The garden was livelier than it had been in the morning.
Ryan had improvised a sort of starting line with white stones, and Palmer was arguing about something regarding times while Bright held a stopwatch with excessive enthusiasm. Ardan watched from a wrought-iron bench, elegant even at rest. Dober stood with her arms crossed, as if all of this were slightly unnecessary.
McQueen walked beside me without touching the chair.
She didn't need to.
"Is it always like this?" I asked in a low voice.
"It depends on the day," she replied serenely. "But when Ryan wants to prove something, it's usually best to let her do it."
As if summoned, Ryan looked up and saw us approaching.
"Perfect!" she exclaimed. "Right on time."
I stopped at a safe distance from the improvised line.
"For what, exactly?" I asked.
"To see this," Palmer replied, pointing dramatically.
Ryan got into position. Her posture changed completely: she went from being the blunt and somewhat rough girl to pure concentration. The air seemed to tense slightly.
"It will only be a short lap," Bright announced, as if that made the scene less intense.
Silence fell a second later.
Ryan shot forward. It wasn't just speed. It was controlled power. Every stride was precise, efficient. She didn't seem to be running; she seemed to cut through the air.
I felt something stir inside me. A bodily memory, as if my muscles remembered something my mind couldn't name.
"Impressive, isn't it?" McQueen murmured.
I nodded without looking away.
The sound of her footsteps against the ground, the constant rhythm... something clicked with that fragmented image from my past. The track. The noise. The tension before a start.
My hand closed unconsciously around the wheel.
Ryan crossed the improvised finish line and Palmer announced the time with theatrical exaggeration. Bright clapped. Dober nodded with discreet approval.
Ryan walked toward us, breathing heavily, but smiling.
"Well?" she asked, looking directly at me. "What do you think?"
It took me a second to answer.
"It's... incredible," I said honestly. "It's as if the world stepped aside to let you pass."
Ryan blinked, surprised.
"That was unexpectedly poetic," Palmer commented.
Ryan looked away for a second, as if she didn't know what to do with the comment.
"Well," she said, scratching the back of her neck. "It's just training."
But her tail swished with more energy than usual.
McQueen watched the scene without intervening. When our eyes met, I noticed something different in hers. Not jealousy. Not discomfort.
Evaluation.
"Do you want to get closer?" she asked.
I looked at the white line on the ground.
"Yes."
I moved the chair forward until I was right where Ryan had started the race. I looked ahead.
The garden stretched out wide and open.
For a moment, the impulse was almost automatic: lean forward, get ready, wait for the signal. My body reacted before my logic.
Then I remembered.
My hands gripped the wheels.
The silence around me became perceptible. Not uncomfortable, but attentive.
Ryan was the first to speak.
"Do you want to try it?" she asked.
"I can't compete with you," I replied with a faint smile.
"I didn't say compete."
I looked at her, confused.
Ryan took a step back, leaving space in front of me.
"Run your own way."
The phrase caught me off guard.
McQueen said nothing. Nor did she intervene.
I looked at the path.
It was ridiculous. It made no sense. But the impulse was still there, beating strongly.
I placed both hands on the wheels.
I took a deep breath.
I pushed.
The movement was immediate. Stronger than I expected. The chair moved forward with a clumsy initial jolt, but I didn't stop. I pushed again. And again.
The ground vibrated under the wheels.
It wasn't the same. It was nothing like it. But the rhythm... the rhythm was there.
Halfway through the course, my arms started to burn. My breathing became irregular. My speed decreased.
I wanted to stop.
I didn't.
I pushed one more time.
And another.
Until the momentum completely ran out and the chair stopped on its own.
The garden was silent.
I leaned forward, trying to catch my breath. My pulse pounded in my ears.
"Not bad," Ryan finally said.
Palmer whistled.
Bright clapped again, though more softly.
I slowly looked up.
McQueen was smiling.
It wasn't a broad or flashy smile. It was small. Satisfied.
And directed at me.
The air seemed different now. Lighter.
Ryan turned around as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
"Tomorrow you'll do it faster," she said over her shoulder.
The certainty with which she said it disarmed me more than any compliment.
As the others began to scatter, McQueen stayed by my side.
"It wasn't reckless," she commented. "You adjusted your pace before losing control."
"I almost lost it."
"But you didn't."
Our eyes met again.
There were no spectators now. No noise.
Only the space between us.
"Thank you," I said.
"For what?"
I thought for a second.
"For not stopping me."
McQueen held my gaze calmly.
"It wouldn't have done you any good."
The wind slightly moved her hair. For a moment, the garden seemed too quiet.
Then, from the terrace, Palmer yelled:
"Hey! The tea is getting cold!"
The tension broke.
McQueen took a small step back.
"We better get going," she said.
I nodded.
I turned the chair to follow her, but before moving forward, I took one last look at the path I had covered. When I looked up, McQueen was already waiting for me a few meters ahead.