#vroom

A year since they’d stood side-by-side. Since she’d felt his hand in hers. Since the back porch goodbye that left her heart sore for days.

Now she was seventeen. Oscar was eighteen. And everything had changed — except, somehow, the two of them.

FaceTime Call – 11:52 PM

The glow of her phone lit up her face as she lay curled on her side, her Bible still open on her comforter.

Oscar appeared on-screen — messy hair, tired eyes, but that same soft smile that always made her feel a little braver.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice low.

She smiled instantly. “Hey.”

“Sorry I’m late. Press ran long.”

“You’re okay. I’ve been praying you’d call soon.”

He grinned. “Is that what you’re using your prayers for?”

“Only some,” she teased, eyes softening. “I miss you.”

His expression faltered for a second — a flicker of guilt, of longing.

“I miss you more.”

Oscar had been racing nearly nonstop since entering Formula 3. Different countries every week, flights, media, sponsors. His schedule was relentless. But every single night, no matter the time zone, he found a quiet spot — hotel balcony, empty garage, or the back seat of a team van — and called her.

He always made time.

Because Y/N didn’t fly. Not because she didn’t want to — she just couldn’t. The thought of airports, crowds, the unknown… it paralyzed her.

She’d told him that early on, when they were fourteen, just after they kissed for the first time on her front porch. “I don’t think I could ever leave Kentucky,” she’d said, eyes apologetic.

He’d only squeezed her hand and said, “Then I’ll always come to you.”

And he had.

Until now.

“Everyone at church keeps asking about you,” Y/N said quietly, fingers picking at the sleeve of her hoodie. “Miss June asked if you were imaginary.”

Oscar laughed. “You should’ve told her I’m AI-generated.”

“I told her you were just busy. Same thing, right?”

He sobered. “I hate that I haven’t seen you. A whole year, Y/N. That’s the longest we’ve ever gone.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t want you to think I don’t care. Or that I’ve changed. I still—” He stopped, breath catching. “I still pray about you every night. Still talk about you like you’re right here.”

Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them. She blinked quickly, trying not to let them spill. “You do?”

“Course I do. You’re in every win. Every lap. Every time I see the camera on me, I wish you were behind it.”

They sat in the quiet for a moment, the only sound the buzz of electricity from Oscar’s side and the faint chirp of crickets from hers.

“I watched your race last weekend,” she said softly. “On the livestream.”

He smiled. “Yeah? Did I look as good as I felt?”

“You looked like you were flying.”

He grinned. “I was. Had you on my mind.”

She reached over and lifted her Bible from her bed, holding it up.

“Still in my corner,” she said, quoting the handwritten note he’d left inside the cover years ago.

Oscar’s face melted into something soft. “Always.”

Y/N didn’t get out much. Between her job at the local library and the responsibilities at home, life was small. Safe. Predictable. She liked it that way most of the time. But lately, the walls of her world felt a little tighter.

People asked about Oscar at church, at work, at the grocery store.

“Do y’all still talk?” “Don’t he race all over the world now?” “Do you think he’ll ever come back around here?”

She always smiled politely, nodded, said, “Yeah, we’re still together.”

But inside, she wondered. She wondered if a boy who lived life at 200 miles per hour could really still be in love with the girl who never left her hometown.

“I wish I could show up at your front door,” Oscar said suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

“I wish I could be there. Walk into church next Sunday with my hand in yours. Look Miss June in the eye and say, ‘Hi, I’m the boyfriend.’”

She giggled softly, imagining it. “You’d be in every prayer chain for weeks.”

“Good. I could use a few.”

They fell into silence again, a peaceful kind, until she heard his breathing slow.

“You should sleep,” she whispered.

“So should you.”

“I’ve got Bible study at 7.”

He groaned. “I’ll set an alarm. Text me when you’re done?”

“I always do.”

After they hung up, Y/N stared at her ceiling.

She missed him. But it wasn’t just him. It was them. Their Sunday afternoons. Their porch swing kisses. The way he used to sit with her and her dad, trying to figure out how to shell boiled peanuts. The handwritten notes in the back of her church bulletin. The boy who didn’t cuss, didn’t rush her, didn’t make her feel small.

He was still that boy. But the world he lived in was getting bigger.

And hers wasn’t.

One week later

It was Sunday morning. Y/N stood at the front of the church foyer, greeting the regulars with her soft smile and quiet warmth. The air smelled of coffee and hymnals.

She heard the door creak open behind her and turned, ready to welcome the next family.

And froze.

There he was. Hair a little longer. Shoulders broader. A duffel bag hanging from one hand.

Oscar. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of her little country church like he belonged there.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, that same smile curving across his face.

Her knees almost gave out.

“You’re—how—what?”

“I had a week off,” he said casually. “Told my team I had somewhere important to be.”

Y/N didn’t care about the how. She didn’t care about the when.

She ran straight into his arms.

That Sunday, Oscar sat beside her during service.

Miss June cried.

Her dad shook his hand like he’d been waiting five years for it.

And when the preacher asked for prayer requests, Y/N whispered one under her breath:

“Thank You for bringing him home.”

---

Y/N could barely focus on the sermon.

She sat stiffly at first, heart still racing, fingers pressed to the side of her thigh where Oscar’s rested — close, but not touching, like he was waiting on her signal. His presence buzzed beside her like static.

Finally, halfway through the second hymn, she reached over and laced her pinky with his.

Oscar glanced sideways. That smile — that quiet, heart-twisting smile she’d only seen through a screen for nearly a year — made her feel steadier than any sermon ever could.

The church ladies whispered like it was revival Sunday.

When the pastor said, “Let’s welcome back our sister Y/N’s boyfriend, Oscar, all the way from Europe,” the whole congregation turned to wave. Miss June clutched her pearls. Brother Ray clapped loud enough to shake the floorboards.

Oscar just blushed and gave a polite little nod, the same way he did on a podium, but softer, humbler. The boy who’d grown up behind the wheel still knew how to be gentle in the quiet.

After church, everyone gathered in the back hall like they always did — crockpots steaming, folding tables covered in casserole dishes and peach cobbler. Y/N usually helped set up, but today, she was pulled in a dozen directions.

Oscar stayed close. Politely shook every hand. Listened when her dad teased him about needing to “put some meat on them skinny racer arms.” He even stayed still while a baby drooled on his shirt.

Y/N watched it all, quietly overwhelmed.

It was like the picture she’d held in her heart had come to life.

Later, on the back porch of her house, Oscar leaned on the railing beside her. The afternoon sun poured across the fields, and the scent of wildflowers drifted through the warm breeze.

She handed him a glass of sweet tea.

He took it, then bumped her shoulder. “Still make it better than anyone.”

She smiled. “I prayed for this day.”

He looked over at her, something tender in his eyes. “So did I.”

They sat together in the porch swing, the same one they’d said goodbye on a year ago.

“You’ve changed,” she whispered after a while. “In a good way. You seem… older.”

“I feel older,” he said. “But I still look for you in every crowd. Still leave room for you in everything.”

Y/N looked down at their hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you here again.”

“I didn’t know if I’d get the time,” he admitted. “But I promised myself if I had even one week, I’d spend it with you. And now I’m here. For real.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I missed you so much it hurt.”

Oscar slid his arm around her shoulder. “I know, baby. Me too.”

That evening, her mom made her favorite Sunday roast. Oscar sat at the table with her parents like he’d never left — telling stories about races in Spain and France, asking about her dad’s garden, complimenting her mom’s cornbread.

And when they prayed before dinner, Y/N closed her eyes and held his hand tight, quietly thanking God for this day she’d waited so long for.

After dinner, they walked out to the edge of the pasture behind her house. Fireflies lit the tall grass like flickering stars, and the sky stretched wide and open, full of peace.

“I don’t want this week to end,” she whispered.

Oscar stopped walking and turned to her. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

He pulled her close, arms wrapped gently around her waist.

“I’ll be here every second I can,” he said. “No press, no training — just us. And when I leave, I’ll still be yours.”

Y/N looked up at him, tears in her lashes, a quiet smile on her lips.

“You never stopped being mine.”

And then, under the Kentucky sky, with cicadas singing and the world gone still, Oscar kissed her — soft and slow, like a promise sealed by time.

---

the week was full of them.

Monday Morning

The sun filtered through Y/N’s curtains like it was in no rush, golden and warm. For the first time in months, she woke up without reaching for her phone to FaceTime him — because Oscar was already downstairs, sipping her mom’s coffee and teasing her dad about the local baseball team.

She stood in the doorway in her pajama shorts and one of his old racing shirts, sleepy and disoriented.

He looked up and smiled like seeing her was the best thing he’d seen in weeks. “Morning, sunshine.”

Her voice was groggy as she crossed the kitchen and pressed her forehead into his back. “Thought I dreamed you.”

“Nope,” he murmured, kissing her temple. “Still here.”

Tuesday Afternoon

Oscar spent the afternoon shelving books with her at the library.

It was slow and quiet — fluorescent lights humming, an occasional elderly patron asking for large-print devotionals. He didn’t complain once.

At one point, he reached for a stack of books just as she did, and their hands brushed.

Y/N looked up. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He grinned. “Just trying to picture you at one of my races — bossing me around in the paddock with your little librarian voice.”

“I would boss you around,” she said proudly. “I’d tell you to drink water and fix your posture and pray before your laps.”

He leaned closer. “You already do.”

Wednesday Night

The church BBQ was a big deal.

Everyone brought something — sweet tea in gallon jugs, casseroles still hot from the oven, peach cobbler that melted on your tongue. Y/N wore a soft yellow dress that made Oscar’s stomach flutter when he saw her waiting under the string lights in the church yard.

“You look like Sunday morning,” he said with a slow grin.

“You look like you don’t belong here,” she teased, straightening the collar of his borrowed button-up. “But in a good way.”

They sat beside each other all night — sang hymns with the older folks, chased kids around with sticky fingers, and when the fireflies came out, he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

“I could get used to this,” he said.

She rested her head against him. “So could I.”

Thursday Morning

They made cinnamon rolls from scratch.

Oscar’s were lopsided and uneven. Hers were perfect. They laughed until they couldn’t breathe when the icing ran off the tray and onto the floor, and she threatened to tell her mom he “ruined the Lord’s breakfast.”

“Say that again,” he said through laughter.

“Ruined. The. Lord’s. Breakfast.”

He pointed at her, eyes wide. “That is the most Kentucky-Christian-girl thing I’ve ever heard.”

Friday Night

Their last night.

They lay on a blanket in the backyard, wrapped up in each other, stargazing like they used to when they were fifteen.

“Don’t say anything sad,” she warned.

“I won’t,” he whispered. “Just want to remember this.”

She traced her finger across his palm. “I hate goodbyes.”

“Then let’s not say one. Let’s say, ‘See you soon.’”

She nodded, blinking back tears. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Oscar turned on his side and cradled her face. “As long as you’re here, I’ll always come back.”

Saturday Morning – The Airport

Y/N didn’t go inside.

She stood with him in the parking lot, holding onto his sweatshirt like it was all she had.

Oscar wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “I’ll call tonight. I’ll call every night.”

“I’ll be here,” she whispered.

He kissed her one more time — soft, slow, careful — and rested his forehead against hers.

“Thank you,” he said. “For waiting. For loving me like this.”

She closed her eyes. “Always.”

And then he was gone.

Saturday Night – 11:57 PM

Her phone lit up.

Oscar: “Hey, pretty girl. Made it to the hotel. Want to tell me about your day?”

She smiled through the tears and replied.

Y/N: “Only if you promise to never stop texting me like this.”

Oscar: “Never. I love you.”

Y/N: “I love you more.”

And just like that, they were back to the way they always were — miles apart, hearts stitched together by every message, every memory, and every promise that no distance could undo.

--

One Week Later – 12:06 AM (FaceTime)

Oscar’s face was pixelated from a spotty hotel Wi-Fi connection in Austria, but Y/N didn’t care.

He was lying flat on his back in bed, hair still damp from his post-race shower, eyes droopy with exhaustion. Y/N was curled under her quilt, her Bible open beside her.

“Tell me something good,” he mumbled.

She smiled. “Today, I got a little girl her first library card.”

Oscar grinned. “Look at you, changing the world.”

“What about you?”

He sighed. “P4. Not my best.”

“You’re still my favorite,” she whispered.

His eyes softened. “That’s all that matters.”

Two Weeks Later – Text Thread

Oscar: Busy today. Back-to-back meetings after practice. Thinking about your sweet tea tho 😔

Y/N: You miss it more than me?

Oscar: 😳 I plead the fifth.

Y/N: You’re lucky I’m praying for you.

Oscar: I need you to. Tomorrow’s qualifying.

Y/N: I’ll be watching. Same place as always.

Three Weeks Later – Sunday Morning

At church, the pew next to Y/N was empty again.

She wore the cross necklace Oscar gave her for her sixteenth birthday, fingers curling around it every time she closed her eyes to pray.

After service, Miss June gave her a squeeze on the shoulder. “Still hangin’ on to that racing boy, huh?”

Y/N smiled. “He’s still hangin’ on to me.”

Miss June chuckled. “Well, tell him the ladies are still prayin’ for him.”

“I will.”

And she did — that night, through a voice note he played on repeat while drifting to sleep in a hotel room halfway across the world.

Four Weeks Later – Kentucky Thunderstorm

Y/N called him at 2:38 AM. The storm was loud, and her anxiety made sleep impossible.

He answered immediately, voice raspy. “I’m here.”

She sniffled. “Did I wake you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

For fifteen minutes, he didn’t say much. Just stayed on the line while she listened to his breathing and the steady sound of rain through her window.

Eventually, she whispered, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said. “Close your eyes. I’ll stay.”

And he did.

Seven Weeks Later – Video Message

She sent him a video during her lunch break. It was short — just her in the library storage room, hair a little messy, cheeks pink.

“Hi. I don’t know why, I just needed to say I love you out loud. And that I hope you’re eating something besides protein bars. And I prayed for you this morning. And I’m really proud of you. That’s it. Okay. Bye.”

He watched it four times in a row. Then saved it to his camera roll.

Nine Weeks Later – One Missed Call

Oscar had just finished a race in Monza, podium high still buzzing in his chest, when he realized her call hadn’t come.

She always called after a race — even if it was just to say “Proud of you.” This time, nothing.

He stared at his phone. Waited. Checked his texts. Nothing.

Finally, at 1:14 AM, it buzzed.

Y/N: Sorry. Long day. Dad’s truck broke down. I’m proud of you. I’m always proud of you.

He exhaled. Pressed the phone to his chest.

Then typed:

Oscar: Even when I don’t hear from you… I still feel you. Every lap.

Twelve Weeks Later – Ordinary Days

Some days they didn’t say much at all.

Just a photo — a shot of Y/N’s Bible open to Psalms beside her coffee mug. Or Oscar’s view from the plane window, clouds glowing orange as the sun rose.

Just a voice note — her reading him a verse. Him telling her how he almost stalled in the paddock and blamed it on thinking about her.

Just a good night text.

Y/N: Sweet dreams, racer boy. I love you. Oscar: Dreamin’ of you. I love you more.

Thirteen Weeks Later – A Letter

In the mailbox one afternoon, nestled between bills and flyers, was a hand-addressed envelope with Australian stamps.

Inside was a folded sheet of paper, handwritten — messy, smudged in places like he’d written it fast.

I know this isn’t the same as holding you. But it’s the closest I could get to putting my heart in your hands. I miss the smell of your shampoo. I miss the way you pray with your eyes closed like the whole world disappears. I miss your mom’s casserole, and your dad’s lectures, and the stupid way your dog barks at every bird. Mostly, I just miss home. Because home’s wherever you are. Please wait for me. I’m racing toward you every day. – Oscar

She read it three times. Then folded it carefully and slipped it into her Bible, right between Proverbs and Ecclesiastes — wisdom and waiting.

And when Sunday came, she sat in the pew alone, again.

But she didn’t feel lonely.

Not this time.

---

Y/N stood just behind the McLaren hospitality tent, clutching her lanyard and praying she didn’t throw up.

The paddock pass hanging around her neck felt heavier than it should. The buzz of the crowd, the hum of engines, the shout of reporters and the smell of hot tires — it was all so much. Too much.

But she didn’t run. Not this time.

Oscar’s parents stood nearby, smiling like they already knew what this moment meant.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Oscar’s mom asked gently.

Y/N nodded, eyes wide, chest tight. “Yeah… I just need a second.”

She closed her eyes. Whispered a prayer under her breath.

Lord, just get me to him. I don’t need strength for the whole day. Just enough for this moment.

It had started with a phone call three weeks earlier. She’d been on the couch, her dog asleep at her feet, watching a grainy livestream of Oscar’s qualifying run when her phone buzzed.

Oscar’s Mum (Susan): "Hi darling. How would you feel about coming to Miami?"

Y/N had stammered through her answer. “I… I’ve never… I mean, I don’t fly. I—”

"We’ll take care of everything. Just say yes. He misses you. It’s time."

Y/N cried for twenty minutes before texting back a single word:

Yes.

The flight was awful. The airport made her shake. Every second of turbulence had her second-guessing everything.

But she did it.

For him.

Now, she stood in a borrowed McLaren polo, tucked behind team trailers, watching Oscar’s crew bustle around. He was somewhere in the garage — headset on, full race suit, focused.

He didn’t know.

She’d stayed hidden during practice. Watched from the top of the paddock, heart in her throat every lap. He looked fast. Sharp. So grown, yet still completely, achingly hers.

He emerged just before the national anthem, wiping sweat from his brow, talking to an engineer.

She stepped forward slowly, heart beating so hard she thought it might split her chest.

When he looked up — scanning the crowd absently — his eyes landed on her.

And everything stopped.

Oscar froze mid-step. His face shifted from tired confusion to wide-eyed disbelief. He blinked once. Twice.

“Y/N?” he mouthed.

She smiled — nervous, teary-eyed, fingers shaking as she held her lanyard like proof.

She didn’t have to say a word.

He dropped the water bottle in his hand and ran.

Straight across the paddock, in front of photographers, engineers, the world — none of it mattered.

And then he was wrapping her up, lifting her off her feet, burying his face into her shoulder like if he let go, she’d disappear again.

“You’re here,” he breathed. “You’re really here.”

“I made it,” she whispered. “I came for you.”

He pulled back to look at her, tears in his eyes. “How?”

“Your mom,” she said softly. “God. A lot of prayer. And… because I missed you more than I was scared.”

The crowd didn’t matter. The cameras didn’t matter.

In that moment, all that existed was her arms around his neck, his forehead pressed to hers, and the quiet miracle of finally standing side-by-side again.

“I prayed for this,” he whispered. “Every night.”

She smiled through her tears. “Me too.”

He cupped her face, kissed her once — soft, reverent, stunned.

And when they pulled apart, he didn’t let go of her hand.

Not for the anthem. Not for the grid walk. Not even when the team called him over.

“She’s with me,” he said simply.

And the whole world saw.

--

Oscar didn’t win that day.

He finished P2.

But you'd never have known from the way he smiled on the podium — like he'd won every race that ever mattered.

Because in the crowd, just behind the barrier, stood her.

Y/N.

The “mystery girl.”

The girl fans had speculated about for years — the one he mentioned in interviews only in passing:

"Yeah, my girlfriend's been super supportive." "She keeps me grounded." "We’ve been together since I was fourteen."

There were no photos. No public tags. No comments. All her social media was locked down tight. A few grainy shots had popped up over the years — a girl in Kentucky hugging him at a gas station during the off-season, someone beside him in a church parking lot — but nothing ever confirmed.

Until now.

Until Miami.

Social Media — 3:17 PM, post-podium

@F1UpdatesNow: 🚨 SPOTTED: Oscar Piastri’s long-term girlfriend cheering for him in the paddock today!! The mystery girl finally revealed after YEARS of speculation 👀💛

📸 [photo of Y/N in her McLaren shirt, eyes glassy as she watched the podium]

@oscarpiastrination: WAIT. SHE’S SO PRETTY??? AND HE LOOKED SO HAPPY????? THIS IS ROM-COM BEHAVIOR.

@F1WivesTheory: He saw her and LITERALLY DROPPED A WATER BOTTLE. That's some "I wrote letters every day" Nicholas Sparks type love.

@godsstrongestpiastrigf: the fact that she’s been with him since F4 and just now came to a race because she has anxiety AND lives across the world?? and he never pushed her to change??? i’m unwell.

@pitwallpaparazzi: She’s real. She’s soft. She’s wearing a cross necklace and clutching his hand like it’s the only thing keeping her on earth. This isn’t a PR relationship. This is real life. Protect them at all costs.

The next morning, headlines exploded.

“The Girl Behind the Grid: Meet Oscar Piastri’s Longtime Love” – Motorsport Weekly “The Sweetest Surprise in Miami: Piastri Reunites With ‘Mystery’ Girlfriend” – ESPN F1 “A Love Story Years in the Making” – RaceWeek Digest

McLaren even tweeted:

@McLarenF1: She’s been behind the scenes for years — now she’s trackside. Welcome to the paddock, Y/N 💙🧡 #F1 #OscarPiastri #MiamiGP

And then, late that night, after the noise started to quiet and the post-race interviews faded…

Oscar posted for himself.

@oscarpiastri (Instagram):

She’s not a mystery. She’s my miracle. From praying for strength to finding it. Y/N, thank you for showing up. For always being there — even when no one else could see it. I love you.

Comments: @landonorris: bro i helped make this happen where’s my thank you @mclarenf1: cryin in pit lane rn @susanpiastri: proud mum, proud of them both 😭

Back in Kentucky, Y/N sat on her childhood bed, phone buzzing nonstop, the post going viral.

Her mom popped her head in. “Honey, is it true your face is on the internet now?”

Y/N just smiled, eyes wet.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It’s true.”

And somewhere across the world, Oscar stared at his phone too — smile soft, heart full.

For years, she’d been the secret he never wanted to protect from the world — but for her. For her peace. Her safety. Her comfort.

But now?

Now, the world knew.

And finally — finally — she wasn’t just his girl behind the screen.

She was his girl in the light.

this is the longest one yet.. and it probably won't get any longer.. but its over! i love this idea and i hope you do too