I dreamed.
And not the cute, aesthetic kind where I'm wearing a pastel dress, running through a lavender field while holding a basket of macarons. No.
This dream was… symbolic.
Deep.
Borderline spiritual.
I was at a wedding.
My wedding.
Except—I was late.
Like, Elara-level late.
Everyone was already seated, the priest was sweating, and Cairo was standing alone at the altar looking like a rejected rom-com groom whose fiancée decided at the last second to chase her career instead.
But instead of crying or walking away like some tragic male lead…
He pulled a sandwich out of his pocket and started eating it.
WHAT. THE. HECK.
I woke up screaming.
Not from fear.
From confusion.
"WHY WOULD YOU HAVE A SANDWICH ON OUR WEDDING DAY?!" I yelled, sitting upright in bed like I had just returned from the dead.
Cairo, still half-asleep beside me, blinked. "Babe… what?"
"I dreamt you were going to MARRY ME, but I was LATE, and then you ATE A SANDWICH INSTEAD OF WAITING!"
He blinked again. "What kind of sandwich?"
I gasped. "OH MY GOD. THAT'S YOUR RESPONSE?"
After five full minutes of dramatically explaining my dream like it was a cinematic masterpiece nominated for twelve Oscars, I stomped into the bathroom in a huff.
Not because I was mad.
Because I looked like a puffy onion.
I stared at myself in the mirror, tied my hair into a messy bun that somehow still screamed hot rich girl who's too chaotic to care, and declared:
"Today is the day. Cairo is so going to propose. I can feel it."
He had been acting suspicious lately.
Like, super suspicious.
Last week, I caught him whispering to Green—my cactus.
And not cute baby talk either.
Like… full conversations.
Then yesterday, I saw him slam his laptop shut so fast I thought he dislocated his wrist.
And suddenly he was asking questions about ring sizes?
Hmm.
Dun dun dunnnn.
I knew it.
Today was the day.
Which meant I had to look the part.
I was not about to get proposed to while wearing Cairo's old college shirt that said Cebu National Math Quiz Bowl 2010.
I love that shirt, but it does not exactly scream marry me now, daddy.
So I got dressed.
And by "got dressed," I mean I tried on fourteen different outfits before settling on a pink slip dress with a dramatic slit, gold heels that made me feel like a Bratz doll, and sunglasses that screamed I'm hot, rich, and probably a little delulu.
I also wore perfume.
The one that says I'm ready to become a wife and make pancakes in lingerie.
Even though we were supposedly just having lunch.
At a mall.
With his cousins.
Whatever.
The proposal could happen at any moment.
We ended up at this super bougie restaurant that served food disguised as modern art.
You know the type.
The salad looked like a Pinterest mood board. The steak was shaped like a heart.
Even the water tasted ambitious, like it had goals and a LinkedIn profile.
Meanwhile, I was trying to act chill.
Like, Oh wow, I definitely didn't paint my nails this morning in case someone puts a ring on my finger later.
But Cairo was calm.
Too calm.
I sipped my overpriced virgin mojito and stared at him over the rim of my glass like I know your secrets, sir.
Meanwhile, he was laughing with his cousin and casually passing around mashed truffle potatoes like nothing life-changing was about to happen.
So naturally, I did what any emotionally unstable woman would do in that situation.
I fake fainted.
Yup.
I tilted my head dramatically, clutched my chest, and whispered, "Oh no… my future just flashed before my eyes…"
Then I leaned backward in my chair like I was about to ascend into another dimension.
He caught me mid-swoon. "Elara, what the—are you okay?!"
"I saw it," I gasped weakly. "A vision. Of a man who still hasn't proposed to me."
He closed his eyes like he was praying for patience.
I grinned. "Just kidding. But also… not really."
–
After lunch, we wandered around the mall while I clung to his arm like an overly attached anime girlfriend.
We passed a jewelry store, and I pretended not to look.
I absolutely looked.
He glanced down at me. "You okay?"
"I'm fine. Just wondering what it feels like to wear something sparkly on that finger," I said casually, like I hadn't already photoshopped our names onto wedding invitations.
He smirked. "Elara."
"Yes?"
"You are not subtle."
"I don't believe in subtlety," I replied. "I believe in manifestation."
Then I struck a pose in front of the glass display.
"Babe. Picture this. Me walking into your life forever. Wearing that ring. With that sparkle. The crowd goes wild."
"I think you scared the saleslady."
I waved cheerfully at her. "Hi, ate! Baka naman!"
–
Later that night, I was still annoyed.
HE HAD THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY.
The restaurant was romantic.
The lighting was dim.
There was a piano.
A WHOLE PIANO.
But did he propose?
NO.
So I decided to pout.
And not the cute kind either.
I mean full-on brat mode.
Dramatic flopping.
Lying face-down on the bed like nobody loved me.
Cairo walked into the bedroom carrying a bowl of popcorn and immediately stopped.
"Elara."
I remained motionless, sprawled across the bed like a dead starfish.
"Elara," he sighed. "What now?"
I rolled over slowly and stared at him with betrayal in my eyes.
"You don't love me."
He blinked. "Because I didn't propose to you at a steakhouse while your imaginary
TikTok audience secretly filmed us?"
"Yes."
He walked over, set the popcorn down, and sat beside me.
"You are literally insane."
I pouted harder. "Fine. I'll marry someone else. Maybe Green. He would never treat me like this."
"He's a cactus."
"He has emotional availability."
Cairo stared at me for a second.
And then—
He burst out laughing.
I narrowed my eyes. "What?"
Without another word, he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a tiny velvet box.
A tiny velvet box.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
I SCREAMED.
"YOU HAD THAT THE WHOLE TIME?!" I shouted, sitting up so fast I smacked my head against the headboard.
"Ow—okay—babe—calm down—"
"NO. I AM NOT CALM. I AM HYPERVENTILATING. WHERE IS THE PAPER BAG?!"
"Elara—"
"MY RING SIZE IS FIVE. I CAN FIT INTO CHILDREN'S SHOES. JUST PUT IT ON ME—"
"LET ME SAY THE SPEECH FIRST."
I froze.
Then he knelt beside the bed.
I gasped so loudly I nearly swallowed my soul.
"Oh my God. You're kneeling. This is it. IS THIS IT? CAIRO—IS THIS ITTTTT—"
"Elara Celestine Zulueta," he said, smiling at me like I was the most chaotic disaster he had ever loved, "you are the most ridiculous, dramatic, loving person I've ever met. And even though you burned my kitchen, screamed inside a bakery, and fake-proposed to me in six different stores—"
"Seven."
"Seven," he corrected with a laugh. "I love you. And I want to spend the rest of my life watching you completely lose your mind. With me. Forever."
I gasped so hard I swear my lungs did a backflip.
"So, my love—my lunatic—my favorite girl… will you marry me?"
I stared at him.
Then at the ring.
Then back at him.
"OH MY GOD FINALLY—YES—DUH—PUT IT ON ME NOW—"
He slid the ring onto my finger, and I immediately started running laps around the room like a child who had just won a Happy Meal toy.
"WAIT—WHERE'S MY PHONE?! I NEED TO GO LIVE—"
"Elara, no."
"THE WORLD MUST KNOW!"
"Elara!"
"Fine! I'll post it later. WITH SPARKLES. AND MUSIC."
I spent the rest of the night admiring my ring under every possible lighting condition.
Kitchen light. Check.
Flashlight. Check.
Candlelight. Check.
At one point, I literally stuck my hand inside the fridge just to see how it sparkled next to the yogurt cups.
And Cairo?
He just sat there watching me with that same look in his eyes.
The one that says I am so deeply in love with this woman, even if she's three seconds away from turning our wedding into a themed flash mob.
Which, honestly?
I still might do.
Stay tuned.