Silence.
Not the good kind.
Not the romantic, we're-about-to-kiss-so-let's-hold-our-breath kind of silence.
No.
This was the kind that felt like a tsunami was charging toward us and we were both pretending it was just a small wave.
I stared at him, blinking through the salt crusting in the corners of my eyes.
My cheeks were wet, my eyeliner had officially resigned, and i was hugging the ube cheesecake like it was a comfort pillow.
He just sat there. Cairo. Calm. Still.
Except his fingers.
His fingers were shaking.
I noticed that.
The slight tremor in his right hand as it rested on his knee, like his body was betraying all the feelings his face refused to show.
I should've said something.
Something dramatic, maybe.
Like, "Then drown me, Cairo. If you're a flood, let me sink."
But my brain had logged out.
All I managed was:
"…You want a spoon?"
He blinked at me. And for one terrifying second, I thought he was going to laugh.
But instead, he nodded.
So i stood up, slow and sticky from the crying, and dragged myself to the kitchen. I took my time opening the drawer.
As if spoon selection was a matter of national security. I picked two—the cute heart-shaped ones I bought online at 2AM because of a flash sale.
When i turned back, he was still sitting there.
Same spot.
Same look.
Like nothing happened.
Like everything happened.
I handed him a spoon and he took it with this awkward politeness, like we were two strangers at a buffet.
I plopped down beside him, cut into the cheesecake, and shoved a bite into my mouth just so i wouldn't cry again.
He watched me eat. Not in a creepy way.
More like in a "this is the most fragile i've ever seen you" kind of way.
Which was wild. Because i've had full mental breakdowns in front of him before.
One time, I screamed at a vending machine because it ate my ₱20. He was there. He didn't even flinch.
But this time felt… different.
"Do you ever feel like you're too much?" I said, chewing. "Like, every emotion you have takes up all the space in the room?"
He stayed quiet.
"And then people like you come along," I continued, voice wobbling, "with your stillness and your… non-exploding-ness. And i feel like a firecracker in a library."
He tilted his head. "You think i'm peaceful?"
"You're emotionally wrapped in bubble wrap."
"Maybe. But bubble wrap still pops if you press hard enough."
I stopped chewing.
Did he just—
Did Cairo just accidentally drop the most poetic metaphor of all time?
I stared at him.
He stared back.
And then—like i'd been possessed by the spirit of impulsiveness—I reached out and poked his chest.
Right where his heart was.
He blinked.
I poked again.
"Popped yet?"
"Elara," he said, almost warningly.
"What? I'm just checking. I'm not even pressing that hard."
"You cried like a telenovela lead five minutes ago."
"I have range."
"And now you're poking my chest."
"It's called character development."
He sighed. Closed his eyes.
Shook his head like he was trying not to smile.
And that's when it happened.
That stupid, unexpected thing.
His hand reached for mine.
Not to push it away.
Not to scold me.
But just… held it.
Like he was grounding me.
Like he was trying to say i'm here without actually saying it.
I froze.
Every cell in my body turned into a firefly.
"You scare me sometimes," I whispered.
"I know."
"Because you don't… panic. You don't match my energy."
"I'm not supposed to. I'm supposed to hold you when you fall apart."
I almost dropped the cheesecake.
"You—" I choked on my own breath. "You've never said things like that before."
He looked down at our joined hands.
"I never thought i was allowed to."
That broke something in me.
Because underneath all the sarcasm, all the eye-rolls, all the pretending-not-to-care… was a boy who never learned how to be soft.
And me?
I was nothing but soft.
Soft, loud, messy, chaotic softness.
Maybe that's why we clashed.
Maybe that's why we couldn't stop orbiting each other.
I let out a slow breath.
"Cairo?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to sleep here tonight?"
His eyes met mine. Carefully. Like he was making sure i meant it.
"I won't do anything weird," I added quickly. "We'll just… sleep. In the literal sense. Not the wink wink sense. I have boundaries. And allergies."
He didn't smile.
But he didn't say no either.
"I'll stay," he said.
So we cleaned up the cheesecake. I changed into my fluffy pink pajamas. He borrowed an old shirt from my "pang-ex" drawer (don't ask) and quietly folded his jeans like an overachieving boy scout.
I gave him the left side of the bed because I'm generous and dramatic and also that's my good side for selfies.
We laid there in the dark, maybe two feet apart, pretending not to breathe too loudly.
I stared at the ceiling.
And then…
"Elara?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry."
"For?"
"For always making you feel like you had to be the loud one. The one who chased. I should've been running toward you."
My heart cracked.
Then bloomed.
Then immediately panicked because i am not built for these non-toxic confessions at bedtime types of moments.
So i blurted out, "You have nice eyebrows."
He laughed.
Actually laughed. A rare, real laugh.
"You're insane."
"And you like it."
"Unfortunately."
—
I woke up with a man in my bed and a pimple on my chin—and frankly, I wasn't sure which one was more alarming.
My brain needed a full three minutes to reboot.
First, I stared at the ceiling.
Then at the soft pink curtains.
Then at my hand, which was—oh my god—still attached to Cairo's.
We were holding hands.
In our sleep.
Like some kind of low-budget indie couple who drinks oat milk and listens to Ben&Ben on vinyl.
My first instinct?
Panic.
My second?
Still panic, but quieter.
Because Cairo was still asleep and sleeping Cairo is sacred.
It's the only time he's not judging me with his eyebrows.
I turned slowly, like a thief in my own condo, and looked at him.
Okay. Correction.
I peeked at him.
Peeking is less creepy.
His face was soft. Relaxed. Less Judge Judy, more baby who just finished milk and is now dreaming of clouds.
I could see the outline of his lashes, the faint line between his brows, and a stupid little cowlick at his hairline.
Gross.
I mean… adorable.
No.
Gross.
He looked too peaceful.
Like he wasn't the human equivalent of a weather app that always says cloudy with 90% chance of shutting you down emotionally.
How dare he be cute in the morning?
Unfair.
I, on the other hand, looked like i just lost a custody battle with my pillow.
My hair was channeling 2007 emo band member. My pajama top was twisted like a sad burrito wrap. And my breath?
Let's just say the cheesecake died for nothing.
I tried to un-glue my hand from his without waking him.
Tried.
Failed.
"Stop moving," he mumbled, voice husky with sleep.
OH GOD.
His morning voice?
Illegal.
"Sorry," I whispered like i was in church. "I forgot i'm sleeping beside Mount Stoic."
He didn't open his eyes. "And yet you talk so much."
"You should be thankful. Some people pay for this personality."
"Some people need a refund."
I gasped. "Wow. So this is how it feels to be emotionally slapped before 8 AM."
"You invited me."
"You emotionally manipulated me with your quiet hotness!"
He finally cracked one eye open.
And smirked.
SMIRKED.
As if he didn't just emotionally ruin me twelve hours ago then sleep beside me like it's normal behavior.
I wanted to slap him with a throw pillow.
-
After our deep pinky moment—which, by the way, no one warned me could be that emotionally destabilizing—I let out a dramatic sigh and declared, "Okay, I need to change. I feel too emotionally raw to be in pajamas."
Cairo didn't move.
He was still sitting on the couch like a statue carved from sarcasm and suppressed affection.
I stood. "You can stay here and reflect on your emotional breakthrough. Or maybe alphabetize my spice rack again. I know you peeked in there."
He didn't even look guilty. "You have four spices, Elara. One of them is… glitter."
"Edible glitter," I corrected. "And it brings joy."
I shuffled to my room and changed into something less post-breakdown cute and more i have my life together even though i clearly do not. A flowy top, shorts that scream "accidentally fashionable," and the tiniest pair of gold hoops because sometimes you need a full recovery look even when you're not leaving the building.
When i came back out, Cairo was gone from the couch but had mysteriously migrated to my sink.
Washing the dishes.
With my frilly pink dish gloves on.
I clutched my imaginary pearls. "You're wearing The Gloves."
He looked over his shoulder. "They were the only ones available."
"They're ceremonial!" I cried, dramatically flopping onto the armrest like i'd just lost a family heirloom. "Only worn by very specific people under very specific dishwashing conditions."
"Like what?"
"Like… a surprise guest who also happens to be incredibly emotionally constipated, but very pretty in the face and has just comforted the woman of this house through a cheesecake breakdown!"
He said nothing. But i swear the corner of his mouth twitched.
"You're blushing," I accused, standing and inching closer.
He rinsed a plate. "I'm absolutely not."
"You are. Emotionally and now facially. Progress!"
He turned the faucet off, removed The Gloves like he was defusing a bomb, and handed them to me with a straight face. "Ceremonial gloves. Returned with honor."
I took them solemnly. "You may go in peace."
We both stood there for a beat—me, holding the dripping gloves like a historic relic; him, looking like he was debating whether to stay or vanish into a smoke cloud of man-feelings.
Then he muttered, "I should head back."
The pang in my chest was immediate and stupid.
"Oh. Yeah. Sure." I nodded like a bobblehead. "Back to the emotionally safer zone of… being alone and mysterious."
He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he didn't. He just grabbed his keys, gave me a last glance, and headed for the door.
Just before stepping out, he paused.
"Elara."
I blinked. "Yeah?"
"…Don't cry into any more desserts."
I placed a hand on my chest. "No promises."
He shut the door with a soft click.
And i just stood there, in the middle of my kitchen, still holding the gloves like they were love letters.
I flopped onto my bed, stared at the ceiling, and screamed into a pillow.
"I AM REALLY REALLY FALLING IN LOVE WITH A HUMAN EMOTIONLESS DOLPHIN AND I CAN'T STOP MYSELF."
It's fine. I'm fine. This is just… karma for every time I called someone a "walking red flag" while eating chips and pretending i was better.
I lay there, dramatically, like a painting of heartbreak. Then i got bored, picked up my phone, and typed:
Me: you left the ketchup.
Then deleted it.
Then typed again:
Me: u forgot ur sauce. guess i'll cry into it now lol
Also deleted.
Then just threw my phone across the bed because i am a woman of restraint.
I eventually fell asleep. Not because i was relaxed, but because my feelings were too heavy for my body and it just shut down like a Windows 98 computer.