I woke up at 6:04 AM without an alarm.
Yes, that early.
My body practically jolted upright like i had somewhere urgent to be and technically, I did.
Cairo said we'd start driving lessons at 7:00 AM sharp. Sharp, not "Filipino time," not "Elara time"—sharp.
And I… was ready.
I brushed my hair into a high ponytail, complete with my oversized sunglasses—even if the sun wasn't up yet.
I even wore my comfiest (and cutest) pink workout set, the one that screamed, "I don't sweat, I sparkle." I spritzed perfume because, you know, what if he leaned too close while adjusting the wheel?
You never know.
By 6:55 AM, I was already outside his unit.
Deep breath, Elara.
This is it.
Today, we learn how to drive again... or die trying.
I knocked once.
Then twice.
Then i checked my phone just in case he texted me to cancel.
But nothing.
And then—
The door opened.
Cairo. Barefoot. Messy hair. Wearing a plain white shirt and gray joggers. Still half-asleep. Looking like a walking Calvin Klein ad.
"Good morning," I chirped. Way too cheerfully.
He squinted at me. "You're early."
"I was born ready," I said, flipping my ponytail. "Let's drive, Coach."
He leaned on the doorframe. "Can't. Something came up. Nadine asked for help."
Wait. What.
"What do you mean you can't?" I blinked.
"She needed a ride. Something about car trouble. I told her i'd drive her to her meeting."
"Oh." I nodded slowly, trying not to let my heart fall straight down to the parking lot.
Nadine.
Of course. Nadine.
"That's totally okay," I said. "I mean, it's fine. I'm totally fine. Why wouldn't i be fine?"
He blinked at me. "You sure?"
"Me? Hurt? Devastated? No way. I'm as solid as a nail extension from a five-star salon."
He looked at me for a moment like he didn't know whether to laugh or run. "I'll make it up to you."
I forced a smile. "Sure. Go save Nadine. Drive her. Be her hero. I'll just… sit here and rot."
Before he could say anything else, I turned around and marched back to my unit with all the dignity of a woman just publicly dumped by her driving coach.
Back inside, I plopped down at my sink and stared at my sad steak from last night.
It was cold now.
Lifeless.
Just like my hope.
"You were supposed to be eaten while i was in love," I whispered to it.
Then i pressed a finger to my temple. "Okay. Dramatic thoughts aside. Breakfast. Let's order."
I tapped away on my phone and got myself a full brunch set—eggs, croissants, smoked salmon, a pancake stack, and a mimosa.
Fine. Two mimosas.
When it arrived, I set it all up like i was on a picnic date with destiny.
I sat down.
Took a bite of the croissant.
And then the spiral began.
"So Cairo can drive Nadine, but he can't drive me?" I asked the croissant.
The croissant said nothing.
"And he has time to eat breakfast with her? Maybe they're even laughing. Laughing while I'm here… dying."
Still nothing.
"You were supposed to cheer me up," I whispered to my mimosa. "But even you taste like betrayal."
Finally, I snapped and called Ari.
Ten minutes later, Ari arrived in a hoodie and shades like she was avoiding paparazzi.
"What happened now?" He said, tossing his bag onto my couch.
"Cairo ditched me," I wailed, draped across the armrest like a damsel in distress. "For Nadine."
He raised a brow. "That girl again?"
"Yes! And i thought iwas the main character!"
Ari rolled her eyes. "You are. He's just a bad side quest."
But i wasn't done being miserable.
So, we decided to go out for brunch.
Because if i had to suffer, I wanted to suffer in public with cute lighting and overpriced coffee.
We went to a cozy café nearby.
I was poking at my salad (because i ordered healthy to prove i was strong) when i froze.
"Don't look now," I whispered.
Ari looked immediately.
Across the street, by the big glass windows of a chic restaurant, was Cairo.
With Nadine.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Eating pancakes.
My pancakes.
"Oh no," I gasped. "So food is more important than me now?"
"Elara—"
"He said he couldn't teach me because he had to help her, but he's here, being a pancake father."
"Elara, you don't even like pancakes."
"That's not the point!"
I pulled out my phone and opened Notes.
"What are you doing?" Ari asked.
"Drafting my will. Cairo gets nothing."
-
That night, I tried to act normal.
I cleaned my condo (okay, I told Alexa to play cleaning music while i half-heartedly folded one shirt).
I lit a candle.
I changed into cute pajamas.
Then someone knocked.
I opened the door.
It was Cairo.
Holding takeout bags.
"Hey," he said.
I crossed my arms. "Don't tell me. Nadine got full so now you're feeding your second choice?"
He exhaled. "I brought food. Thought maybe we could eat."
"Why? Out of guilt?"
"No. Because you looked sad this morning. And i said i'd make it up to you."
I blinked. "Is this chicken satay from that place i like?"
He lifted the bag slightly.
I stepped aside. "You may enter."
We ate on the floor. I don't know why. I had a perfectly nice overpriced dining table, but Cairo just sat cross-legged on the carpet like it was the most normal thing in the world, and I—like the emotionally unstable star of my own indie film—followed suit.
So there we were.
Him: composed, quiet, unbothered.
Me: trying to eat dumplings gracefully while pretending hadn't cried over pancakes like an abandoned bakery wife.
I watched him open the second box, my favorite rice bowl from that Thai place. The one that always gets sold out by 6 PM.
He ordered ahead. I know he did. He knew i'd want this.
"Did you add extra egg?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
He nodded, chewing.
"Soft-boiled?"
Another nod.
I inhaled dramatically. "You do love me."
He choked slightly on his water. "Don't start."
"I'm just saying. Pancake betrayal aside, this is a romantic gesture. Bringing food. Knowing my preferences. Sitting on the floor."
"You're the one who sat on the floor."
"You sat first! I just didn't want to make you feel weird by eating alone at the table. I'm polite."
He said nothing, just gave me that look.
That Cairo look. The one that's 60% unimpressed, 30% skeptical, and 10% secretly amused.
I took a bite of rice and sighed. "This is so good. It's annoying. I can't stay mad when my mouth is this happy."
"Good," he said simply.
We ate in silence for a bit. Comfortable, weirdly. Like i hadn't seen him laughing with another woman over stolen pancakes that very morning.
Like i hadn't mentally erased him from my nonexistent will.
Like i didn't already plan to upload a cryptic Instagram story about betrayal using a Lana Del Rey lyric and no context.
"You're really not gonna explain the Nadine thing?" I said, finally.
He glanced at me. "She needed help."
"So you helped. At a restaurant. With pancakes."
"She was meeting a client. She didn't want to go alone."
"And you volunteered as tribute? What are you, her emotional support engine?"
Cairo sighed. "Elara."
I turned my head dramatically, pretending to look away. "No, it's fine. I'm just a sad, abandoned student with a poor sense of direction and a newly discovered fear of left turns."
"You'll survive."
"I won't."
He didn't reply. But i heard the tiniest sound. A suppressed chuckle. Victory.
I looked back at him. "So tomorrow, you'll teach me again?"
"If you promise not to fake-cry at intersections."
"I don't fake-cry! That was real emotion, REAL. As in R-E-A-L."
"You said your mascara was waterproof."
"That's not the point!"
He smiled again.
This time, slightly wider. Still subtle, but there.
We finished eating.
He started packing up the containers, and I watched him like he was the last scene of a K-drama—where the guy finally realizes the chaotic girl he's been trying to avoid is actually his soulmate.
And just like that, I said it.
"Why do you always come back?"
He looked at me, confused.
I twirled my chopsticks lazily. "I mean… you don't have to. I'm dramatic. I say weird things. I make you drive me around and panic over pigeons. You could just… not. But you do. You always come back."
His expression didn't change much. But something in his eyes softened.
"I don't know," he said. "Maybe i'm the type who likes chaos."
"Oh my god," I whispered. "That's the nicest insult i've ever received."
We cleaned up (okay, he cleaned up, I offered moral support), and then he stood by the door, ready to leave.
I followed, leaning on the doorframe as he adjusted his keys.
"Thanks for the food," I said, quieter now.
He nodded. "Thanks for the commentary."
"I'm free tomorrow," I added. "In case you want to resume training. Or need company for another breakfast betrayal."
He didn't look at me directly, but i saw the smile again.
The one he tries to hide like it's some kind of top-secret government file.
"I'll knock," he said, and left.
I closed the door.
Then turned around, looked at the cleaned-up containers, and let out a long, dramatic exhale.
Love is complicated.
But food? Food is a language.
And Cairo spoke it fluently.