The clouds above São Paulo on saturday flirted with mischief, hanging low over Autódromo José Carlos Pace like an omen. But no rain came — just heat shimmering off the tarmac, thick humidity clinging to every mechanic's collar, and the electric roar of engines bouncing off the grandstands.
For the ten drivers who will make it through the final Qualifying session, the mood is almost reverent. This track wasn't just about speed — it was about rhythm, intuition, and boldness. The elevation shifts, the blind corners, the deceptively short straights — it punished hesitation and rewarded guts.
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Qualifying Laps – Interlagos Circuit
Three laps. No room for error. Every throttle press, every brake tap, every apex mattered.
In the Vaayu garage, Rajan stood with a headset on, his knuckles resting on the pit wall barrier. His eyes followed every sector time flashing on the monitors. He was restless — tapping his foot, chewing his lip, talking low into the mic.
> "We push sectors one and three. Brake late at turn four, carry throttle through the sweepers. Trust the grip," he repeated into Sukhman's ear, pacing like a caged tiger behind enemy lines.
Inside the cockpit, Sukhman exhaled slowly. The sound around him — crowds, engines, crew chatter — faded under the snug comfort of his helmet. His focus narrowed. All that existed now was asphalt and instinct.
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Callum Graves was first out. His lap was a masterclass in stability — calculated aggression, razor-sharp exits. The Brit crossed the line and set the provisional pole.
Erik Holtz followed — clinical, aggressive. He clipped the inside curb at Bico de Pato with surgical precision. The German's time flashed just 0.019s behind Callum. The tension was already at boiling.
Jia Tan, still battling car inconsistencies, pulled together a tidy run through the mid-section but faltered slightly out of Juncão, where the rear briefly stepped out.
Charlotte Reid followed with a cleaner line but played it safe downhill, especially at Descida do Lago — likely still shaken from the catastrophic gearbox failure in Zandvoort.
Then came Sukhman.
His tires screeched lightly as he pulled out of the pit lane. The engine's growl was steady, but his mind wasn't. For a split second, the weight of everything — expectations, judgment, a fractured family name — pressed against his chest. He shook it off.
> "All right, let's show them," Rajan's voice said in his ears, grounding him like it always did.
Sector One – Clean. No wheel spin, clean downshifts.
Sector Two – A correction at turn 8. Not ideal, but not fatal.
Sector Three – Perfect rhythm. The car felt like an extension of his thoughts as he darted through the Senna S and over the final crest.
Lap time: P5. Ahead of Thiago. Just behind Bellamy.
> "That's a clean banker," Arne confirmed. "If the track doesn't improve, we're safe."
But it did improve — barely. As ambient temperatures dropped and rubber gripped tighter, Montoya delivered a punchy lap that pushed Sukhman down to P6.
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Top 10 Qualifiers – Interlagos (Brazil GP)
Position Driver Country
P1 Callum Graves 🇬🇧 UK
P2 Erik Holtz 🇩🇪 Germany
P3 Diego Montoya 🇧🇷 Brazil
P4 Alain Bellamy 🇫🇷 France
P5 Jia Tan 🇨🇳 China
P6 Sukhman Singh 🇮🇳 India
P7 Thiago Martins 🇦🇷 Argentina
P8 Charlotte Reid 🇦🇺 Australia
P9 Omar Irani 🇲🇦 Morocco
P10 Ravi Deshmukh 🇮🇳 India
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Evening Call – Mumbai's Echoes
The Interlagos paddock had mostly gone quiet, the floodlights casting long shadows over empty pit lanes. Back in the team hotel, Sukhman sat on the bed with sore legs, a protein shake in hand. He looked out at the city skyline — chaotic, lively, golden with evening light.
Harinder's tablet buzzed beside him.
> "Look who crawled back from the corporate underworld," Harinder said as he tapped 'Accept'.
Nandini's face filled the screen, her eyes sharp and amused. Behind her, the familiar chaos of Mumbai — honking traffic, flickering neon signs, and the faint echo of a cricket commentary — brought a pang of nostalgia to Sukhman.
> "You two surviving without me is... just a miracle," she teased.
> "We're managing. Mostly," Sukhman replied.
> "Mostly? Please. Harinder's become your unofficial therapist, strategist, and snack thief. And let's not forget — I got pushed out all because you dragged your 'brother-from-another-mother' to the garage at the last moment," she said, mock offended. "I should sue you for emotional damages."
> "I told you I come with risks and excellent hair," Harinder deadpanned.
They laughed, but beneath the humor, Sukhman saw the truth: she missed this. Maybe not the politics. But the racing? The camaraderie? The family they were building? That never left.
> "Honestly, though," Nandini's tone softened, "you're doing good, Sukhman. Not just the driving. You've become matured. Grit suits you."
> "Thanks, Ms. Thakre. Come back someday."
> "Maybe," she said. "But only if Harinder agrees to share snacks."
> "Absolutely not," Harinder muttered. "That's never going to happen."
When the call ended, Sukhman stared at the now-black screen. Mumbai's city noise echoed in his ears. He didn't say it aloud, but he knew what she gave up. And it wasn't just a job.
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One More Call Before Sleep
He was brushing his teeth when his phone buzzed again.
> Incoming call: Manpreet 💫
"Veere!" his little sister shouted before the screen even stabilized. Her voice brought warmth, familiarity — home.
> "Maa says you looked too serious on TV again."
Sukhman wiped foam from his lips. "That's my race face."
> "Tell that to your eyebrows. They looked like they wanted to punch someone."
He chuckled, sitting on the bed. "I almost beat Holtz today."
> "I saw! He looked so grumpy after. Keep doing that. Also... papa watched the replays. Didn't say much, but he didn't change the channel either."
Sukhman paused. That hit deeper than expected.
> "That counts for something, right?" she added gently.
"Yeah," he whispered, "yeah... yeah, it does."
---
Outside, São Paulo glittered — neon over slums, skylines over samba. The crowd would sleep, but tomorrow, the real war would begin.
Meanwhile, far away, in a dark control room in Dubai, the next move was already calculated.
> Phase Four: Operational status.
A map of the ten circuits blinked on a central screen. Interlagos was highlighted red.
Lines were being drawn — between rivals, within teams, even across borders.
But some of those lines would soon be crossed.
In rubber.
In blood.
In silence.