Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

Unfamiliar

“Yeah, you probably do,” I said gently. “Go slow, okay? If you feel dizzy, call me. Seriously.”

He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.

I took a deep breath and wandered toward the kitchen. Everything was exactly the way we left it — a pan on the stove, a bottle of wine half-finished, our favorite mugs by the sink. It felt so normal. It felt like heartbreak.

I opened the fridge and grabbed the basics — eggs, bread, cheese. Something simple, something I could make without thinking. Cooking had always helped ground me when things spiraled out of control. Maybe tonight it would help again.

By the time he came out, hair damp and eyes tired, I had the grilled sandwiches on the table and two cups of tea waiting.

“You cook now?” he asked, eyebrows raised slightly.

I smiled. “I always cooked. You just never paid attention.”

He let out a soft chuckle and sat down. “I guess I missed more than I thought.”

We ate mostly in silence, and I tried not to watch him too closely. But when we were done, he pushed the plate aside and leaned back in his chair.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

“Sure.About?”

"“Everything, I guess?” he said, letting out a breath, like he wasn’t sure where to even begin.

I gave a small nod.

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes narrowed slightly like he was thinking hard.

“Do we still work together?”

“Yes,” I said. “Every day.”

“With Ferrari?”

I smiled faintly. “Still stuck with you there too, yeah.”

He nodded, absorbing that.

“How long have we been together?”

I hesitated, then said, “About two years, give or take. We weren’t always official… and we were really good at being stubborn.”

A flicker of something passed in his eyes—curiosity, maybe a distant echo of familiarity.

“Who made the first move?”

“You did,” I said with a soft laugh.

His lips curved upward faintly, like he believed that part. “That sounds about right.”

“We fought a lot,” I added gently. “But we loved harder.”

He grew quiet again, then asked, “Did we ever break up?”

“Yeah. Many times.” I looked down at my hands. “But somehow… we always found our way back.”

He nodded again, slowly.

“Do we live together?”

“We tried,” I said. “On and off. Right now… not really."

He leaned back in his chair, looking away for a second. “God. It’s like I missed a whole movie of us. And I don’t even know the plot.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet.

Then, without a word, he picked up his phone from the counter. I tensed instinctively — the doctor said no screens, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop him.

He unlocked it and went straight to the gallery.

I watched him as he began scrolling.

There were photos of us — laughing at the beach, blurry selfies in hotel rooms, me half-asleep with my head on his chest, him making faces while I cooked. He paused at one of the two of us at a race weekend. I had grease on my cheek and his cap on my head. He was kissing my temple.