The impromptu jamming session gradually fizzled out as the clock ticked past midnight. The mellow jazz had morphed into offbeat tunes and makeshift rhythms. The guitar lay on the bed now, half-covered in a hoodie, while the drum pad rested on the table surrounded by crumbs and empty soda cans.
Sukhman leaned back, a relaxed grin on his face, still tapping a rhythm into his thigh out of habit. For the first time in a while, he felt genuinely part of something off the track.
"Man," Diego chuckled, wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. "We should totally start a band. 'The Slipstream Strummers' or something."
Omar burst into laughter. "Only if we want to get booed off every stage."
"Nah," Thiago said, raising a finger with a mock-serious expression. "We'd go viral for how bad we are. Like, international sensation level."
"Hey, speak for yourself," Sukhman said with a smirk, growing more confident as the night went on. "My tabla fingers got us at least two views. One from my mom, one from my sister."
"Ahh, the family bump. Classic technique," Diego nodded in mock approval.
The room filled with laughter again, and Thiago leaned forward. "Real talk though, Sukhman. You looked tight when you walked in. Like you thought we were gonna hand you a violin solo or something."
Sukhman scratched the back of his head. "Yeah... I guess I don't do this kind of thing often. Most times it's either practice, strategy meetings, or interviews. This… this was nice. Different."
Omar handed him a soda. "Get used to it, hermano. It helps. Keeps the mind clear. A free head makes for sharper reflexes."
"Yeah," Diego added. "Tomorrow, we go back to telemetry and tire strategies. But tonight? It was just about feeling human."
As the conversation settled into a quieter rhythm, the sounds of improvised instruments faded, replaced by chuckles and the warmth of shared stories. The low hum of the city outside the hotel window was just a distant whisper now. It was in these post-jam silences that camaraderie truly bloomed.
Thiago leaned back against the wall, sipping from a bottle of soda. "Okay, okay," he said, grinning mischievously. "Time for confessions. Funniest story from the circuit—go!"
"I've got one," he added before anyone else could respond. "Monaco, two years ago. I got completely lost in the paddock. Like, not just 'oops I turned the wrong way'—I ended up inside one of those fancy trailers used by a movie crew filming a documentary. The guy in charge thought I was one of the cast members and handed me a costume to change into."
"What?" Sukhman laughed. "You changed?"
"Almost did," Thiago chuckled. "I was halfway into a tuxedo when I realized something wasn't right. Then a camera guy comes in and asks me to sit on a couch and look emotional. I was like, 'Bro, I just came here for tire pressure readings!'"
Everyone burst out laughing. Omar was practically doubled over.
"Classic," Diego said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Alright, my turn."
He leaned forward with a nostalgic gleam in his eye. "Back in my karting days, I was in a tight race. It was wet, tires were slipping, and then suddenly—bam! My steering wheel comes off mid-turn."
"No way," Omar said, staring.
"I swear!" Diego insisted. "And instead of panicking, I thought I'd be clever. Tried steering with my elbows."
"You're kidding," Sukhman said, mouth agape.
"Not even a little," Diego replied, laughing. "I was just elbowing the shaft left and right, trying not to crash. Lasted maybe ten seconds before I ended up in the grass."
"That's the most Diego thing I've ever heard," Omar said, shaking his head.
"Your turn, Omar," Thiago nudged.
Omar chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not as dramatic, but… I crashed a scooter during a promo shoot in the Maldives."
"Oh, the beach shoot?" Diego perked up. "Wait—you were that guy?"
"Yeah," Omar sighed. "The client wanted us to look cool, ride scooters along the resort path. I hit a corner too fast, went off the path, and straight into a bush. The photographer screamed like I'd died."
"No injuries?" Sukhman asked.
"Just my pride," Omar smirked. "And a bunch of scratches. But the bush got the worst of it."
The room burst into another round of laughter, but as the energy settled again, Thiago leaned toward Omar with a teasing glint in his eye.
"Jokes aside, hermano, you've been putting in solid laps lately. People are talking. Feels like you're in your peak form."
Omar nodded with a pleased grin, but before he could thank him, Thiago added, "Still… even at your best, you're not catching Callum or Ayanda, man. Those two are freaks."
The grin faded a bit. Omar's jaw clenched slightly, the sting behind Thiago's jab hitting home.
"You saying I can't match them?" Omar asked, raising an eyebrow, the tone light but the challenge unmistakable.
"I'm saying they're on another level. That's not an insult. It's just… reality," Thiago shrugged. "Ayanda drives like a sniper—cold and calculated. Callum? That guy's got arrogance, but he backs it with raw talent and consistency."
Diego interjected quickly, sensing the shift. "Hey, that doesn't mean you're not elite. Everyone's got their strengths. Omar's racecraft in traffic? Second to none."
Omar exhaled, then nodded. "You're not wrong," he admitted, rubbing his knuckles. "Ayanda and Callum… they're monsters. But monsters can fall. Even legends can be beaten."
"That's the spirit," Sukhman said quietly, watching the dynamic unfold.
Thiago raised his drink in a casual salute. "Then here's to proving us wrong, amigo."
Omar clinked his bottle with Thiago's. "You bet your ass I will."
The tension dissolved, replaced by a renewed sense of challenge and fire. They weren't just rivals on the track—they were men chasing greatness, each in their own lane.
"Man," Diego said, stretching. "This is what I love about our job. The speed, the risks, the drama, and moments like this."
Sukhman smiled quietly, letting the moment sink in. These weren't just competitors. They were fellow warriors.
When the clock finally struck 1:30 a.m., yawns began replacing jokes. One by one, the drivers stood and stretched.
"Alright, amigos," Diego said, clapping his hands once. "Let's wrap this up. Big days ahead."
They exchanged goodnights, a few sleepy high-fives, and Sukhman stepped out into the quiet hallway. The energy from the room still lingered, like a soft rhythm in the back of his mind. He walked slowly toward his room, smiling to himself.
When he opened the door, the lights inside were dimmed, and the scent of hotel linens and cologne lingered. Yudhvir was already back, lying on his bed with his legs crossed, scrolling through something on his phone.
Yudhvir looked up and grinned. "Well look who's finally done with his world tour."
Sukhman tossed his key card onto the table. "Jamming session. Diego, Omar, and Thiago. It was fun."
"Fun? From you? I'm calling the press."
Sukhman laughed and plopped onto his own bed. "Shut up. It was actually nice. Chill, y'know? We even played instruments. Sort of."
Yudhvir gave a knowing nod. "Good. You need that. You're carrying a lot these days."
There was a comfortable silence between them. The kind that only came with mutual respect and understanding.
Yudhvir finally spoke. "Valencia's different. It's got that old-school street circuit energy, but modern tightness. You ready for it?"
Sukhman stared at the ceiling. "I don't know. But I want to be."
Yudhvir looked over. "That's all that matters. The want. Everything else follows."
Outside, the city lights of Valencia shimmered against the glass. Inside, two teammates rested. One healing, one rising.
The Grand Prix of Spain was days away. But the heartbeat of the paddock had already begun to thrum again.