"What?!!" I blinked at him like he just told me EXO disbanded.
Cairo looked up from tying his shoelace, calm as a monk. "I said I'm starting training again today."
"You're training?"
"Yeah. Big race coming up. I need to start prepping again."
I gasped. "Like… real racing? As in, actual vroom vroom?"
"As opposed to fake racing?" he chuckled, standing up in his black dri-fit shirt that clung to his arms like it was in love with him.
I would be jealous if I wasn't so betrayed.
"So that means…" I placed a hand over my chest, feeling faint. "We won't see each other all day? You're choosing asphalt over love?"
Cairo raised a brow. "We still live in the same building, Love. I'll see you every night."
"But not during the DAY? What am I supposed to do while you're off gallivanting in your little metal coffin on wheels?"
"It's literally a race car—"
"Same thing."
I dramatically flopped onto the couch, the back of my hand pressed against my forehead like I was auditioning for a period drama. "This is abandonment. This is emotional starvation. This is why women become villains in teleseryes."
He laughed and leaned down to kiss my cheek. "You're so extra."
"No. I'm so lonely. Starting now. Immediate effect."
"Baby—"
"Don't 'baby' me. You're leaving me to wither."
—
As soon as Cairo left, I stared at the door for like five whole seconds.
Just stared.
As in, cinematic-level staring. Like there was slow-mo background music of Mariah Carey's "Without You," even though there wasn't.
And then I whispered to myself… "I'm officially… a widow."
Okay, not technically, but emotionally? Spiritually? Energetically? Yes.
I flopped back on the couch again like a dying swan. "What am I supposed to do now?" I asked no one in particular, because no one was actually there.
Even my plants were ignoring me.
Rude.
Then I remembered—my phone! I grabbed it like it was a lifeline and refreshed my messages.
Nothing from my agent. Nada. Zilch. As usual.
"Still no roles?" I muttered. "Are they blind? Deaf? Emotionally unavailable???"
So I did what any professional actress with zero current bookings would do.
I opened my Notes app and wrote:
TO-DO:
CryRewatch my legendary 4-second appearancesMaybe cry again if necessary
I made a huge bowl of cereal, opened my laptop, and typed "Elara Celestine Zulueta scenes" into the search bar of VLC.
Yep.
I had my own highlight reel.
I wasn't going to be humble.
I curated that thing like it was the Louvre.
First up: High School Heartbreakers — Episode 37. I was Girl #3 in the cafeteria. My line? "OMG, ang cute niya." Iconic.
I fast-forwarded until I found my face, pausing every time I caught even the slightest blur of my hair.
Like Where's Waldo, but I am Waldo and my brows are on fleek.
Next: My Only Vice is Love — I walked past the main couple arguing in the rain.
I was carrying a box.
An empty box.
But I gave that performance depth.
They don't teach that kind of blank stare in acting school.
I was halfway through my so-called "Elara Compilation Marathon" when things started getting real. I found an ancient teleserye clip—Forever is Not Enough (But 4 Seconds is)—and THERE. I. WAS.
Wearing a school uniform.
Holding a test paper.
Crying.
But not really crying.
More like… an allergic reaction? I remember the director said, "Iyakan ka ha, intense drama." But I had a sty on my eye that day and the eye drops made me blink like a confused goldfish.
I pressed pause.
Zoomed in.
"Elara," I whispered to my 2019 self on screen, "what are you doing, girl?"
I stared at the screen for five full beats, then pointed dramatically. "Ma'am, this is a Wendy's."
And then I clapped.
Alone.
For myself.
"Wow. Incredible. What kind of depth did I give to the character of 'Student #21'… it looks like I was drawing from deep personal trauma, yet I didn't even have a love life at the time. Wow. What an artist."
I was actually starting to feel proud—until the next scene loaded.
Love Me Later (a BL series where I played a barista named GIRL).
My entire appearance consisted of walking behind the leads holding two mugs… and then accidentally bumping into the camera man.
"OH MY GOD WAIT—is this the one where the director immediately called 'cut' because I actually broke the prop mug?!" I gasped, rewinding to rewatch the disaster.
Sure enough, there I was. With the grace of a drunk flamingo.
I crossed paths with the male lead, the mug fell, and… SIREN MODE.
"PAUSE."
I sat in silence for ten seconds.
Then I faced my electric fan. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
I turned to my lamp. "You too."
I stood up, walked to the toaster. "Sorry for screaming earlier. I just… I'm not okay."
Then I dramatically opened the fridge and stared inside. "You don't talk back to me, but I know you feel my pain," I whispered to the cold, glowing shelf. "You and I… we're both empty inside."
I shut the fridge door with flair. "Never mind. That was a lie. You have Yakult. I have nothing."
I flopped back on the couch, dramatically. "Twelve hours. Twelve hours without my boyfriend and I'm turning into a soliloquy-spouting Shakespeare extra. I need help. Or a life."
(Insert: Desperation Level Max)
I marched to my front door.
Looked through the peephole. "Still no signs of Cairo. Perhaps he fell into a pothole."
I checked the hallway.
Silence.
Then I had an idea.
Not a good one, not wise, but desperate times call for messy behavior.
I KNOCKED.
Yes. I knocked on his door like a certified Crazy Girlfriend.
Knock knock knock.
Nothing.
"Cairo?" I whispered.
Nothing still.
Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock knock
… Okay, maybe that was excessive.
I stopped myself.
I placed my hands over my chest. "Elara. Stop. Stop it. Be normal."
A beat.
I pressed my ear against the door. "HELLO?? Is anybody inside? Is your A/C on? I can hear the hum…"
Still nothing.
Then I whispered to the peephole: "Come home to me. I'm dying. I'm losing neurons."
Then I sprinted back into my unit like I hadn't just had a full breakdown in a public hallway.
I think I hallucinated a scene where I was hugging a tree? That might've been a shampoo commercial I never got booked for.
After that? Boredom.
Existential-level boredom.
I laid on the floor of my condo, arms spread wide like I was a crime scene outline. "This is it. This is how I die."
I called my mom.
She didn't answer.
I called Nadine.
She answered—just to say, "I'm busy, Mars, what is it?" I called my makeup artist. She said, "We don't have a shoot today, Elara."
"Well, maybe I just wanted to talk?" She hung up.
Ugh.
I hate being alone.
I was mid-rant to my rice cooker—yes, we were talking about my childhood trauma—when—
BEEP.
That familiar elevator beep outside my unit.
I froze.
Wait.
WAIT.
The elevator never beeps at this time unless…
I sprinted to my peephole like a possessed Sims character.
AND THERE. THERE HE WAS. CAIRO. SWEATY. HOT. HOLDING A DUFFEL BAG. ALIVE.
My knees buckled.
Like literally, my soul left my body and went: "Bye girl, I'll wait here while you go completely crazy."
I ran to my door, opened it like a telenovela mother confronting the mistress, and—"HI."
Cairo blinked. "Uh. Hi?"
I almost cried. "You're alive."
"Did you think I died—?"
"I thought you got kidnapped by a rival race team or like… went into a coma or something because I knocked twenty-seven times and I was already talking to your door. I WAS READY TO FILE A MISSING PERSONS REPORT. I MISSED YOU SO MUCH, CAIRO."
He laughed.
LAUGHED.
Rude.
I launched myself at him anyway, like a clingy koala in love.
Arms around his neck, legs refusing to stand on their own.
I was starved for boyfriend affection.
This man was my emotional support human.
"I'm so tired," he said, holding me back gently. "We had technical tests and strategy drills—"
"You smell like engine oil and masculinity and I love it."
"Okay?"
"Don't shower yet. I want to suffer with the scent."
"Elara…"
"No, because I've been abandoned all day and I watched every single acting role I've ever done just to remember who I was before I fell in love with you, and guess what? There's NOTHING. I'm nobody without you."
He chuckled. "You're literally insane."
"I know."
"You wanna come over?"
"I'm already inside your soul."
Ten minutes later, I was back on my rightful throne—Cairo's couch—wearing his hoodie again, eating chips like a raccoon while he was cooking something that smelled like it was going to heal all my wounds and past life traumas.
He peeked out from the kitchen. "You want rice or pasta?"
"Babe. I've been eating leftover fries dipped in peanut butter since lunch. I will literally cry if you give me carbs."
"So… rice?"
"Yes. Feed me like I'm a soldier returning from war."
He rolled his eyes but I knew he was soft inside.
He was humming while cooking.
That was his 'I'm so in love with my clingy extra girlfriend but I can't show it too much or she'll cry again' hum.
I slumped on the kitchen counter. "You know," I said, my chin on my palm, "I used to be so independent."
"No, you weren't."
"Okay, true. But I used to pretend to be."
He served me sinigang and rice with a side of grilled bangus like the absolute husband material that he is.
I almost wept.
"You okay?" he asked, watching me stuff rice into my mouth like a wild child.
"I missed you."
"You said that already."
"No, you don't get it. I missed you like… if love was a hunger, I was starving. I was watching our text thread and pretending to hear your voice. It was that bad."
He sat across from me and started eating.
And then out of nowhere, he reached across the table and held my hand.
Silent.
No romantic music.
Just a pure, warm palm, rough from the steering wheel, holding mine.
"You're clingy as hell," he said. "But I like it."
I blinked. "You do?"
"I do."
I stared at our hands like they were a miracle. Then I whispered, "You can't ever leave me again."
"I went to work."
"I don't care. If I die, it's your fault."
I obviously did not go home.
I mean.
Duh.
The moment Cairo put the dishes away, I was already inside his blanket, curled up like a shrimp in love.
My hair was still in a bun.
I was already wearing his oversized shirt.
His room smelled like cedar and linen and him, and I was like—"Babe. I feel safe here."
"You say that every night you crash here."
"Because I mean it every night."
He climbed into bed beside me.
We didn't say anything for a while.
Just... warm silence.
My feet were on his legs.
My fingers were on his arm.
My whole being was wrapped around Cairo's energy.
Then—"Babe," I whispered.
"Hm?"
"I didn't brush my teeth."
"Okay?"
"But if I die in my sleep, my ghost will have bad breath."
"Elara."
"Okay fine, I'll brush. But only if you come with me."
He groaned. "You're too much."
"You chose me."
"I regret everything."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
"KISS ME."
He kissed my forehead.
I screamed internally.
I brushed my teeth.
He did too.
We went back to bed.
I cuddled up next to him like I was built to exist in the exact curve of his body.
And then—"Babe," I whispered again.
"What now?"
"I love you."
He didn't answer right away.
But he turned off the bedside lamp. Then he whispered back: "I know. I love you too."
And that is exactly how our night ended, my friends.