"OH MY GOSH!" I sat up so fast I gave myself whiplash. "Is this The Hunger Games?! One day of peace, and then it's training all over again?!"
I flipped the blanket off me like I was a Disney princess rejecting the patriarchy and stared at the ceiling. "Cairo Emilien Lazarre, you traitor. I gave you my heart, my soul, and my leftovers last night. And this is how you repay me?"
Seriously, though.
The audacity.
I pulled my hair into a messy bun—yes, look at that character development, because it's no longer a blow-dry-on-command situation—and stomped into the kitchen of his unit.
I stared at the cold frying pan like it owed me a detailed explanation.
"Not even scrambled eggs? Not even a Post-it note that says 'Be Right Back'? This is giving major emotionally unavailable man energy."
I looked around.
The living room? Empty.
The balcony? No one there.
Even the laundry basket looked incredibly lonely.
"Siri," I whispered to my phone. "How do I file for emotional damages against a race car driver who ghosted me at 7:00 AM?"
Okay. Okay.
Calm down, Elara.
You're an icon.
A legend.
A main character.
You don't beg for attention.
You create it.
So I marched out of Cairo's unit (still wearing my pink pajama set with the strawberry prints, mind you) and slammed the door of my own unit next door.
Not because I was actually angry—but because dramatic exits are an essential part of my personality.
So there I was.
Fully awake by 9:37 AM—which is criminally early by actress standards—scrolling through my phone, trying to distract myself from missing my human space heater.
And then I got that familiar feeling. The one that whispered: "I need to cause some drama today. I feel it deep in my soul."
And that's how I ended up texting our family driver,
Kuya Andy:
Me: Hi, please pick me up. I need to be dramatic in Forbes Park.
Ten minutes later, I was in the backseat of the SUV, sunglasses on, lip gloss popping, serving total energy of a main character trying to find herself through mild emotional damage.
Kuya Andy glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "Ma'am, are you doing okay?"
I dramatically exhaled. "I'm never okay, Kuya. But thank you for asking."
When I arrived at my parents' house, the first thing I saw was my mom in the garden, clipping orchids like she was starring in a midday television drama.
My dog—Sir Fluffington—ran toward me like he sensed my emotional instability.
Smart dog.
Well, technically that's my mom's dog, but still.
"Mommy," I called out.
She looked up, completely surprised. "Sweetheart? It's not even Sunday brunch. Why are you here?"
I walked toward her slowly, like a wounded socialite in a luxury perfume commercial. "I just needed... somewhere to breathe."
She narrowed her eyes at me. "You're bored, aren't you?"
"No. I'm emotionally congested."
"Meaning?"
"I miss Cairo."
Boom.
Exposed.
I plopped down on the garden chair, letting my silk cardigan whoosh behind me. "He's back in training. Like, not even a proper goodbye. Just... gone."
My mom handed me a slice of melon. "Sweetheart, you're being dramatic."
"Well, of course. I didn't drive all the way here for realism."
She laughed. "You're impossible."
"I know. But at least I'm consistent."
I spent the next three hours dramatically walking around the house like a ghost from a canceled soap opera.
I sat at the grand piano I never actually learned to play.
I stared into the koi pond like the fish could give me profound emotional advice.
And every five minutes, my brain went into overdrive: Cairo's probably sweating right now.
What if he's laughing with some attractive female racer?
Do they even have attractive female racers?
Maybe they're bonding over engine oil. What if she touches his gear shift—
Okay, stop.
STOP.
By 4:30 PM, my mom peeked into the library-slash-dramatic-reflection-room where I was curled up. "Are you going to be okay, or are you going to stay here and haunt the house forever like a wealthy ghost?"
I sighed. "I don't know, Mom. It depends."
"On what?"
I stood up and declared, "On whether I see Cairo's face in the next sixty minutes."
She rolled her eyes. "Then go to him."
I gasped. "What kind of mother actively enables stalking?"
"The kind who knows her daughter's being a little wild today."
Fair point.
So I marched back to the car, Sir Fluffington trailing behind me like a supportive sidekick, and told Kuya Andy: "Let's go. I'm going to Cairo's training camp. It's time to make some questionable life decisions."
Training camps are supposed to be sacred, right?
Like, "no distractions," "focus," "discipline"—and all that nonsense.
Well, I don't believe in those concepts when I'm bored and feeling under-loved.
I sat in the backseat, applying lip balm with the sheer intensity of a woman on a direct mission.
My hair was tied up in a messy-but-cute bun (emphasis on the cute), and I wore my absolute best "I just accidentally slayed this look" outfit: a crop top, an oversized hoodie (stolen from Cairo, obviously), and biker shorts that screamed I'm hot but chill, but mostly hot.
"Ma'am," Kuya Andy said as we approached the facility, "Are you sure they allow outsiders inside the training camp?"
I smiled sweetly. "Kuya, I'm not an outsider. I'm a life-enhancing surprise."
He blinked. "Copy that."
As soon as we reached the gate, I waved like I was part of a royal convoy.
The security guard squinted at me. "Ma'am, do you have a visitor's pass?"
"Sweetie, do I look like I need one?"
A brief pause followed.
He looked entirely unsure.
I looked incredibly expensive.
He opened the gate.
Boom.
Access granted.
The camp looked exactly how Cairo had described it: dusty, full of guys walking around in jumpsuits, and intense engine noises echoing everywhere.
It smelled a bit like sweat and gasoline, but... who cares? My man was here.
I strutted through the grounds like I was filming an action movie sequence.
The wind? Blowing perfectly.
My hoodie? Swishing.
My ego? Sky-high.
Until—
"Elara?!"
I turned around.
And there he was.
Cairo.
Sweaty.
Covered in a bit of grease.
Wearing that navy-blue jumpsuit that hugs him in all the right places.
I mean, hello?! Is it hot out here, or is it just... well, him?
"Hi," I said casually, pretending like I hadn't just crashed his sacred training ground completely uninvited.
He pulled off his gloves, looking thoroughly confused. "What are you doing here?"
"Babe," I walked over, putting on my most innocent expression, "I was just in the area."
He raised an eyebrow. "We are literally in the mountains."
"Exactly. Such a beautiful area!"
I looked around and noticed some of his fellow racers watching us from a distance.
The neighborhood gossip club had officially spotted us. I flashed them my best Miss Universe wave.
One of them awkwardly waved back.
"You drove all the way out here just to see me?" Cairo asked, still in shock.
"Well, technically Kuya Andy did the driving. But yes. I missed you. A little. Maybe."
He smiled—that full-on, smug boyfriend smile that proved he knew I couldn't resist him. "I thought you said you needed space after the whole audition meltdown?"
"Yeah, well. I realized something."
"What's that?"
"That space is highly overrated, I hate being alone, and even though you smell like motor oil, I still want to hug you."
Cairo laughed. "You're unbelievable."
"I know. And yet, here I am. Believably standing right in front of you."
A whistle blew somewhere in the distance, and some guy—probably a coach or a high-level racer—started shouting instructions. "Cairo! Five more laps!"
I pouted immediately. "You're leaving me already?"
"I have to finish up, babe. We're on tight drills today."
Ugh.
Reality strikes again.
"Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "I'll just sit right here... lonely... bored... slowly fading away into the background of your life..."
"Baby."
"Dying in the heat… completely dehydrated... utterly ignored…"
"Elara."
I blinked up at him. "Yes?"
"There's a tent with refreshments right over there. Just chill out for a bit, okay? I'll be back in twenty minutes."
He kissed me on the forehead—treating me like I wasn't being completely unhinged—and jogged away.
I dramatically collapsed onto a nearby bench. "This is my Roman Empire," I whispered to myself.
So there I was.
Inside a professional race car training camp, surrounded by grease, high testosterone, and the constant sound of tires screeching.
I sipped some Gatorade from a red cup like I was sipping fine champagne at a charity gala.
Some of the other trainees approached me shyly. "Hi, ma'am. Are you Cairo's…?"
"Girlfriend. Yes," I smiled proudly. "Miss Elara Celestine Zulueta. Actress, dancer, singer, and future karting queen if Cairo ever gets around to teaching me."
One of them looked completely starstruck. "My girlfriend watches you whenever you appear in a drama series!"
"Tell her I said hello! And that her boyfriend is quite cute. Just kidding. Or am I?"
They laughed nervously.
See? I've still got it.
Cairo eventually returned, sweaty and a little out of breath.
I handed him a towel like a highly supportive drama series wife.
"Did you behave yourself while I was gone?" he teased.
"I flirted a little bit with the hydration guy."
"Elara."
"I'm kidding! I mean… he did offer me two Gatorades. But that was it. Absolutely no emotional infidelity."
He shook his head and pulled me into a quick, sweaty hug. "You are completely insane."
"And yet, you love me."
"Unfortunately."
"Excuse you?"
"Unfortunately for me, because it means I have to deal with this every single time you get bored."
"I could always go bother someone else, you know."
"You won't."
"Touché."
As we sat together on the bench, watching the sunset cast a beautiful golden glow over the racetrack, I leaned my head onto his shoulder.
"I didn't get the role," I murmured softly.
"I know," he said gently. "And I'm really sorry."
"I just… really wanted to prove something."
"You already did."
"To the casting directors?"
"No. To yourself."
I sighed deeply. "Fine. But I still want to be famous."
"You're already famous, Elara. You just want to be chaotic while doing it."
"Well, that too."
And for a brief second, everything felt absolutely right.
Just Cairo.
Just me.
Just the subtle scent of gasoline and missed opportunities.
And maybe… a brand new plan.
But I'll tell him all about it next episode.