I woke up to the sound of absolute silence.
No Cairo humming tunes in the kitchen.
No Cairo complaining about my hair clips being scattered all over his couch.
No Cairo, period.
Which could only mean one thing: training day again.
Ugh.
I turned over to the left side of the bed and dramatically flopped over Cairo's pillow like I was starring in some independent film about profound loneliness.
I even did that thing where I pressed my nose directly into the fabric and inhaled like a total creep.
"Yep. Still smells like man, coffee, and existential stress," I mumbled to myself, hugging the pillow even tighter.
I didn't know what was more frustrating—the fact that he was already gone, or the fact that I secretly liked missing him this much.
Wait, no.
I wasn't supposed to be clingy.
I am Elara freaking Zulueta, Miss Independent with killer cheekbones and a thriving career.
But also… my boyfriend is incredibly hot and I want to see him right this second.
I rolled out of bed, my hair a complete mess, wearing Cairo's old racing shirt as my lounge clothes, and walked over to the window like a tragic television lead.
I even did the whole arms-crossed, staring-wistfully-at-the-clouds aesthetic.
"Come back home, Cairo…" I whispered dramatically.
Nothing happened.
Just the sound of birds chirping and my air conditioner making a weird, liquid gargling noise.
How rude.
Whatever.
If Cairo was off being fast and furious, I needed to be busy too.
Productive.
Ambitious.
Award-winning.
I shuffled into the kitchen, ready to whip up something that would make me feel like a leading lady who completely has her life together.
Unfortunately, all I discovered was an empty fridge and an unopened tub of kimchi from about two weeks ago.
"Yikes. No thank you," I gagged, slamming the refrigerator door shut.
I was just about to dig through Cairo's secret snack drawer when my phone suddenly buzzed.
AGENCY: Elara, great news! The production team has reconsidered. The role of the ex-girlfriend is yours if you want it. Shooting starts today. Let us know if you're available.
Wait.
I blinked, re-read the message, and literally screamed out loud. "OH MY GOSH I'M A STAR AGAIN—"
I slipped on the floor while attempting a celebratory twirl and banged my hip right against Cairo's coffee table. "Ow! Okay, that really hurt, but it was totally WORTH IT!"
This was it.
My grand comeback.
After all the failed auditions, the lost confidence, and the deeply humiliating grilled hotdog incident—I was officially back in the game! I was going to play the ex-girlfriend of the male lead in a primetime drama series.
Ex-girlfriend.
Truly a mood.
I ran (and by ran, I mean tripped) into the bathroom to fix my appearance.
Hair? Check.
Skincare? Check.
Mascara that clearly says "I cry elegantly"? Double check.
After throwing on a white oversized blazer and matching tailored shorts (giving off very much "I'm just here to act, but also yes, I own the studio building"), I texted the agency a dramatic: I'm ready.
Then I scribbled a quick note for Cairo and left it right on his kitchen counter.
Cairo,
They gave me the role. I'm a star once again. Don't miss me too much. Actually, miss me A LOT. Also, do not eat that kimchi. I am convinced it is haunted.
Love, Your extremely talented and slightly unhinged girlfriend, Elara 💋
I grabbed my luxury handbag, put on my oversized sunglasses, and strutted right out the door.
Show business, here I come.
I arrived on the production set like I was walking the red carpet at the MET Gala.
My hair was curled to absolute perfection, highlighter applied in all the right places, and an outfit that screamed, "Yes, I am the ex, and yes, I am absolutely thriving."
The moment I stepped out of the production van, I did a slow-motion walk toward the holding tent. For absolutely no reason at all.
No cameras were rolling.
I just felt like it.
"Elara's here!" one of the production assistants whispered.
A few heads turned.
Some people openly stared.
I smiled sweetly and waved like a reigning beauty queen at a local community fiesta.
"Hi, hello, yes, I have officially returned from the dead," I muttered under my breath, then added out loud, "Where is hair and makeup located?"
They led me to a tiny trailer that was definitely not air-conditioned but did feature a rusty electric fan that kept threatening to swallow my hair extension pieces.
Inside, the makeup artist was already prepping her tools.
"Gosh, girl, we weren't even sure if you were still a part of this cast!" she said, dusting my face with translucent setting powder.
"Well, surprise surprise!" I said, sipping my iced oat milk latte like it wasn't already completely lukewarm.
"They finally realized that no one else in this industry can serve bitter-ex-girlfriend-realness quite like I can."
She laughed out loud, and I caught a quick glimpse of myself in the vanity mirror.
Dang.
I looked stunning.
Like, "crying dramatically in the pouring rain but somehow still looking incredibly hot" kind of good.
After glam was finished, they ushered me over to the main set—an old café dressed up to look like the ex-boyfriend's favorite local hangout spot.
According to the script, this was the exact location where I would accidentally bump into him after years of being apart.
Very cinematic night vibes, tailored perfectly for me.
"Okay, Elara," the director called out through his megaphone. "We'll do a quick blocking session first, and then we shoot. It's a super simple scene. Just sit down, sip your drink, react, and deliver your line. Got it?"
"React? Sir, that is practically my entire life story," I replied confidently.
I took my assigned seat and rehearsed my single line over and over in my head: 'So this is where you've been hiding all this time.'
Ugh.
Absolute chills.
I was so incredibly ready to act, cry, and maybe even flirt with the camera lens a little bit—
And then I spotted them.
The executive producers, directors, and a bunch of corporate-looking network executives were gathered around the video monitors.
And they were all laughing.
Standing right next to them?
CAIRO.
In his full post-training attire.
A designer hoodie, joggers, and that stupidly perfect hair that always looked flawless even when he insisted it was a complete mess.
"What the hell," I muttered, grabbing the nearest decorative throw pillow and casually blocking my face like I was a high-profile celebrity being hunted by aggressive paparazzi.
He wasn't even supposed to be here! I thought he was out training on the tracks? Why on earth was he on my set?
"Why is my boyfriend standing over there?" I whispered frantically to the production assistant standing beside me.
"Oh, the executive producers specifically wanted to speak with him. They still firmly believe he's the perfect fit for the male lead role. Even though he already formally declined the offer—"
"Declined?" I blinked in surprise. "Wait. He really turned it down?"
The assistant nodded. "Yep. He said something about not wanting to steal anyone else's thunder or whatever."
A slow, radiant smile spread across my face.
Okay, talk about a major swoon moment.
My heart literally performed a little cha-cha routine inside my chest cavity.
But before I could fully savor the romantic moment, Cairo looked up—and our eyes locked instantly.
I swear I saw his lips twitch right into a smirk.
That cocky, half-amused, I-know-exactly-that-you're-staring-at-me kind of grin.
So, I did what any normal, entirely sane girlfriend would do in that situation.
I dramatically turned away, flipped my hair over my shoulder, and muttered, "Ugh, men."
Even though internally I was mentally screaming: OMG, he actually turned down a starring acting role just so I could have the undivided spotlight?!
He didn't even wave at me or attempt to approach.
He just stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, casually observing me.
It was like he was the paying audience and I was the entire main attraction.
Which, to be completely fair… I absolutely was.
The director loudly clapped his hands together. "Places, everyone! Let's go!"
I took one final deep breath, slipped effortlessly into character, and the moment the cameras started rolling, I nailed my entire dramatic scene in one single take.
When I delivered my emotional line—'So this is where you've been hiding all this time'—I looked directly into Cairo's eyes.
Not at the actual actor standing opposite me.
At him.
And the exact moment the director yelled "Cut!", I heard the sound of a slow, deliberate clap originating from behind the production monitors.
From one very proud, very smug Cairo Lazarre.
I honestly wanted to throw a plastic café coaster right at his head and passionately kiss him at the exact same time.
Cairo waited for me outside the studio lot like a real, supportive boyfriend.
He stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, leaning casually against his matte black sports car like he was filming a high-budget commercial for brooding men with abdominal muscles.
He even had his professional racing gloves slung lazily over one shoulder like, Hi, I'm Cairo and I casually defy both gravity and human expectations on a daily basis.
And then there was me—sweaty, slightly bloated from having to film three separate café scenes where I had to repeatedly sip hot chocolate for continuity, and carrying a massive tote bag that contained at least one emergency eyelash curler and a highly questionable amount of lip gloss tubes.
I strutted toward him like I wasn't just one bad heel step away from a severe ankle sprain.
"Hey," he said, grinning warmly as he opened the passenger door for me.
"Did you miss me?" I asked, sliding into the leather seat like a literal diva ascending to her throne.
He shut the door gently and climbed into the driver's seat on his side. "I just spent the last hour watching you pretend to be someone else's brokenhearted ex-girlfriend."
"So... is that a yes?"
He chuckled softly, turning the key. "You were good, babe. Honestly, a little bit too believable."
I gasped dramatically, placing a manicured hand over my chest. "Are you implying that I have extensive real-life practice in experiencing heartbreak?"
"No," he said, shifting into drive and starting up the engine. "I'm implying that you are naturally intense and possibly terrifying to deal with in romantic situations."
"Oh my God, thank you so much," I said with absolute sincerity.
We drove along in comfortable silence for roughly thirty seconds, right until I suddenly realized that I was absolutely starving.
Like, send-immediate-emergency-help-or-I'm-going-to-chew-my-own-arm-off kind of starving.
"Can we please get food?" I asked, desperately clutching my stomach. "I haven't consumed real sustenance all day long. I've only had five tiny sips of fake café beverages and one single dry biscuit that I wasn't even allowed to properly chew because of visual continuity rules."
Cairo glanced over at me with an amused expression. "What exactly do you want to eat?"
"Something filling but also highly aesthetic. Something that can simultaneously function as a proper dinner and excellent social media content. Something that loudly says: Yes, I am absolutely thriving even though I just portrayed a bitter ex-girlfriend on national television."
He blinked. "So... you want a burger?"
"Ugh, fine," I huffed. "But only if the presentation is incredibly photogenic."
We ended up at this bougie-looking gourmet burger joint featuring dim ambient lighting, rustic wooden plates, and truffle fries that cost significantly more than my favorite luxury shampoo brand.
I was right in the middle of taking a giant bite when Cairo's phone suddenly buzzed.
Official training camp updates.
He read the text message, frowned slightly for a brief moment, and then went right back to chewing his food.
"I can drop you off back at the building right after we finish eating," he said casually, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. "I've got night track drills running until midnight."
"Midnight?" I blinked in disbelief. "Do you even sleep anymore, or are you just running purely on adrenaline and high-octane energy drink fumes?"
He smiled. "It's called passion, babe."
I rolled my eyes. "I absolutely hate how attractive that sounded just now."
—
After dinner, we headed back out to the car, and this is the exact moment where things became... completely and unnecessarily dramatic.
The drive back to our residential building took fifteen minutes maximum, but I acted like he was deploying me off to a dangerous war zone.
I stared longingly out the passenger window, letting out a loud, dramatic sigh every ten seconds.
"What is it now?" Cairo asked, thoroughly amused by my behavior.
"Nothing," I said, letting out yet another deep sigh. "It's just... it's so incredibly quiet now. No roaring car engines. No television cameras. Just the crushing sound of my own heart breaking into pieces from your sudden absence."
"Elara, I am literally living one unit away from your actual condo."
"Yeah, but emotionally speaking? You are completely on a racetrack. With other cars. Incredibly fast cars. Cars that are significantly shinier and more polished than I am."
He snorted with laughter. "Are you seriously getting jealous of inanimate race cars now?"
"Do those cars receive your full, undivided attention?"
"Elara—"
"Do those cars make your heart race significantly faster than I do?!"
He didn't even bother to answer that.
He just pulled the sports car right up to our building's driveway and parked.
"Alright, my drama queen," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Come on, I'll walk you upstairs."
I gasped. "Like, all the way to the actual elevator lobby?"
"Yes. Believe it or not, I possess working legs."
I grinned instantly and tightly linked my arm through his the exact second we stepped out into the night air. "You're going to cause a massive scene here. The staff in this building still think I'm completely single."
"You literally posted a photo of me on your Instagram profile last week."
"Okay, well, not every single person follows my social media accounts, Cairo. We need to keep the aura of mystery alive."
He just shook his head in resignation as we reached the elevator doors.
Inside the elevator cab, I leaned dramatically against the mirrored wall, clutching my chest once more.
"This is our final intimate moment together before you return to... to those evil, highly seductive racing tires."
"I am not making out with my racing tires, Elara."
"Not yet, you aren't."
The elevator gave a soft ding.
Our residential floor.
He stepped out onto the hallway with me, paused right by my door, and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Are you absolutely sure you'll survive the night alone?"
"I'll try my best. I'll just stare blankly at your photographs and maybe perform a tragic, dramatic monologue out on my balcony."
"Sounds incredibly healthy."
I unlocked my unit door, spun around to face him, and gave him the eyes.
You know the exact ones I'm talking about.
Soft.
Sparkly.
A little bit needy.
The precise look that communicates: "I am incredibly cute, please love me more."
He smirked, leaning down toward my face.
I fully thought he was going to kiss me passionately—
—but he poked me right in the center of my forehead instead.
"Go get some rest, actress," he said with a grin.
And just like that, he turned right back around and walked straight toward the closing elevator doors. I stood frozen in the hallway for five full seconds, completely stunned.
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN GIVE ME A HUG!" I yelled down the corridor.
The elevator doors were already sliding shut.
He peeked through the narrowing gap, flashed a brilliant smile, and silently mouthed: 'Acting.'
UGH!
I kicked my front door open, stomped angrily inside, and threw my expensive bag onto the couch.
Then, I immediately pulled out my phone to send him a text message.
Me: i hope ur racing tire deflates out of pure psychological guilt
Cairo: love you too, sweetheart.