i forget you aren't mine - lando norris - Chapter 4: Chapter 4

"this could be the worst goodbye, the worst goodbye / i don't even know what's left to say"
she wakes up too early.
sunlight bleeding through the curtains. silence pressing in on her chest. phone still clutched in her hand like she was waiting for him to reply again.
he didn't.
and she's not even mad about it. just... empty. like the air's been knocked out of her lungs and no one told her how to breathe again.
last night's messages play in her mind like a song stuck on loop.
more than i should
just lonely
you answered anyway
she hates how soft he still is.
how familiar his words feel.
how her body reacted — heart racing, fingers shaking, like she was seventeen again and falling in love for the first time.
she gets up. makes coffee she doesn't drink. opens the window and wishes she hadn't.
everything feels too loud.
too normal.
like the world didn't shift on its axis last night.
she thinks about deleting the thread.
thumb hovers over the screen.
she even hits edit once. stares at the little red minus sign next to his name like it's a dare.
but she doesn't do it.
because even now, after everything —
after the space,
the silence,
the fact he isn't hers anymore —
part of her still wants the messages there.
still wants to believe he might text again.
she scrolls through her camera roll without meaning to.
there he is. again. again. again.
smiling at her from the passenger seat.
laughing with his eyes squinting.
wrapped around her on a rainy day in barcelona when neither of them wanted to go outside.
she doesn't cry.
not yet.
just stares at the screen like it holds a secret she missed. like maybe if she looks hard enough, she'll understand what went wrong.
it comes in the middle of the night. the breakdown.
she's brushing her teeth. random tiktok playing in the background. everything normal. nothing tragic.
and then suddenly, she's on the floor.
crying so hard her stomach cramps.
shaking like she's freezing from the inside out.
sobbing into a towel she grabbed blindly from the sink.
because it's all too much.
because she forgot how much he meant.
because hearing from him reminded her of everything she buried just to survive.
she whispers his name like a prayer. or maybe a curse.
feels it crack in her mouth.
lando.
like maybe saying it out loud will stop it from echoing in her chest.
the next day, she puts on makeup even though she's not leaving the house.
her eyes are puffy. her nose is red.
but she paints on eyeliner like armor.
lip balm. mascara. a sweatshirt that still smells like him.
it's pathetic. she knows.
but some days, surviving looks like pretending.
pretending looks like dressing up the ache.
she opens her notes app and writes:
i think this might be the worst goodbye.
not because we screamed.
not because we ended badly.
but because we didn't end at all.
we just... paused.
and now everything feels unfinished.
like i'm stuck between chapters that won't turn.
harper calls that night.
"you sound tired," she says gently.
"yeah. didn't sleep well."
"lando?"
"he texted."
harper's quiet for a beat. "oh."
they don't talk about him much anymore. it's a rule they never made but always followed.
but tonight?
she breaks it.
"he said he still thinks about me."
harper sighs. "and do you believe him?"
"i want to."
"do you want him back?"
she doesn't answer right away.
because the truth is complicated.
the truth is yes. but also i don't know how.
and what if it hurts again?
"i miss him," is all she says.
harper's voice softens. "then maybe tell him that."
but she doesn't.
because missing him is one thing.
needing him? that's too raw to admit out loud.
on sunday, she walks past a guy who smells like his cologne.
she almost turns around.
almost chases a stranger just to see if his voice sounds the same.
she doesn't.
but it ruins her for the rest of the day.
her best friend texts:
you okay? haven't seen you in a bit.
she types out
yeah, just tired
been busy
miss you
but deletes all of it.
just sends
let's hang soon.
that night, she writes a letter she'll never send:
dear you,
i wish we could go back.
not to fix everything — though maybe we would.
but just to feel it again.
the weightlessness of loving you.
the way i used to laugh with my whole body.
the way you looked at me like i was the answer.
i miss being yours.
i miss you.
me
she folds it. tucks it into the back of her journal.
pretends that helps.
two days later, she's out for drinks with friends.
laughing. smiling. playing along.
and then someone says his name — just once, in passing, talking about f1.
she flinches so hard she spills her drink.
no one notices.
but she does.
and it reminds her: you don't ever really move on.
you just learn how to carry the ghost.
that night, she dreams of monaco.
they're walking.
it's late. the sky's purple and soft and he's holding her hand like it's the only thing tethering him to the earth.
he leans in. kisses her forehead.
"stay," he whispers.
she wakes up crying.
again.
she opens her phone. checks for a message that isn't there.
re-reads the last one he sent.
just lonely.
she wonders if he still is.
if he still thinks about her when the world slows down.
if he ever wishes he'd called instead.
maybe this really is the worst goodbye.
not a door slammed. not a final word.
just a long, slow unraveling.
a fade-out that never ends.