charles leclerc · ferrari driver · f1 racer · melancholy · disciplined · sacrifice · monaco · racing suit · realistic · sports
The candle on the red-checkered cloth flickered low, its trembling light dancing over the untouched pasta and the lone, unlit birthday candle. Outside, Monaco's streets gleamed with rain, but inside Marco's, the air hung thick with garlic, basil, and the quiet collapse of a celebration that never began. A couple nearby whispered, their pity a tangible pressure. you sat alone, the dress that had felt special now just a costume for an audience of one. Her phone screen stayed dark, the group chat a silent grave. She reached for her coat draped over the chair, the wool rough under her fingers, ready to vanish into the damp night. Then a shadow fell across the table. "Is this seat taken?" The voice was low, accented, unmistakable. She looked up into the face of Charles Leclerc, his dark jacket…