036 Snail-Paced Affection in a Go-Kart Race

"Musa..." I suppressed the surge of excitement within me, trying my best to appear nonchalant. "What are you doing here?"

"I am a member of this club." Behind his helmet, his expression was hidden from my view; I could only hear his voice, which seemed calm and unruffled.

"Right, I know that. You mentioned it last night." I lowered my voice, making it soft and faint. "What I mean is, shouldn't you have headed straight to the track?"

My current position was relatively secluded, and dressed in the standard go-kart uniform, I was not easily noticed. I admit that as I asked this, there was a faint expectation in my heart, though I wasn't entirely sure what I was hoping for.

Musa paused, then said, "I saw Lian Pian and Bill just now. I was afraid you might feel left out again, so I came over to check on you."

Afraid I would feel left out? My cheeks instantly began to burn. He actually remembered that offhand remark I made last night about being "left out"! I vividly recalled how he had abruptly said "no" back then, and I hadn't understood his meaning. Now, that warmth had truly translated into action.

Perhaps sensing that his words had betrayed his intentions, Musa quickly added, "I'll leave as soon as I've finished teaching you."

But that did nothing to dampen my self-satisfied mood.

Sometimes, falling for someone isn't about how much they do for you, but that they appear at every moment you need them most. From then on, one is destined to circle around them, unable to escape the entanglement.

Musa had me sit in the go-kart, hands on the steering wheel, and leaned in to explain the various controls with immense patience and detail. The structure of a go-kart is simple; for someone who already has a driver's license, it isn't particularly difficult. But to race, one must put in much more effort. It is said that professional racers all start with go-karts, which is known as the "cradle of F1 drivers," but for the wealthy, it is merely a form of urban entertainment.

I looked up, taking in the clear, bright sky, and listened to Musa’s low yet patient voice. In truth, whether I understood the mechanics or not mattered little. For me, basking in the scorching sun while listening to someone I adored speak slowly and gently was the most serendipitous treasure.

It was a pity, however, that from beginning to end, he never once removed his helmet.

This was the second time I had seen him without his white robe, yet I still could not see his face. Even after shedding that symbol of taboo, there were still so many gulfs between us. Whether it was the clamoring crowds or the barrier of a helmet, I had never had the chance to face a real, complete, and unreserved version of him.

How utterly sorrowful. Others might not know which path to choose as the beginning of a relationship, but I could not find a single path that would bring me closer.

I was timid and dared not drive the kart too fast, treating it purely as a recreational experience. After Musa led me through a short test drive, I suddenly remembered Ayoub praising Musa’s go-kart skills yesterday. I lifted my chin, and with a burst of bravado, declared, "Get in your own kart. Let's race."

Upon hearing this, Musa chuckled. "Are you serious?"

I nodded firmly.

I knew, of course, that this decision was quite presumptuous, but to share the speed and passion with him—what did a little embarrassment matter?

Yet, the reality exceeded my expectations. No matter how slowly I drove, Musa stayed behind me at an even more turtle-like pace. Occasionally, when he did pull ahead, he would find a way to slow down at the curves, and in the end, we crossed the finish line together.

He was clearly going easy on me, but I still had a wonderful time, teasing him relentlessly, "Haha, with skills like yours, you're only at my level! How did the club ever accept you as a member?"

Behind the semi-transparent visor of his helmet, I caught a faint glimpse of his lips curving into a gentle arc, but he said nothing.