When I first met her, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that point in my life, everything revolved around motocross was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Club, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar.

When I first met her, I’ll be honest—I didn’t think too much of it. She wasn’t what I expected, not at all. At that point in my life, everything revolved around motocross was taking shape, and I was consumed by the Game, the Club, the road ahead. Romance? It wasn’t on my radar. But—she—she walked into my life like a different world entirely. There was a calmness about her, something that didn’t fit into the chaos I’d built around myself. Where my days were loud, fast, and relentless, she brought a quiet I didn’t know I needed.

 

I remember our first real conversation—it wasn’t at a race or some event where everyone else was watching. It was just the two of us, and suddenly the noise faded. She asked questions that mattered, listened to answers that mattered even more. I tried not to let it get to me, tried to stay focused on my own world, my own path. But every time she smiled, every time she laughed at something I said, I felt myself unravel in a way I hadn’t planned for.

 

It wasn’t instant. Nothing in my life had ever been instant. But slowly, imperceptibly, she became part of the background of every day, part of the rhythm I didn’t realize I’d been missing. And then one afternoon, during a quiet moment away from the bikes and the roar of the tracks, I realized I’d crossed some invisible line—I cared. Not just a little, not casually. Deeply. Terrifyingly. Completely.

 

Looking back now, I can’t imagine those years without her. She came into my life like a storm in slow motion—quiet, unassuming at first, and then impossible to ignore. And just like that, the road I thought I’d known forever changed completely.

 

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