i forget you aren't mine - lando norris - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
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"it's wild how it dissipates / how you're further from me every day..."
it's been a few days since their last conversation.
he hasn't stopped thinking about her message.
the way she said we need to be honest — it stuck with him, a reminder of everything they'd left unsaid. all the words they hadn't shared. the space between them had been more than just distance; it had been silence, a silence louder than anything else.
but now?
now, things are different.
lando leans against the balcony of his hotel room, looking out over the city. the race is over for the week, but he still can't settle. the feeling of being in motion, always chasing the next moment, the next win, the next something — it's always there. like an itch he can't scratch.
but this?
this feels different.
he pulls out his phone, checking the time. it's late, but he doesn't care. he hasn't been able to stop thinking about her.
she's still here. she wants to try again.
that thought repeats in his head, a quiet affirmation.
but even as he smiles at the thought of her — of them — he knows this isn't going to be easy.
he taps out a quick message:
are you awake?
and presses send.
he waits. it's late, after all. maybe she's asleep. maybe she's still processing everything. but he's hoping — hoping that she's as ready to talk as he is.
his phone buzzes.
it's from her.
i am now.
the words hit him harder than he expects.
it's funny, isn't it?
how the simplest words can still stir something inside him. how the smallest acknowledgment can make everything feel real again.
what's on your mind?
her message comes through, and for a moment, he doesn't know what to say.
he's been thinking about this conversation for days, about how he's going to explain himself, about how to tell her that it wasn't about her — it was never about her. it was about the race. about the schedule. about the distance that stretched between them like an invisible wall he couldn't tear down.
he types back, the words coming slow, unsure.
i've been thinking about everything. about us. how i hurt you. how i didn't give you what you needed. i was selfish.
i never meant for it to feel like you weren't a priority. you always were. always will be.
he takes a breath. this is harder than he thought it would be.
because saying it out loud — or, well, typing it out — makes it real. makes the distance, the silence, the gap between them feel even more impossible to ignore.
he presses send and waits. the minutes drag by.
finally, her reply comes through:
it was never about being a priority. i think we both know that. it was the time. the distance. the silence.
you were too busy for me, lando. i didn't know where i fit anymore.
her words hit him like a punch to the gut, but it's a punch he deserves.
because she's right.
she's right about everything.
i'm sorry.
i never wanted you to feel like you weren't important. i was just so caught up in my world that i didn't realize how far away i was pulling us. how much it hurt you.
he pauses.
he has to let the words sink in.
because there's more to say. so much more.
but i'm here now. i'm willing to make the time. if you're willing to try, i will do whatever it takes to show you that i'm not going anywhere. i don't want to lose you again.
he presses send and stares at the screen.
waiting. hoping.
she replies almost immediately.
i don't want to lose you either.
the words make his chest tighten, but there's relief in them too.
it's a beginning.
not an end.
so... where do we go now? she types, and lando smiles at the simplicity of it all.
what do we do now?
it's almost like she's asking him to lead the way.
but he's not sure. they both have their own fears, their own doubts.
this isn't easy. there's no roadmap for this kind of thing.
but for the first time in a long time, he feels like they could figure it out.
we start small, he types back. one step at a time. and if it's hard, we talk. we don't let the silence get in the way again. okay?
she takes a moment, but then she types:
okay.
and just like that, something shifts between them.
the next few days are a blur.
they start texting more often.
but it's not just about the superficial things anymore.
it's about the small things — how her day was, how his race went, what they're reading, what they're thinking about in the quiet moments.
they're rebuilding, piece by piece.
and though the distance is still there — the time zones, the busy schedules, the events that pull them in different directions — there's something that feels different now.
there's more honesty. more openness. more realness.
one evening, a few days later, he calls her.
her voice on the other end is the same, but there's a softness to it now, a tenderness that wasn't there before.
"hey," she says, her voice warm but with an underlying nervousness.
"how's it going?"
"it's going," he replies, grinning.
"miss you."
there's a silence after that.
and for a moment, it's like neither of them knows where to go next.
but then she laughs softly.
"i missed you too."
it's simple.
but it's enough.
they don't have to figure everything out right now.
they don't need all the answers.
they just need this — each other.
the call ends, but neither of them hangs up first.
it's like they're both waiting for something — some sign that things can be okay again.
lando closes his eyes, feeling the weight of everything settle.
they're still here. still fighting for this. for each other.
it's a start.
it's been a few days since their last conversation.
he hasn't stopped thinking about her message.
the way she said we need to be honest — it stuck with him, a reminder of everything they'd left unsaid. all the words they hadn't shared. the space between them had been more than just distance; it had been silence, a silence louder than anything else.
but now?
now, things are different.
lando leans against the balcony of his hotel room, looking out over the city. the race is over for the week, but he still can't settle. the feeling of being in motion, always chasing the next moment, the next win, the next something — it's always there. like an itch he can't scratch.
but this?
this feels different.
he pulls out his phone, checking the time. it's late, but he doesn't care. he hasn't been able to stop thinking about her.
she's still here. she wants to try again.
that thought repeats in his head, a quiet affirmation.
but even as he smiles at the thought of her — of them — he knows this isn't going to be easy.
he taps out a quick message:
are you awake?
and presses send.
he waits. it's late, after all. maybe she's asleep. maybe she's still processing everything. but he's hoping — hoping that she's as ready to talk as he is.
his phone buzzes.
it's from her.
i am now.
the words hit him harder than he expects.
it's funny, isn't it?
how the simplest words can still stir something inside him. how the smallest acknowledgment can make everything feel real again.
what's on your mind?
her message comes through, and for a moment, he doesn't know what to say.
he's been thinking about this conversation for days, about how he's going to explain himself, about how to tell her that it wasn't about her — it was never about her. it was about the race. about the schedule. about the distance that stretched between them like an invisible wall he couldn't tear down.
he types back, the words coming slow, unsure.
i've been thinking about everything. about us. how i hurt you. how i didn't give you what you needed. i was selfish.
i never meant for it to feel like you weren't a priority. you always were. always will be.
he takes a breath. this is harder than he thought it would be.
because saying it out loud — or, well, typing it out — makes it real. makes the distance, the silence, the gap between them feel even more impossible to ignore.
he presses send and waits. the minutes drag by.
finally, her reply comes through:
it was never about being a priority. i think we both know that. it was the time. the distance. the silence.
you were too busy for me, lando. i didn't know where i fit anymore.
her words hit him like a punch to the gut, but it's a punch he deserves.
because she's right.
she's right about everything.
i'm sorry.
i never wanted you to feel like you weren't important. i was just so caught up in my world that i didn't realize how far away i was pulling us. how much it hurt you.
he pauses.
he has to let the words sink in.
because there's more to say. so much more.
but i'm here now. i'm willing to make the time. if you're willing to try, i will do whatever it takes to show you that i'm not going anywhere. i don't want to lose you again.
he presses send and stares at the screen.
waiting. hoping.
she replies almost immediately.
i don't want to lose you either.
the words make his chest tighten, but there's relief in them too.
it's a beginning.
not an end.
so... where do we go now? she types, and lando smiles at the simplicity of it all.
what do we do now?
it's almost like she's asking him to lead the way.
but he's not sure. they both have their own fears, their own doubts.
this isn't easy. there's no roadmap for this kind of thing.
but for the first time in a long time, he feels like they could figure it out.
we start small, he types back. one step at a time. and if it's hard, we talk. we don't let the silence get in the way again. okay?
she takes a moment, but then she types:
okay.
and just like that, something shifts between them.
the next few days are a blur.
they start texting more often.
but it's not just about the superficial things anymore.
it's about the small things — how her day was, how his race went, what they're reading, what they're thinking about in the quiet moments.
they're rebuilding, piece by piece.
and though the distance is still there — the time zones, the busy schedules, the events that pull them in different directions — there's something that feels different now.
there's more honesty. more openness. more realness.
one evening, a few days later, he calls her.
her voice on the other end is the same, but there's a softness to it now, a tenderness that wasn't there before.
"hey," she says, her voice warm but with an underlying nervousness.
"how's it going?"
"it's going," he replies, grinning.
"miss you."
there's a silence after that.
and for a moment, it's like neither of them knows where to go next.
but then she laughs softly.
"i missed you too."
it's simple.
but it's enough.
they don't have to figure everything out right now.
they don't need all the answers.
they just need this — each other.
the call ends, but neither of them hangs up first.
it's like they're both waiting for something — some sign that things can be okay again.
lando closes his eyes, feeling the weight of everything settle.
they're still here. still fighting for this. for each other.
it's a start.
End of i forget you aren't mine - lando norris Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to i forget you aren't mine - lando norris book page.