Hey. Thought of you earlier. Some café in town had pistachio croissants and I remembered you ordered a pistachio latte in Shanghai. Hope Paris is treating you alright and you're getting some rest between races.
My heart tumbled. Just like that. One line, perfectly timed, that told me he was thinking of me. On a day that made me feel small and worthless year after year.
Maybe he didn't know what today was, or how it impacted me, but somehow still knew I needed something to hold onto.
I blinked through tears I hadn't even realized were welling again.
The memory of him reading that fanfic—his stunned silence, the way I'd had to physicallypryhis phone out of his hands—hit me like a gust from the past. That stupid café. His laugh. The soft awe in his voice when he'd said my name. The blush on his cheeks. I remembered the way he'd touched my wrist without thinking. The way I'd kissed his cheek just to see what it would do to him.
That was the first time I'd realized howaliveI felt around him. That maybe… maybe it wasn't one-sided. Maybe I wasn't just a distraction he tolerated. Maybe he saw me. Not just the driver, not just Étienne's sister—butme.
He hadn't looked at me like I was someone to forget.
I choked on a sob, and my lower lip wobbled. He didn't know, couldn't have known, but it felt like he did. Like he could still see me, all the way from Monaco or Madrid or wherever he was now. I sniffled and typed back.
You really did think of me because of pistachios and caffeine? I feel honored.
But rude of you to be right. I was seriously considering a midnight pistachio espresso. Not sure if I needed the caffeine… or the comfort.
Callum
Next time you need comfort, message me instead of reaching for the caffeine.
It wasn't much, but it steadied me. It was a tether, a pulse, a quiet mercy from the only person who made me feel seen today. He made me feel like maybe I wasn'tentirelyinvisible.
He had no idea what he'd just done for me.
I put the phone face-down and curled onto the couch, knees to my chest and arms tucked in tight.
No more sweets. No more crying.
Just me, Paris, and another year of trying not to disappear.
The transitionbetween races was always a whirlwind. Shanghai had barely finished, and the paddock was already disassembled, loaded onto planes, and en route toSuzuka. Yet, in the rare quiet moments between travel, training, and team meetings, my thoughts kept drifting to her.
Aurélie. Auri.
I hadn't expected the nickname to stick so quickly, but it fit her in a way that surprised even me. Auri felt softer, more personal, like the version of her she kept hidden beneath the fiery exterior. She hadn't protested when I called her that, and now the sound of it echoed in my mind every time I thought of her—which was far too often.
Scrolling through Instagram while on our private flight toSuzuka,after spending a few days in Monaco, I couldn't ignore the influx of tags and mentions. Fans were going wild with their “Frabois” rivalry theories. There were videos of our on-track battles, edits of her podium celebration, and a growing collection of memes speculating about what kind of chaos we'd bring toSuzuka.
Impulsively, I decided to lean into it.
I selected a photo of us from the podium, the champagne spraying, her face lit up with a mixture of relief and triumph. I tagged her public account and captioned it simply:
@cal_fraser19.96: P3 is no small feat, let alone a podium on your second race, @aurelie.dubois47. Keep bringing the heat—this grid needs it.
Within minutes,the likes and comments poured in.
@f1fanatic: This rivalry is already ICONIC.
@racingjunkie: Can we talk about how supportive Callum is?!!!
@teamfraser_96: He’s backing her HARD this season. Wonder what’s going on behind the scenes…
@gridgirl19: “Keep bringing the heat” boy SHE'S TRYING
I smirked at the responses,amused but also oddly satisfied. It wasn't just about stirring the pot—though that was always fun—it was about setting the tone.Auréliedeserved the recognition, and if my post helped silence some of the naysayers, then it was worth it. Especially to the fucking twat drivers who seemed to despise her—they'd quickly realize they were making me an enemy.
