Dubai sprawled beneath me like a glittering circuit board — towers, highways, and neon spilling into the night. Fireworks erupted over the skyline, bursting into colors that made the city look alive, electric. My trophy sat beside me, metal cold under my fingertips.
People would probably call this a victory. A “moment.” But all I felt was the hollow echo of tires and engines I’d left behind.
I swirled the drink in my hand. Not that it mattered. Not that I could taste it over the memory of the streets, the chaos, the smell of burning rubber and wet asphalt.
Somewhere, inside the hotel, laughter floated up — my team, my friends. They were celebrating. Me? I was on this terrace, thinking about a girl who drove me crazier than any race ever could.
Funny thing about racing: everyone’s an enemy on track, but friends off it. You tease, you push, you trash-talk mid-turn, and yet, somehow, you end up laughing over coffee later. That was the only thing I’d ever liked about it — that mix of chaos and camaraderie.
I sipped again, staring at the fireworks. Somewhere, out there, the city I loved and hated pulsed with the lives of racers I’d raced against, and raced with. And maybe… somewhere out there, she was thinking about me too.
ns216.73.216.13da2
and then Add to home screen.