Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The car came to a gentle stop. The engine hummed faintly, leaving a low rumble beneath her feet.

“We’re here, ma’am.” The driver spoke.

Mira opened her eyes and looked through the window. The familiar view of the place she has called home for months greeted her. She muttered her thanks to the driver, and before she could exit the car, he cleared his throat. 

“I-I wouldn’t call myself a fan of the sport,” he paused for a moment, thinking of the right words to say, “but seeing you, just–just absolutely flying in F3 was amazing, Ms. Shim! I wish you well this season.” 

The man finished as he looked at her through the rearview mirror. Mira could make out a small smile on his face, and she’d be lying if she didn’t feel giddy over the warm wish she just received. 

She gave a bow in return, thanking him before finally exiting the vehicle. As the car drove off, leaving her in her lonesome, she admired the view in front of her. Trees stretched around the facility for miles, a wide, shallow pool framed the building, and the team’s logo rested on its surface. 

‘SAMSUNG’ was written in elegant metalwork that beautifully reflected on the pool’s water. On the building, ‘SAMSUNG Motors’ was etched on top of the glass doors.

Mira stepped inside, humming to herself as she admired the exhibit in front of her. All of the team's cars were put on display. From a model of a soapbox car their team made for one of Red Bull’s races, to a full—on chassis of a retired F1 car model–she admired each design, knowing the intention, care, and effort that went into every single one.

As she walked along the corridor, she heard footsteps squeaking against the polished tiles.

“There she is!” A familiar voice rang through the empty corridor, drawing her attention.

Mira whipped behind her and caught sight of a familiar face. 

She took a good look at her—hair done in two messy space buns, wearing a fitting gray tee with her jumpsuit wrapped snuggly around her waist.

Mira let out a soft ‘oof’ as the woman crashed into her, wrapping her in a tight hug.

She wrapped her own arms around her, their usual greeting. “Hey, Zoey.”

Zoey was the first one to let go. The smile on her lips never left her face as she linked her arms with Mira.

They walked through the doors she had just come from, en route to the room to prepare for the press conference.

“So, how are we feeling? We’re just a couple of hours away from our first presscon for the season.”

“Like I’m already a champion.”

Zoey chuckled at Mira’s confidence, lightly bumping her shoulder into hers. 

“That’s our girl!” She mocked the screams of the crowd with whisper-yells, cupping her hands around her mouth with her tablet tucked underneath her arm. Exaggerated movements as she hollered, chanting Mira’s name.

Their laughter echoed in the empty hallway, bringing life to the all-too-serious environment. They stepped inside the waiting room, which seemed busier as they prepared the hall for the press conference.

Zoey sighed as she sat down on the couch. “Years of hard work have led to this moment, huh? Well–not this exactly, but you get my point.”

Mira admitted to the burden that was placed on her shoulders. The company valued change, which meant taking risks. 

Despite being known for the technology and appliances they have countlessly provided, the decision to join F1 was a leap of faith. During her parents’ time with the team, things were stable, a few fluctuations here and there, but they earned trophies, earned championships, and made the company known for its excellence. 

Now, it was barely even a team, one that would be better off dissolved, and to go back to supplying the sport with its LED screens and lights, said various businessmen. Instead, they took a risk and signed her, the kid who carried the biggest name of the race engineer and mechanic who led the team in their prime.

Mira didn’t want to let the opportunity of continuing her parents’ legacy go to waste. Not now, not when she could be a phoenix blazing through international circuits.

In all honesty, she couldn’t have made it this far without Zoey. The brains behind her every race. Even during the racing academy and F3, Zoey was a guiding light who guided her through snap decisions.

The air in the room was light. All the nerves for the press conference were gone, drowned by laughter and fond memories.

Minutes passed by, and while Mira was fixing her hair for the conference, the girls heard a knock on their door. Mira told the person to come in, still looking in the mirror as she retouched her makeup. A mop of short, pink hair peeked through the crack of the door. 

“Abby! Hey,” Zoey greeted with a small wave and a smile before going back to reading the data on her tablet. 

Abby let himself in. He was dressed in the team’s polo with a pair of shorts and sneakers. His presence in the team was fun to say the least. Mira had to admit he looked good—she even more so, but that was for another time, which was one of the reasons the team started gaining fans again. 

Brilliant business decisions.

“Hey, Zoey, Mira,” he greeted, giving a curt nod to both of them, “E and I were getting ready to go to the conference hall. Was wondering if you guys would like to come join or if you're still getting ready.”

Mira looked away from the mirror and ran her hands down over her clothes. She was also dressed in her team uniform, but a quick look at her would make people assume she was a model for the team rather than a racer. 

“I'm all good. Zo, you ready?” Mira asked as she grabbed her from the vanity.

“Give me… just… a few more…” Zoey trailed off, tapping furiously on her tablet, brow furrowed as she read the data plans for the team. 

Zoey then snapped her tablet shut after sending a final text. “Alrighty! We’ve all been media trained, and this isn’t rocket science, so… Let’s go!”

They step into the hallway, buzzing with excitement. E, or rather Mr. E, was waiting for them. A new era has dawned on Samsung, and they are certain that nothing will go wrong.

—

Wrong. 

They were very wrong.

How were they supposed to answer calmly when all the reporters did was ask—better yet, chastise their company and entire team. Nothing about that conference was professional.

E was a race engineer who apparently didn’t finish college. Abby was banking on his looks, the company’s desperate attempt at a cash grab. Zoey was too young to be here, and Mira… 

Oh, to say that she was pissed was an understatement.

—

“We can only entertain one last question,” the woman who was part of their PR team said over the clamoring reporters. 

The team was already sullen, and any spark of excitement had long dimmed as the reporters preyed on them, nitpicking everything about their personalities.

“Question for Shim Mira!” A reporter called out, and the crowd of reporters immediately went silent. 

Mira recognized this man. He had graying hair that was combed and styled neatly. He had a messenger bag that slung around his shoulder as he held out a pen and notebook. 

This man used to cover Samsung a lot during her parents’ time with the team. He always seemed pleasant as he asked them their questions.

The familiar face caused Mira to lower her defenses. Once sitting on edge as reporters clamor to rip their morale to shreds, she found respite at the man in front of her. 

“Go ahead,” Mira spoke evenly. A small smile on her face despite the sullen energy around her.

“Thank you so much,” he said with a smile as he began his spiel. “I’ve been to every event launch and press conference that Samsung has had over the years. You may even remember me during your parents’ time with the team.” 

Mira smiled proudly, “I do.”

“I commend your parents’ success, leading the Samsung Motors team to great heights. Their absence in the team was truly felt,” he started, “but now, they have you. And your signing felt like a product of your parents’ efforts.”

Mira's throat went dry. The air in the room suddenly felt stale. Colder. The type that pierced the skin. Still, she kept a smile on her face.

As she was about to speak, the reporter chimed in.

“Your parents did everything to get you here.”

This wasn't a question.

Mira's fist tightened, nails digging crescents into her palms. Still, a smile was on her face.

“Is the team truly safe in your hands? Straight from the F3 grid with parents pulling strings for their daughter's whims.”

This. was. not. a. question.

Mira's jaw clenched, biting her tongue to keep her from biting back. Her eyebrows twitched. Still, she had a tight smile on her face.

“But, are they losing just as much money investing in a messy racing team as they are with their own daughter?”

This was enough.

Mira stood up abruptly—chair scraping against the tiles, brows furrowed, eyes locked on with the reporter’s. The room ran as cold as Mira’s glare. 

“I’m more than just their daughter. I proved–” Mira began.

“Did you really, though?” 

Mira heard someone’s breath hitch. Zoey’s probably. 

“Because last time I checked, everything came from them. The glitz and glamour of your name is because you’re Shim Mira. So, tell me honestly, who are you?”

She held her gaze with him, air stale from the friction between them. This wasn’t just about her. It never was. It was about her parents’ legacy. It was about a sinking ship bringing in a familiar name to save it. It was, for the most part, PR. 

“Glad you got my name right,” Mira said through gritted teeth. “I’m Shim Mira, the girl who lives in the shadow of her parents’ legacy.”

At this point, Mira had started walking towards the reporter. She was dangerously close to him—she towered over the man, leaning in close to his face.

“But we Shims can make a name for ourselves regardless of where we are,” Mira seethed, patience hanging by a thread. 

She’s not just some kid with a legacy to carry. She’s her own person with something to prove, with everything to lose. And this reporter was tearing her open. Ripping her apart by the seams.

“So, what? That’s it? You’re the same as any spoiled, arrogant kid who was given the thing she wanted.” 

“Yeah, but I can back my name up with–”

“With what achievements? Maybe you were something in F3, but right now, you’re still your parents’ daughter. No shame in being just that.”

Just that.

The whole world had seen her as nothing but a spoiled kid drowning in her parents’ shadows. 

She was just that. 

Nothing else. Just that.

And in that moment, suddenly blinded by flashing lights and rage, she barely registered the sudden gasps and the stinging sensation that lingered on the palm of her hand.

—

“That could’ve gone better,” E said, hypnotizing himself as he swirled the contents of his cup around, uninterested in drinking it.

A sigh escaped from Zoey’s lips. “This is fine. They’d probably forget about this in a week,” she said, ever so optimistic. 

Small smiles were thrown at her. A small acknowledgement of her efforts to lighten the mood. All but one looked up at her. 

Mira, who had her eyes shut tight by the couch, was opening and closing the hand she had used to slap the reporter.

Zoey’s soft footsteps padded across the room. Mira’s eyes opened as she felt the weight shift beside her. She looked down at her hands, guilt written on her face as her eyebrows furrowed and the frown on her face deepened. 

“It’s alright,” Zoey said softly, leaning into her and resting her head on Mira’s shoulder.

“He had it coming,” Abby chimed, “I was surprised it took you that long to do it, though.”

Mira hummed pensively. This was something that dirtied the name of her parents. A name she was trying to uphold—prove that she was deserving to be their kid and prove that she was worth every single dime. 

She saw a headline flash on her phone earlier. “Striking Strings: Shim Mira Strikes Back on Team Controversy.” The article was brutal—the comments even more so. 

She tried to get her mind off things. Free practice was tomorrow, and she reminded herself of her and Zoey’s talks earlier.

“Get some data during practice, get a good position on qualifying, do your thing during the weekend, and win.”

—

When Mira arrived at the paddock, several cars were already weaving through the tracks with practiced precision. 

She was already wearing her team’s uniform—a white jumpsuit that had ‘Samsung Motors’ boldly written in the center. A few patches of their team’s sponsors' logos decorated her shoulders, a reminder of their dwindling presence in the sport.

Zoey was already sitting by the booth, chatting with Mr. E, swapping strategies and thoughts to get the best out of Mira’s skills and car. 

Some of the other team members took notice of Mira’s presence, exchanging bows as they passed by her. She got her helmet from one of the counters–white with thin ripples of pink decorated her helmet. The number 20 is printed on the side, similar to how the number was printed on the car's body. 

She spoke through the microphone built into her helmet.  “Hey, Zo,” she said as she gently eased herself into the cockpit. 

The car’s reveal had been held off because of what happened yesterday, so now the team was about to see the brand new model for the first time.

Her earphones crackled as Zoey spoke to her. She had turned around in her seat to face her from the booth. “Looking good there, Mira. You know what to do: fly out there and get mama some good data to work on.”

“Please don’t ever refer to yourself as mama ever again,” Mira said flatly, but a small smile tugged at her lips hidden behind the helmet. 

The sound of Zoey’s laughter filled her ears as the team guided her out of the garage and into the pit lane. She drove at a steady pace before gradually speeding up as she merged into the track.

She acclimated herself to the track—memorizing each corner, speeding up at each straight, slowing down as she turned the hairpin.

Driving around the track was nothing like the simulators, and even if she was familiar with some of the tracks during her time in F3, this felt a whole lot different. It was a whole lot heavier with so much at stake as she breezed through the track.

Her earpiece crackled, Zoey’s voice cheering her on. “You’re on fire! We got you on softs, but at this pace, you might make it to P3, maybe even pole.”

“Well, with my brilliant driving skills and your amazing strategies, I’m guessing a constructor’s cup and a championship title are in our future.”

“You got that right. Anyway, you’re good for a few more laps, then you can retire for the session. Take a break before qualifying tomorrow.”

—

When Mira returned to the garage, the mechanics were quick to move to her car—covering tires, checking the engine, making sure that everything was up to code and ready for qualifying.

She left the cockpit and removed her helmet and the layers underneath, unbuttoning the top of her jumpsuit to let in some air. Someone passed her a water bottle, which she kindly thanked them for. 

Zoey was already by her side, tapping away on her tablet. “So, we noticed a few kinks as you were driving. Nothing too serious, mostly just tire stuff that we can work on before qualifying,” she said, going over the data. “Fuel consumption is good, the engine was working like a dream, and considering that you weren’t even putting it to work, we might have a chance of catching up to Huntrix.”

Right. Huntrix was also something Mira needed to worry about. The team that her idol raced for. Rumi, the huntress of F1.

She watched her race during the Sydney Grand Prix in 2022. She remembered being on the edge of her seat as Rumi burst a tire before starting a new lap, dropping to 22nd place. But by some miracle, she caught up with the rest of the racers. Overtaking left and right, until she was back to leading the pack by a huge margin until the final, winning lap.

A framed photo of her present-day idol, Ryu Rumi, whilst being showered with champagne for her win in Australia, was displayed on her shelf, along with countless F1 memorabilia she collected over the years. Her eyes were hidden behind her cap, but there was a soft smile that peeked through from the angle at which the photo was taken. 

That was her debut in F1, and soon enough, four years in the making, Huntrix Motorsports solidified its name in the sport. 

A name made versus a name redeemed. Mira wondered how their rivalry would go, despite it being set in stone the moment Samsung announced that she was joining the team.

—

“Alright, so we already know the drill,” E spoke in a controlled manner, “no flashy stunts, just focus on speed, and we might end up in P4 and P6.”

Whispered agreement was thrown around in the small room. 

Abby lightly nudged Mira with what she would describe as a stupid, lopsided grin.

“I think they were talking about you,” he said.

Mira rolled her eyes at him. “Shut up.”

“Alright,” Zoey cut through, tone shifting into business mode. “We're putting both of you on softs, and the car's been configured to how you drive.”

As the meeting ended. Mira can't seem to shake away her nerves. She watched her competitor’s lap times, wondering if she could match them.

Deep in thought, she jolted under the contact of a hand over her shoulder. She glanced down and saw Zoey looking at her apologetically. Mira gave her a small smile. 

“You got this, Mir,” Zoey said, her head leaning on Mira's shoulder as they both watched the competition's lap times. 

Rumi zoomed past the chequered line, and an astounding 1:27.264 flashed on the top of the board. Mira glanced down, and both Samsungs were grayed out as neither her nor Abby had started.

“It's time for a chase,” Mira said, walking over to one of the counters to grab her helmet. She tapped Abby's shoulder and tilted her head to the track. “Let's go.”

“Thought you'd never ask,” he said with a smile.

Both of them settled into their own cockpits. Abby drove out first, Mira taking a minute longer to compose herself. 

“Set the pace,” her dad’s words echoed in her mind as she signaled that she was ready. 

Her heart was pounding against her chest. “Remember that you’re the one driving, you’re not on autopilot. So, set the pace.” 

As Mira flew out from the garage, she had her eyes dead set on the road in front of her, maneuvering with precision that could only be done with practice. The car felt as if it were an extension of herself.

The hum of the engine, the weight of the car, and the air that blew past her as she drove felt natural. As if she were right where she belonged. This was exactly how she imagined it. Sims could only do so much to replicate a track, but this immersion was completely beyond her. 

Mira wondered if she was full of herself to believe that this was a little too easy. 

As she crossed the chequered line, her earpiece crackled to life. The tone in Zoey’s voice was easy to understand, but the words were gibberish as Mira came down from the high of finishing the race.

She had no idea what was going on as she entered the pit. 

While climbing out of the cockpit, removing her gear, and loosening the top of her jumpsuit, Mira grumbled as she felt arms around her. “I’m sweaty,” she groaned; the hint of annoyance was absent from her tone.

She reciprocated the hug with a single arm and leaned her head on top of Zoey’s.

“You were fantastic,” Zoey exclaimed, eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. She took her hand and dragged her to the monitor displaying the leaderboard.

Mira eyed the upper middle portion, expecting to place sixth or eighth. She heard the girl beside her giggle. “Look up, silly.”

When she did, she saw Samsung’s logo in P2. When realization dawned on her, a smile split across her face. The final list for qualifying was in place.

Mira saw the names of their other competitors, but her eyes were locked onto their team and their main rivals. Samsung was close to both of Huntrix’s drivers, a little too close for comfort. 

At that point, Mira promised to put everything on the line. On the race weekend, she’ll be the one setting the pace.

—

The melodious sound of jazz added to the ambience of a buzzing lounge. The soft chatter of people and warm laughter of children as they ran around the hotel drowned the thoughts in Mira’s head. 

The interview. The practice. The qualifying. The race. 

Mira was worried about the race, but the thought soon disappeared as she saw familiar faces. 

On the track, racers saw each other as nothing but competitors. Swearing on their radio to punch a racer or call someone stupid for rear-ending them. Though never heard by the object of their frustrations, it was clear how important the race was for each of them. But as they exist outside the pressure of the grid, the hotel became neutral territory.

Mira saw rivals share a drink and a laugh, exciting stories being passed around by another group of racers—but there was also an exception of someone sitting idly alone. It was convenient, however, that she was sitting right next to her. 

Purple hair flowed down her back in loose waves. She was wearing a green ribbed turtleneck, a pair of jeans, and chunky sneakers. She stared mindlessly into her cup, sloshing it around in a daze. 

“Penny for your thoughts, Ms. Ryu?” Mira asked, leaning back against the bar counter.

Startled, Rumi snapped her head towards Mira’s direction. Her once tense shoulders eased slightly. “I thought you were a reporter.”

Mira shrugged. “Not really my dream career,” she said, recalling the press conference fiasco, “but if I were, I’d cover your every race.”

“Is this an attempt at flirting?” Rumi asked teasingly. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She brought the cup to her lips as if to hide the smile. 

And if Mira noticed, she didn’t say a word.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she said, feigning ignorance, “but if I did, would it change anything?”

They looked at each other, and a shy smile painted their lips as a soft chuckle escaped.

Rumi rolled her eyes at the lame attempt that Mira pulled, but nonetheless, felt at ease in her presence.

A comfortable silence sat between them. 

“Well, how does the best racer of F1 feel about this season?” Mira asked, an attempt to make conversation.

“Well, for starters,” Rumi started, abandoning the drink in her hand, “nervous.”

Mira chuckled. “You get nervous?”

“You’re right, but you can never be too careful, you know?” Rumi hummed in contemplation, “especially when Samsung’s newest driver is closing in on my lap time.”

Mira shrugged, absentmindedly grabbing Rumi’s drink instead of hers. She raised a brow as she took a sip.

“This…” she trailed off, setting the glass back down, “isn’t my drink.”

Rumi let out an unsophisticated snort, which made both of them erupt into laughter. They continued chatting until Rumi decided to call it a night.

As Mira settled into her hotel room, a realization settled in. In a hotel lounge, even rivals can be friends. Neutral territory brought interesting partnerships. And her curiosity about Rumi, despite calling herself her dedicated fan, stirred something deeper in Mira. 

Maybe it was the smile that wasn’t practiced that got her hooked. Or was it how different she was when she was talking to her? Either way, the Rumi she met was different under the lounge’s ambient glow. Far from the cold and precise interviews, vacant smiles, and stiff gestures. 

🏁

Mira signed a few merch items, and by few, just a handful of caps that dedicated fans bought for them as she walked towards the paddock.

When she arrived, the briefing immediately began.

“Alright, so qualifying got us into a really good position, and now it’s time for you guys to bring it to fruition,” Zoey said seriously until she whispered, “Whoa, bars.” That made the team chuckle.

“Anyway, we predict that you guys can hold your positions until the end of the race. It’s just 57 laps, how bad can that be?”

“And with that, we’re doing a 2-stop strat with both of you starting on softs.” Mr. E stated methodically. It was calculated and straight to the point. “Mira, we’re putting you on mediums twice, and Abby, we’re going soft, hard, then Mira’s mediums.”

The two pink-haired racers nodded. Competition settled under their skins as they will themselves to claw their way to the top. This was but the first of many, yet an unspoken promise came into existence—a clean sweep for the season.

As they made their way to the grid, settling nicely into their positions, Mira felt the tension riding on her shoulders. 

Mira looked at the stands, fans wearing colors of orange, red, pink, black, but mostly purple. She saw splotches of white; she could only hope they were Samsung fans. They cheered loudly at the first light, causing a rumble just as loud as the car’s engine that revved, waiting for the race to start.

By the third light, Mira couldn’t help but feel the sweat forming on her forehead underneath all the gear. Her hands felt too clammy, as if the wheel was too small for her. 

As the fourth light went off, Mira had shifted her gaze to the car in front of her—black with accents of blue, pink, and purple mimicking waves along a shore. She stared at the back of the driver's head. At that moment, she looked as steady as a mountain. 

Is this something I can truly climb over?

But before she had time to spiral, the moment came to race. 

Green went off, and tires screeched as they fell in line, some trying to outpace the other. Mira and Rumi sat comfortably in their cockpits with Rumi leading the pack.

As they reached the speed trap, Rumi slowed down a little too early, which caused Mira to take a graceful turn, taking up number one.

Her earpiece crackled to life. Zoey’s voice was steady, but she could almost imagine the twinkle in her eyes. “Beautiful execution, Mira! Wear this out until we give you comms again. Holler if you need anything.”

“Copy that,” Mira said as she went through the straights and turns with precision. 

After several laps, Mira noticed a car closing in beside her. Rumi’s. The way she drove had always been defensive. Close enough to see what her enemy would do, far enough to avoid making contact. It was analytical, as if she were playing chess. 

From her races, she knew how this would play out. If she went inside, Rumi was far back enough to take the opening and take the spot away from her. So, what she did was slow down enough to let her take it. 

The opening was clear, but it definitely had a price.

“Boxing this lap,” Mira said into her mic. The radio was dead silent as Zoey was astonished by Mira’s play. Still, she had just as much faith in Mira as Mira did in her.

“Copy that. Boxing this lap. We’re putting you on mediums,” Zoey said.

Mira came in, and the pit stop was flawless. Came in second, returned to the spot where she wanted to be, closing in once again on Rumi, whose tires were worn as she boxed earlier than her. 

As she led the lap once again, Mira was confident of a podium finish.

A few more laps and the final box as she goes in for the last five laps. And so, the race continued. Jinu had tailed her during the final push. “You’re leading by the pack by five seconds.”

“Five? How’s Rumi doing?” Mira said, turning on her DRS.

“Engine troubles and pit miscommunication. She’s in fifth. She’s on fresh mediums, so I need you to take care of your tires,” Zoey said through the radio.

Mira stayed silent and wondered about the engine trouble this late in the lap. But if anyone could pull off miracles, it would be Rumi. Rumi was behind the McLarens and Red Bull. For now, the ones neck and neck for the finish line were her and Jinu. 

Mira pushed harder, and as fast as the race started, she crossed the chequered flag. A howl came from her radio as she slowed down to celebrate.  “LET’S GO! Thank you guys, amazing strategies. Lovely, absolutely lovely.” 

Three drivers were welcomed to the podium: her, Jinu, and the newest racer for Red Bull. They sprayed champagne around, and as she received the cup for the Bahrain Grand Prix,  she grabbed Zoey’s hand to raise it with her.

Her heart was pounding against her ribcage. The thrill of the race, the excitement that hung in the air, the crowd noticing her and screaming her name. A reporter came up to her asking about what’s to come. And all Mira did was smile and give them the promise of something interesting. 

🏁

The hotel gym was empty when Mira arrived. Most of the people were lounging by the pool, but she had different ideas. Mira wanted to shake off the excess energy before calling it a night.

She took a steady pace on the treadmill, stretching her arms and rolling her shoulders. She walked as if she were on a runway and barely registered Rumi’s presence on the treadmill beside her.

“Hey,” Mira said once she acknowledged her presence, “great race earlier.”

Rumi gave her a tight single nod. The machine came to life, and she was off doing her own routine.

“Anything special planned tonight?” Mira asked, trying to make conversation with her newfound acquaintance. 

Rumi sighed. Mira felt the tension that suspended between them. As if one wrong move would trigger an explosion. Her silence was uneasy, especially with what she said, “All I want is a quiet night.”

Mira didn’t even attempt to pry, but this was a version of Rumi she unfortunately knew. The Rumi who would coldly decline sudden interviews. The Rumi who spoke with measured words. The Rumi who had walls built so high and so impenetrable. Mira knew this version of Rumi, after looking up to her for the past three years, but she had no idea how to get over her walls again.

As she left the gym, Mira could only wish her a good night. No other words were exchanged. Mira can’t help but wonder what happened to cause Rumi to hide from her. But those were thoughts for another day.

A better day, she hoped.