🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 9: ꜱᴜɴꜱᴇᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴄʜᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴʀᴀᴠᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜꜱ🫱🏼🫲🏼
ꜰ1 x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ ᴀᴜ | ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇꜱ + ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ + ꜰᴀᴛᴇ
⚠️ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:
ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴠᴜʟɴᴇʀᴀʙɪʟɪᴛʏ
ꜱᴏᴜʟᴍᴀᴛᴇ-ʀᴇʟᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ
ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴅᴏᴡɴꜱ
ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ
ᴛᴇᴀʀꜰᴜʟ ᴄᴏɴꜰʀᴏɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ɢᴇɴᴛʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ
The lake lay still, its surface like darkened glass catching the last fire of the day. Shadows stretched across the landscape as the sun prepared its final descent, casting a glow that made everything look softer than it truly was—more golden, more forgiving. The gentle hush of nature, the faint sound of birds returning to trees, the distant ripple of water lapping against rock, these were the only witnesses as two soulmates stood apart in the breathless hush of coming evening.
Lando leaned against the side of the car, arms crossed loosely, head tilted down toward the ground like it could offer answers he hadn’t already asked for. His jaw was tight, a vein twitching at his temple, but he didn’t speak immediately. There was something cautious in him now, a restraint unfamiliar to the once-playful man who smiled easily, teased endlessly, and carried the weight of his fame with practiced grace.
Beside him, (Y/n) stood still, her arms wrapped around herself—not out of cold, but because her soul felt exposed, like she had peeled too much skin off in a room without walls. She watched the horizon, trying to draw courage from the way the sun never hesitated to leave, never questioned its place in the sky.
It was Lando who finally broke the silence, his voice low, deliberate, trembling slightly on the edge of raw vulnerability.
"Why?"
That was all he asked.
A simple question.
But not a small one.
He didn’t look at her when he asked. He stared out toward the lake, voice steady but brittle, like glass under pressure.
"Why did you run when we had just found out? When we had just—" he paused, exhaled, and then finished, "—discovered each other as soulmates? Why didn’t you want this? Why didn’t you want me?"
(Y/n) flinched, not from his words, but from the pain they carried. There was no malice in his tone, only ache. It was like the kind of ache someone carried quietly for weeks, refusing to scream because they knew no one would understand.
She turned to him then.
And breathed.
Once in.
Once out.
And then she began.
"I didn’t run because I hated the idea of us. Or because I didn’t feel anything." Her voice was steady, but hushed, threaded with restraint, like she was scared too much volume would make it all too real. "I ran because I was terrified of what it meant to have someone… tied to me like this. Because all my life, I’ve been doing things. Carrying things. Working behind the scenes, helping the people I love, protecting them. But a soulmate?" She swallowed. "That wasn’t part of the plan."
Lando said nothing.
So she continued.
"You’re famous, Lando. The whole world watches you. Loves you. Criticizes you. You already carry so much, and I didn’t want to be another weight around your neck. I didn’t want to be some girl who was suddenly seen as your person, not my own. I didn’t want to be defined by you. And more than that, I didn’t want to be vulnerable to something that could destroy me if it fell apart."
Her hands clenched at her sides.
"I’ve seen what love can do when it breaks. I've watched it ruin people. Make them shadows of themselves. I’ve watched my own family crack under pressure, under expectations. I didn’t want that. Not with you."
The silence that followed was not empty, it was filled with the weight of everything that had never been said until now.
Lando turned to her slowly, his eyes searching, tired.
"So you ran."
She nodded.
"I ran."
"And you didn’t think that would destroy me?"
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Lando laughed, but it wasn’t bitter, it was soft and broken. A dry exhale of disbelief. "You were scared of being destroyed. But did you even think about what it did to me? I broke down, (Y/n). Publicly. In front of millions. I kept smiling when I needed to scream. I kept driving when all I wanted was to disappear. Do you know how hard it is to keep showing up, to do interviews, to race, when your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out?"
Her breath hitched at that.
Because she remembered. She remembered Cisca’s voice back in Greece—calm, loving, but sharp with truth.
"He cried. In front of all of us. Not just once. On camera. In interviews. In private. And we didn’t know what to do. Because all he kept saying was, 'She was there, and then she was gone.'”
(Y/n)’s throat tightened. She stepped forward a little, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
Lando looked down, jaw clenching again.
“I’m trying,” she continued, firmer now. “I’m here. That must mean something.”
He looked up at her finally, eyes red-rimmed, weary.
“You say you’re here,” he said softly. “But what happens when you get scared again? When it feels too real or too much or too fast? What happens when you decide I’m not worth staying for?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Because the truth was—she didn’t know.
Not fully.
She couldn’t promise she wouldn’t run again.
But she could promise this:
“I’ll try,” she said. “I’m not asking you to trust me blindly. I just need you to know that I’m trying. I don’t know where this leads. I don’t have it all figured out. But I won’t walk away right now. Not without giving this a real chance.”
Her words hovered between them like a fragile truce.
Then silence.
Then breath.
And finally, peace.
They sat together near the hood of the car, shoulder to shoulder, as the sun melted into the horizon. Neither spoke again. They didn’t need to. Not right now. The air between them had changed—not cleared completely but softened. Something had cracked open and spilled light through the wounds.
And in that golden silence, healing began—not as a grand event, but as something subtle. Like the way dusk slips into night without anyone noticing.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
By the time they arrived at his flat in Woking, the sky had surrendered fully to night. City lights blinked faintly through the windows, casting quiet shadows along the walls of a space that felt more like a showroom than a home.
Inside, the air was still. No scent of herbs, no low murmur of family in the kitchen. Just silence, and a slight chill that hadn’t yet been warmed by life.
(Y/n) stepped through the door first, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She paused near the entryway, slowly taking in the flat: the clean lines of the furniture, the untouched throw blanket folded too perfectly over the arm of the couch, the faint hum of the heating system kicking in.
It didn’t feel cold, exactly.
Just… lived in by one person. For a long time.
Lando followed behind, dropping his keys into a small dish near the door. His eyes swept the space briefly, then moved back to her.
“I usually order food when I get back from trips,” he said, his voice soft, a little unsure now that it was just the two of them and the long drive was behind them. “But there’s stuff in the fridge. If you’re hungry.”
(Y/n) nodded faintly. “Let me help.”
That surprised him.
But he didn’t argue.
She set her bag down by the couch, rolled her sleeves up without another word, and followed him into the sleek, minimal kitchen. They moved around one another carefully at first—awkward, almost too polite—but then something shifted. He handed her a cutting board. She passed him the olive oil without being asked. They began to cook in tandem, finding a rhythm as they assembled a simple pasta dish: garlic sautéed in butter, fresh basil torn between fingertips, tomatoes crushed slowly into the pan.
They didn’t speak much.
But the silence between them wasn’t empty, it was new. Unfolding. Becoming.
At one point, Lando looked over, catching sight of (Y/n) stirring the sauce with the focus of someone grounding themselves in the act. Her presence, her ease in his kitchen, it shifted something in his chest. A quiet warmth, cautious but undeniably real.
Later, they sat together at his dining table. No centerpiece, no candles—just two plates of steaming food and the shared sound of forks clinking against ceramic.
There was laughter.
Not loud.
Not constant.
But real.
The kind that emerged unexpectedly, between bites, between glances, between moments when their eyes met and neither looked away too quickly.
Afterwards, Lando stood to wash the dishes, but (Y/n) was already ahead of him, sleeves pushed up again, fingers working beneath the water. He joined her without hesitation, shoulder to shoulder at the sink, suds rising between them.
It wasn’t domestic bliss.
Not yet.
But it was a beginning.
A subtle unraveling of hesitation. A quiet acceptance that maybe, just maybe, they could exist in the same space without fear pressing in from every side.
And when the dishes were done, and the lights dimmed, and they prepared for sleep, it was simple.
She took the guest toom.
He went to his room.
Just like before.
But something had changed.
The space between them no longer held the unbearable tension of things left unsaid. Instead, it held the soft breath of possibility, of two people finding their way, cautiously, tenderly, toward something unknown.
Lando lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling.
And though his heart still guarded itself, still feared she might leave again… for the first time in weeks, he let himself hope.
Just a little.
Because tonight, she stayed.
And that was enough.
To be continued...🧡
🫱🏼🫲🏼ꜱᴏᴜʟꜱᴛʀᴜᴄᴋ - ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 10: ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ʟᴀᴘꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪꜰᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ🫱🏼🫲🏼
📝 Note from the Author: My dear Alarwynnites, This is the third and last post for today, thank you for still being here with me!
Honestly, Chapter 9 felt like watching two emotionally constipated soulmates trying to process 47 years of repressed feelings in one lakeside evening... and then deciding pasta would fix it. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn't. All I know is: we’re cooking garlic and crushing tomatoes like it’s therapy now. 🍅
Also, a heads-up! There might not be an update this Monday because it’s Race Day at Night in my country (yes, Formula 1 under the stars, baby), and I will be slightly feral and emotionally unavailable.
But I wanted to deeply thank every single one of you who still takes the time to read my little emotional essays disguised as chapters. Whether you’re silently lurking, liking from the shadows, reblogging with tears in your tags, or writing me full-blown paragraphs in the comments, thank you. Truly.
💌 If you have a moment, please don’t forget to reblog, like, or comment. It helps this story reach more soft-hearted readers like you. If not, that's okay too. Just the fact that you're reading this means the world to me.
With love, me 🧡
