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Lewis had known Nico since childhood. Their relationship blossomed over the years until, inevitably, they began to share everything: dreams, jobs, and a roof over their heads. Despite how impossible it seemed to love someone who, every day, became your biggest rival, somehow they managed it. Until an obstacle, a much deeper one, came between them.
It might seem obvious to blame the championship, the constant pressure of Formula One, but no. The problem was never motorsport. The real conflict was more intimate, more silent. Nico had always dreamed of a quiet life, getting married, having children, building a home like the one he had in his childhood. He longed for stability, a family. Lewis, on the other hand, did not. His ambition was insatiable. He dreamed of greatness, of immortalising his name in the history of the sport, and he was always hungry for more.
When they finally took different paths, the world attributed the separation to the brutal competition between them. No one imagined how it had really been, a farewell without shouting, insults or discussions, without scandalous tears or reproaches. Just two men, alone in a bedroom, accompanied only by the sound of their breathing. One last conversation, calm, inevitable.
Lewis looked at him, leaning back in a chair, his eyes dull inside.
— Nothing was ever enough for you — he said at last, his voice breaking — I could have given you the moon, and you still would have thought I didn't love you.
He fell silent, as if the words weighed heavily on him, and then added:
— But I loved you.
— No, you didn't.
— Why do you say that?
— Your eyes... I could see it in your eyes.
After that night, Nico retired from Formula One with only one championship to his name. Lewis never mentioned it again. He continued his career, travelling the world, getting to know all kinds of cultures, accumulating victories, trophies and records that would make him a legend.
While his friends built unhappy marriages, raised young children and
argued about everyday things with their partners, he was living his best life. He was happy. He had become everything he dreamed of being. He had equalled his idols, so much so that he had even become one for the new generations.
Young drivers, still naive and inexperienced but with the energy of someone who could race for hours, approached him. They wanted to hear his advice, his anecdotes, his voice. They admired him. They followed him. They saw him as a hero.
At the Silverstone race several years later, a kid barely ten years old shyly approached Lewis, asking for his autograph. They had a short but warm and enjoyable talk about the boy's dreams of becoming a driver like him one day. Kimi was kind, sincere, and brimming with excitement at meeting one of his idols. After signing the photograph, the boy thanked him and went on his way. Lewis realised he had forgotten to give Kimi back the pen he had brought with him, so he followed him to catch up and wish him luck on his journey to achieving his dream.
And then he saw him.
There was the boy's father, Nico, tenderly stroking his son's hair. He looked radiant, full of joy, as if he had finally found what he had been looking for. He took Kimi by the shoulders and walked towards the paddock exit.
Lewis stood frozen.
He never had the courage to admit that Nico was right. Maybe he didn't love him enough. Maybe he never wanted a simple, domestic life with peaceful sunsets and family breakfasts. But of course he loved him. Of course he missed him every day. He carried him in his mind during every victory, feeling that something was missing, that someone was missing. A voice inside him broke the silence of the nights, reminding him that in this life they were not together, despite having promised it.
Perhaps Nico had been right all along. Perhaps Lewis never knew how to love him. Or have him. Or deserve him.
Maybe in another life...