I woke up to the sound of silence.
No Cairo humming in the kitchen.
No Cairo complaining about my hair clips being scattered on his couch.
No Cairo, period.
Which could only mean one thing: training day.
Ugh.
I turned to the left side of the bed and dramatically flopped over Cairo's pillow like i was in some indie film about loneliness.
I even did the thing where i pressed my nose to the fabric and inhaled like a total creep.
"Yup. Still smells like man and coffee and stress," I mumbled to myself, hugging it tighter.
I didn't know what was more frustrating — the fact that he was gone, or the fact that i kinda liked missing him this much?
Wait. No. I wasn't supposed to be clingy. I was Elara freaking Zulueta, Miss Independent with killer cheekbones and a career.
But also… my boyfriend is hot and i want to see him, like, now.
I rolled out of bed, hair a mess, wearing Cairo's old racing shirt as my pambahay, and walked over to the window like some sad telenovela lead.
I even did the whole arms-crossed, look-up-at-the-clouds aesthetic.
"Come back home, Cairo…" I whispered dramatically.
Nothing.
Just the sound of birds chirping and my air conditioner making a weird gargling noise. Rude.
Whatever.
If Cairo was off being Fast and Furious, I needed to be busy too. Productive. Ambitious. Award-winning.
I shuffled to the kitchen, ready to whip up something that would make me feel like a leading lady who has her life together.
Unfortunately, all i found was an empty fridge and an unopened tub of kimchi from like, two weeks ago.
"Yikes. No thanks," I gagged, slamming it shut.
I was about to dig through Cairo's snack drawer when my phone buzzed.
[Agency]
Elara, great news! The production has reconsidered. The role of the ex-girlfriend is yours if you want it. Shoot starts today. Let us know if you're available.
Wait.
I blinked, re-read the message, and literally screamed.
"OH MY GOSH I'M A STAR AGAIN—"
I slipped on the floor while doing a celebratory twirl and hit my hip on Cairo's coffee table.
"Ow. Okay. That hurt but WORTH IT!"
This was it. My comeback. After all the failed auditions, the lost confidence, the humiliating grilled hotdog incident — I was back in the game!
I was gonna be the ex-girlfriend of the male lead in a primetime drama.
Ex-girlfriend. Mood.
I ran (read: tripped) into the bathroom to fix my life. Hair? Check. Skincare? Check. Mascara that says "I cry sexy"? Double check.
After throwing on a white oversized blazer and matching shorts (very "I'm just here to act, but also yes I own the building"), I texted the agency a dramatic: I'm ready.
Then i scribbled a quick note for Cairo and left it on his kitchen counter.
Cairo,
They gave me the role. I'm a star again. Don't miss me too much. Actually, miss me A LOT. Also, don't eat the kimchi. I think it's haunted.
Love,
Your extremely talented and slightly unhinged girlfriend,
Elara 💋
I grabbed my bag, put on my giant sunglasses, and strutted out the door.
Showbiz, here i come.
-
I arrived on set like i was walking the MET Gala carpet.
Hair curled to perfection, highlighter in all the right places, and an outfit that screamed "Yes, I am the ex, and yes, I'm thriving."
The moment i stepped out of the van, I did a slow-mo walk toward the tent. For no reason. No camera was rolling. I just felt like it.
"Elara's here!" one of the PAs whispered.
A few heads turned.
Some stared.
I smiled sweetly and waved like a beauty queen at the barangay fiesta.
"Hi, hello, yes, I'm back from the dead," I muttered under my breath, then added out loud, "Where's hair and makeup?"
They led me to a tiny trailer that was not air-conditioned but did have a fan that kept threatening to eat my hair.
Inside, the makeup artist was already prepping the tools.
"Gosh, girl, we weren't sure if you were still part of the cast!" she said, fluffing my face with translucent powder.
"Well, surprise!" I said, sipping my oat milk latte like it wasn't already lukewarm. "They realized no one else can serve bitter-ex-realness quite like me."
She laughed, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dang. I looked good. Like, "crying in the rain but still hot" kind of good.
After glam, they ushered me to the set — an old café dressed up to look like the ex-boyfriend's favorite hangout spot. According to the script, this was where i'd bump into him after years apart.
Very Pelikula Nights with Elara vibes.
"Okay, Elara," the director called out. "We'll do a quick blocking first, then shoot. Super simple scene. Just sit, sip, react, throw a line. Got it?"
"React? That's like my whole life," I said.
I took my seat, rehearsed my one-liner in my head: 'So this is where you've been hiding all this time.'
Ugh. Chills.
I was so ready to act, cry, and maybe flirt with the camera a bit—
And then i saw them.
The producers. Directors. A bunch of exec-looking people gathered by the monitors. Laughing.
Next to them?
CAIRO.
In full post-training outfit. A hoodie, joggers, and that stupidly perfect hair that always looked good even when he claimed it was "pangit na."
"What the hell," I muttered, grabbing the nearest throw pillow and casually blocking my face like i was being hunted by paparazzi.
He wasn't even supposed to be here! I thought he was training?
WHY was he here?
"Why is my boyfriend here?" I whispered to the PA beside me.
"Oh, the producers wanted to talk to him. They still think he's a good fit for the lead role. Even if he already declined—"
"Declined?" I blinked. "Wait. He really turned it down?"
The PA nodded. "Yup. Said something about not wanting to steal anyone's thunder or whatever."
A slow smile spread across my face.
Okay, swoon.
My heart literally did a little cha-cha inside my chest.
But before i could fully enjoy the moment, Cairo looked up — and saw me.
Eyes locked.
I swear i saw his lips twitch into a grin. That cocky, half-amused, I-know-you're-staring-at-me kind of grin.
So i did what any normal, sane girlfriend would do.
I dramatically turned away, flipped my hair, and muttered, "Ugh, men."
Even if i was mentally screaming: OMG he said no to acting just so i can have the spotlight?!
He didn't even wave or approach.
He just stood there, hands in pockets, like he was observing me. Like he was the audience and i was the show.
Which, to be fair… I was.
The director clapped his hands. "Places, everyone!"
I took one last breath, slipped into character, and when the cameras rolled, I nailed my scene in one take.
When i delivered my line, 'So this is where you've been hiding all this time,' I looked directly at Cairo.
Not the actor opposite me. Him.
And when the director yelled "Cut!" I heard a slow clap from behind the monitors.
From one very proud, very smug Cairo Lazarré.
I wanted to throw a coaster at him and kiss him at the same time.
-
Cairo waited for me outside the set like a real boyfriend.
Hands in his pockets, leaning against his matte black car like he was shooting a commercial for brooding men with abs. He even had his racing gloves slung lazily over one shoulder like, Hi, I'm Cairo and I casually defy gravity and expectations.
And there i was—sweaty, slightly bloated from three café scenes where i had to sip hot chocolate repeatedly, and carrying a bag that might've contained at least one emergency eyelash curler and a questionable amount of lip gloss.
I strutted toward him like i wasn't one errant heel step away from a sprained ankle.
"Hey," he said, grinning as he opened the car door for me.
"Did you miss me?" I asked, sliding in like a diva entering a throne.
He shut the door and got in on his side. "I watched you pretend to be someone's brokenhearted ex for an hour."
"So that's a yes?"
He chuckled. "You were good, babe. A little too believable."
I gasped dramatically, placing a hand over my chest. "Are you suggesting I've had practice in heartbreak?"
"No," he said, starting the engine. "I'm suggesting you're naturally intense and possibly frightening in romantic situations."
"Oh my God, thank you," I said sincerely.
We drove in comfortable silence for about thirty seconds, until i realized i was starving.
Like, send-help-I'm-going-to-eat-my-own-arm kind of starving.
"Can we get food?" I asked, clutching my stomach. "I haven't eaten real food today. I've only had five sips of fake café drinks and one biscuit i wasn't even allowed to chew properly for continuity."
Cairo glanced over. "What do you want?"
"Something filling but also aesthetic. Something that can be both dinner and content. Something that says, Yes, I'm thriving even though i just played an ex-girlfriend on national TV."
He blinked. "So... a burger?"
"Ugh, fine," I said. "But only if it's photogenic."
We ended up at this bougie-looking burger joint with dim lighting, rustic plates, and truffle fries that cost more than my favorite shampoo.
I was mid-bite when Cairo's phone buzzed.
Training camp updates.
He read the message, frowned slightly, then went back to chewing.
"I can drop you off after we eat," he said casually, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I've got drills until midnight."
"Midnight?" I blinked. "Do you even sleep anymore or are you just running on adrenaline and Red Bull fumes?"
He smiled. "Passion, babe."
I rolled my eyes. "I hate how hot that sounded."
After dinner, we headed back to the car and this is where things got... unnecessarily dramatic.
The drive to my building was fifteen minutes max, but i acted like he was sending me off to war.
I stared out the window, sighing dramatically every ten seconds.
"What now?" Cairo asked, amused.
"Nothing," I said, sighing again. "It's just... so quiet now. No engine roars. No cameras. Just the sound of my heart breaking from your absence."
"I'm literally two unit away from your condo."
"Yeah, but emotionally? You're on a racetrack. With other cars. Fast cars. Cars that are shinier than me."
He snorted. "You're seriously jealous of the cars now?"
"Do the cars get your full attention?"
"Elara—"
"Do the cars make your heart race faster than i do?!"
He didn't answer. He just pulled up to my building and parked.
"Alright, drama queen," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on, I'll walk you up."
I gasped. "Like, to the actual lobby?"
"Yes. I have legs."
I grinned and linked my arm through his the second we stepped out. "You're gonna cause a scene. They think i'm single here."
"You posted me on Instagram last week."
"Okay, well, not everyone follows me, Cairo. Keep the mystery alive."
He just shook his head as we reached the elevator.
Inside, I leaned against the wall dramatically, clutching my chest again. "This is our last moment before you go back to... to those evil, seductive tires."
"I'm not making out with my tires."
"Not yet."
The elevator dinged. Our floor.
He stepped out with me, stopped by the door, and crossed his arms.
"You sure you'll survive the night?"
"I'll try. I'll stare at your photos and maybe do a dramatic monologue on my balcony."
"Sounds healthy."
I unlocked my door, turned to face him, and gave him the eyes. You know the ones. Soft. Sparkly. A little needy. The kind that says "I'm cute, love me more."
He smirked and leaned down.
I thought he was going to kiss me—
—but he poked my forehead instead.
"Go rest, actress," he said.
And just like that, he turned and walked back to the elevator.
I stood in the hallway for five full seconds, stunned.
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN HUG ME," I yelled.
The elevator door was already closing.
He peeked through the gap, smiled, and mouthed, 'Acting.'
UGH.
I kicked my door open, stomped in, and threw my bag on the couch.
Then immediately pulled out my phone to text him.
me: i hope ur tire deflates out of guilt
cairo: love u too, sweetheart