap with his help. She held up the drawing showing a childlike depiction of the current scene. Children playing in your garden and her parents, uncles, and aunts sitting around the long table. 

"Oh my god Lea this is amazing." Max beamed proudly turning the drawing around to show everyone around the table. 

"Wow!" Compliments flew in from all of Lea's favorite people making her shy away and tuck herself in Max's chest. 

"Mama I dwaw too." Ivy who was in a faze of copying everything her sister did attempted to climb up your lap. You picked her up placing her on your lap. 

"Let's see what you drew my darling." You encouraged Ivy to show you. 

She turned around showing a pink circle and a smaller purple circle with a bunch of scribbles of different colors around it.

"Wow, Ivy is that you and Lea?" You asked her pointing at the pink and purple circles knowing pink was Lea's favorite colour and purple hers. 

"YES Mama!" She got excited at the fact you recognized her. "This is wando, this is auntie wiwy, this is uncwe Ozzie, this is auntie awex, this is uncwe chawie, this is-" She pointed at every scribble and you were surprised to find she'd matched the color of the scribbles to what they were wearing. 

"Wow Ivy good job." Max also complimented his youngest daughter. "I have such talented daughters." The pride in Max's voice made you look at him lovingly. 

"Can you guys draw me something for my house?" Dani asked the girls. 

"YES!" They both cheered excitedly before shimmying of your laps and running back to their coloring area. 

"Me too please!" Charles called out. 

"And me!" Oscar called after followed by the others. 

Both you and Max turned to look at each other huge smiles on your face. "We might have two artists in our hands." You commented. 

Max placed a sweet kiss on your lips. "Maybe a little racer is in here." Max placed a hand on your growing bump, your noses brushing as you both looked at each other in adoration. 

"Ugh, you both are too in love for this challenge." Lando walked back to the garden picking up the phone you both had completely forgotten about. 

Everyone burst out in laughter as once again Max and you both looked at each other confused. 

Your hands dropped from your mouth to your knees. The breath left your lungs in a sharp, broken sound. “Not again… not again…” you muttered, eyes burning.

But Lewis being Lewis, he didn’t crumble. He dug his heels in, willed that stubborn red car forward, pushed as if carrying the entire weight of disappointment on his back.

P18 → P15 → P12 → P10 → P9 → P8.

He finished in P8. No podium… but a drive nobody else could’ve pulled off with that car.

You stood there as the fireworks went off, not celebrating but clapping as hard as you could, palms stinging, throat tight.

He gave everything.

In the paddock, after the race, after all celebrations and congratulationg Lando, Lewis walked with the slow, steady steps of someone who was more mentally drained than physically tired. His face carried the same polite smile he always gave after a tough race, the one fans recognized too well.

Everything. But it still wasn’t enough.

The smile that meant he was putting on armor.

His lips smiled but his eyes…didn’t sparkle tonight, damn not even a glint.

George approached him, helmet still tucked under his arm. “Mate… that was honestly unbelievable. You got that car to P8.”

Lewis smiled back. His polite smile. That soft, warm but not reaching the eyes.

“Thanks, man” he said. “Tried my best as always.”

George clapped his shoulder, firm and brotherly. “You did more than that.”

Lewis nodded, appreciative… but something behind his gaze stayed dim. Like he’d turned the lights off inside to protect himself.

Carlos walked over next, still in his Williams suit, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Lewis… man, you were flying today. The race you did? Incredible.”

Lewis chuckled, a tiny, tired sound. “Did what I could.”

Carlos leaned closer, voice softer. “You deserve more than what that car gave you this year.”

For a moment, Lewis’s lips curled into a genuine smile… but again, the eyes stayed the same, tired and guarded. Like he didn’t want to burden anyone with how much it hurt.

Isack comes over next, almost jogged up, wide-eyed and earnest. “Lewis, I… I just want to say that watching you and racing with you today was inspiring. No matter what, you keep pushing. I hope I can learn that from you.”

Lewis placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got a bright future, kid. Just keep your head down and keep working.”

A kind moment, a warm one but still...no sparkle, just polite appreciation.

Next was Valtteri, he didn’t rush. He never did. He walked up quietly, stood beside Lewis for a few seconds, letting the silence settle before speaking.

“You drove beautifully” he said softly. “You deserved more than what you got this year.”

Lewis’s breath hitched just slightly. Valtteri noticed.

But still, Lewis forced another smile, this one a little wobbly. “It happens. Some years are harder.”

Valtteri gave him a long look, a knowing one.

But even that even the comfort from someone who understood him wasn’t enough to lift the heaviness in Lewis’s eyes.

He kept his shoulders straight, posture perfect, voice gentle… but his expression had that familiar muted ache.

A man trying to be strong, trying not to show disappointment on his podiumless year, trying not to let the world see how much he still wanted, desperately to stand on a podium again.

The drivers moved on one by one, but Lewis stayed still for a moment, breathing quietly, looking up at the night sky like he was searching for something he’d lost this season.

He smiled at everyone as he always does but his eyes remained soft, dull, and tired.

He hadn’t truly smiled not the real Lewis smile that lit up his face all day.

—

The crowds were gone, the echo of engines had faded miles away, and all that was left was the hum of distant generators and the soft desert breeze sweeping through the empty walkways.

It was close to 11:30 PM when you made your way out of the fan area, your LH44 hat pulled low, your poster tube tucked protectively to your chest like a piece of your heart lived inside it. Your feet hurt, your throat was raw from cheering and groaning and holding your breath but it was your mind that felt loudest.

The whole walk you kept replaying the race, frustration curling tight in your ribs.

He deserved more.

He deserved better.

How many times can one man carry a car on his back?

You kicked a stray pebble on the pavement, muttering to yourself, “Next year, Lewis… next year we’re getting that podium again. I swear it.”

As you reached the dimly lit lot where staff and drivers parked, your pace slowed… then stopped altogether.

Because there he was.

Lewis Hamilton.

Hood up, Ferrari backpack slung over one shoulder, heading toward a sleek black car parked a few spaces away.

No cameras, no fans, well maybe you.

But it's just him, finally alone, finally unguarded moving with a tired grace that tugged sharply at your heart.

Your breath stuttered, blinking twice.

You genuinely wondered if your eyes were messing with you. “Okay… don’t freak out… don’t freak… out…” you whispered, palms sweaty.

This was your chance. A once-in-a-lifetime moment.

And your legs moved before your courage caught up.

“Um...excuse me…Lewis?” you called out softly, voice cracking.

He stopped mid-step and turned, lifting his hood slightly so he could see you better. His face looked gentler in the soft parking lot lights, a little weary, a little fragile but still unmistakably him.

He offered a small, polite smile. “Hey. You alright?”

Your voice shrank to a whisper. “Could I maybe… um… get an autograph?”

He nodded immediately, stepping toward you with the kind of calm kindness that made you melt inside. “Of course. What do you have?”

Your hands trembled as you unrolled your old 2017 poster, edges worn, corners bent, colors slightly faded. It felt like showing someone a childhood diary.

Lewis’s eyebrows lifted, softly touched. “Wow… 2017. You’ve kept this?”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. That’s when I became your fan. Haven’t stopped since.”

He took the poster like it was something precious. Carefully and gently. He signed it slowly, almost thoughtfully, before handing it back to you with a warm smile.

And for the first time all day…you thought you saw the tiniest shimmer begin in his eyes.

Not a sparkle yet but the beginning of one. “Thank you” he murmured.

You didn’t mean to say anything more. You didn’t plan a speech. Your brain was a mess of adrenaline and awe. But your heart loved him too much to stay silent. “The race today… you were incredible,” you blurted out.

He blinked, surprised.

You pushed on, words tumbling out fast, too honest, too emotional “That car..I swear to god...I mean...sorry but the SF-25...it’s not giving you what you deserve, and still you fought like hell. And I just..I need you to know that it matters. That you matter. You’re still the driver who made me fall in love with F1. And next year? We’re getting it. We’re absolutely getting it. I believe in you so much. Like stupidly much.” You finished with a breathless gasp, cheeks burning with embarrassment. You stared at your own shoes.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled. “That probably sounded insane.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. And then to your surprise Lewis breathed out a small, stunned laugh.

You glanced up and that’s when it happened.

For the first time since the race ended since the entire frustrating, draining season ended, his eyes finally, truly sparkled.

Not the polite shine he used for cameras, not the exhausted gloss he used to hide disappointment.

A real sparkle, warm, bright and quietly emotional. The kind that lit up his whole face, like someone had turned the lights back on inside him.

He stepped a little closer, head tilted, voice low “You know… I’ve had a lot of people tell me I drove well today. But hearing it from someone who’s been with me for that long…” He paused, searching your face with gentle gratitude. “That means something different.”

Your breath caught, his voice softened even more.

“Some days you give everything you have and still fall short. And you start to wonder if people are getting tired of supporting you.”

He shook his head slightly. “But here you are. Reminding me why I keep fighting.”

You blinked fast, suddenly emotional. “I’ll never stop supporting you” you whispered. “I swear even if you start from my house at the race, I'll still support you! Please don't give up! ferrari might made me...and your fans sad but I know someone out there like me doesn't stopped supporting you! You'll adjust on that car, on that enginee-I'm sorry... I'm probably yapping to much but I hope you keep your hopes up because we never stopped believing that you'll get that podium on red!”

Lewis’s smile grew reaching all the way into that newly reborn sparkle.

“Then I’ll make next year worth it” he promised softly. “For you all who supports me.”

Your heart felt like a balloon being filled gently, carefully.

He took a step back, giving you one more lingering, grateful look. “Get home safe, yeah?”

You nodded, speechless.

Lewis opened his car door, paused… then looked back at you one last time and his eyes were still sparkling.

Because of you.

And as he drove off into the quiet Abu Dhabi night, you knew one thing for certain

Fin.

Tonight, you weren’t just a fan. You were the reason the seven-time champion found his sparks again.