The morning air in Brisbane was crisp, tinged with the sharp scent of engine oil and rubber. Sunlight streaked across the paddock, casting long shadows that danced with anticipation. Mechanics hurried about, team radios buzzed, and cameras flashed from every angle. It was Grand Prix day—but for Sukhman Singh, the atmosphere felt more like judgment day.
He stood quietly near the Vaayu GP garage, helmet in hand, head bowed slightly. The embarrassment of the previous day's qualifying round still clung to him like static. P9. A harsh drop from the highs he'd grown used to in Morocco and Cape Town. But the worst part wasn't even his grid position—it was the silence in the garage that morning.
No jokes, no side comments in the garage. Siddharth hadn't spoken a full sentence since Friday. Even the engineers had grown businesslike, mechanical. Clinical.
He glanced up at the massive monitor hanging from the wall: leaderboard standings, news tickers, live footage from pit lane. All eyes were on Brisbane. But he could feel it—far too many of those eyes weren't watching in support. They were waiting. Waiting for another misstep.
Still dressed in his team uniform, Sukhman sat back on a foldout chair near the telemetry station and quietly sipped from a bottle of water. He had barely spoken all day. He didn't have much to say.
The last 24 hours had been sobering.
Last night, after the qualifying session, he had sat alone in his hotel room, doom- scrolling through an avalanche of vitriol.
"Vaayu GP will win the championship," he'd said with smug confidence at the Qatar GP. Now it was a meme.
One video intercut that quote with his crashing final lap in the duel against Charlotte. "Champion of what, of the arrogance trophy?" the caption read.
Another clip had set his highlight wins to a dramatic theme song, followed by the sound of a balloon deflating as his recent performances rolled in.
But the one that stuck with him most—one that twisted in his gut like a blade—was a mock-up of a cereal box with his face on it. The name?
"Three-Race Prime"
Comments below were worse.
"Another hype train derailed. Never trust an early peak."
"Who knew the guy who preached focus would be stumbling out of bars before the big race?"
"Typical Indian. Brags loud, fades faster."
But what disturbed him most—what made him feel not just mocked, but alienated—were the jokes about his identity. Sarcastic posts referencing his turban, his culture, edited photos meant to degrade, not entertain.
That was the moment something in him shifted.
He realized what Charlotte had meant. Not just about overconfidence—but about losing the core of who he was.
He hadn't just disappointed the team. He had lost their trust. And in the process, allowed the world to define his story for him.
---
Sunday: Brisbane Grand Prix - Race Day Hype
"Good morning from Brisbane!" boomed a voice over the airwaves, rich and lively with energy.
The global feed kicked off with the opening segment of the broadcast, and thousands of spectators inside the circuit and millions across the world tuned in.
"This is your host Jack Simmons," said the now-infamous British commentator with his signature sharp tongue. "And joining me as always, the far more sensible half of this duo, Whitney Moore."
"Hello everyone!" Whitney said, smiling. "It's race day at one of the most exciting circuits on the calendar. High-speed corners, wild chicanes, leaderboard contest and the unpredictable weather of Queensland—it's all going to make for a dramatic Sunday."
"Oh, dramatic indeed," Jack chimed in. "Especially if you're a certain Vaayu GP driver trying to remember which direction the track goes."
Whitney chuckled, though she shot him a look. "Be nice, Jack."
"I'm always nice," he replied innocently. "But when you go from winning two races to spinning in a solo duel and qualifying ninth, you've got to expect a little heat."
Cameras panned across the paddock. The high-rise grandstands were filled to the brim. Flags waved, faces painted, children bouncing in excitement as they spotted their favorite drivers.
On social media, the hashtags were trending:
#BrisbaneGP
#CallumVsAyanda
#SukhmanFallOrFly
#FinnsRedemption
Finn Carter, buoyed by his dramatic Qatar win, was hailed as the rising hero. Ayanda Nkosi, cool and consistent, was being praised for her maturity and near-perfect racecraft. And Callum Graves, as always, was the face of the grid—dominant, polished, yet chased by rivals growing ever closer.
As for Sukhman… his name trended too. But not for the reasons he once dreamed of.
"Fans are watching with baited breath," Whitney said over highlights of past races. "Can Callum keep his lead? Can Ayanda outsmart him again? Will Finn find another gear today? And of course... all eyes on Sukhman Singh—will this be his redemption arc or the next meme in the making?"
Back in the Vaayu GP garage, final preparations were underway.
Sukhman stood beside his car, helmet tucked under one arm. His suit shimmered under the fluorescents, but there was no trace of cockiness now. No smiles for the cameras. No jokes with the crew.
He was quiet. Focused. And more aware than ever of the tightrope he walked.
Siddharth passed by, handed him a final checklist. Still professional, still cold. But this time, Sukhman stopped him.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "For letting the team down."
Siddharth blinked. Then nodded once. "Actions speak louder. Let's see it on track."
Up in the commentary box, Jack and Whitney continued.
"And the fans are in for a treat today," Jack said, rubbing his hands together. "If the rumors are true, Charlotte Reid might be racing with a modified aero setup, thanks to her duel win. That gives her more corner grip than anyone else."
"Daan Vermer is now looking faster too," Whitney added. "His comeback is finally stabilizing."
"And Callum and Ayanda on the front row," Jack concluded. "Well, that's basically war on wheels."
The screen cut to the starting grid.
P1 - Callum Graves
P2 - Ayanda Nkosi
P3 - Finn Carter
P4 - Isabella Romano
P5 - Daan Vermer
P6 - Ryan Brooks
P7 - Charlotte Reid
P8 - Lukar Meier
P9 - Sukhman Singh
P10 - Omar Irani
As Sukhman climbed into his cockpit, fastened his belts, and ran his systems check, his mind wasn't filled with media noise or online backlash anymore.
He remembered something his father once told him, back when he was just participating in illegal races in Punjab:
"Fame comes and goes. But how you race—that stays in people's memory."
For the first time in months, he believed it.
And for the first time in a long time—he raced not to prove others wrong.
But to prove himself right.