I knew it. I knew it the moment i saw that stupid motivational quote on my vision board staring back at me, today was gonna test every ounce of my patience.
"Smile. It confuses people."
Girl, it confuses me why i agreed to do this five-line role with a love team i didn't even choose.
So there i was, dragging my fabulous self into the dressing room of Studio 8, trying to summon even one drop of motivation from the seven hours of sleep idid not get because i spent all night googling how to take care of a man with fever.
(Yes. Cairo. The fever boy. The guy who looked like a whole K-drama plot twist under my blanket last night.)
I wore my cute yellow sweater today, you know, to bring in good vibes.
But not even my sunshine-core outfit could protect me from the bad energy of this man—James—my surprise love team.
"Hey, I'm James," he said earlier with a smirk that gave me the ick. "I've been looking forward to working with you."
Ugh. Why does every guy who calls himself "James" act like he owns every mirror in the country?
"Cool," I said while fixing my lip tint. "I've been looking forward to going home."
Okay fine, I didn't say that out loud.
I just thought it.
But in my head, it was hilarious.
-
The moment they called "Roll camera!", I switched on my inner Sasha Fierce. Because if there's one thing i've learned in my tragic, misunderstood, spotlight-chasing life—it's that you can hate the script, the outfit, the love team, and still slay the scene.
That's called professionalism, babes.
"Take 1, scene 6A!" the floor director shouted.
I flipped my hair like i was born to destroy someone's self-esteem on national TV.
My role? The mean girl bestie with five lines and a fake boyfriend whose only purpose was to make the female lead feel insecure.
Yes. Five lines.
And one of them was just:
"Huh?"
Can you believe? May eksena ako na literal yun lang ang linya ko.
But in fairness, I gave it depth.
I gave it history.
I gave it heartbreak.
So when the camera started rolling, I turned to the lead actress and let out my best fake-laugh-slash-real-shade combo.
"You seriously thought he liked you? Babe, he follows, like, three hundred influencers. And you're not even verified."
Mic drop. Flawless. Meryl Streep could never.
Honestly? I knew i ate.
The makeup girl clapped after the take.
The director nodded with that look—the kind where they pretend they're chill but you know they're impressed.
But the problem was not my performance.
It was him.
James.
He was supposed to put his arm around me in one scene and say, "Babe, let's go." Very simple, very basic.
Instead, he looked at me like i just stole his charger. Parang galit?
Sir, this is acting. Hindi to barangay tanod audition.
And the way he said "Babe"?—like he was allergic to the word.
Like he was gonna vomit a little in his mouth after.
Ew. What a vibe killer.
-
By the time they called for a break, I was already messaging Cairo.
Me:
"Baby, I wanna go home 🥹🧘♀️ this guy's acting like he's allergic to being my jowa. I need cuddles and carbs."
No reply. Not even a "seen." Which was fine because he was still technically sick, but also, where is the justice?
I was about to text again when one of the crew handed me my bento box.
I opened it.
The rice looked sad.
The egg was cracked.
That's when i knew—I was not meant to be here today.
-
I had mentally resigned.
As in, I was ready to go home, remove my fake lashes like battle scars, and eat my feelings through truffle chips and leftover mac and cheese.
I was walking out of the studio—dignity half-intact, one shoe half-unzipped—when the entire day went from "ugh" to GASP!
There.
Outside the gate.
Leaning casually on the side of a black sportscar like he was auditioning for his own K-drama.
Cairo.
Wearing a grey hoodie, black cap, and holding—wait for it—a full bouquet of tulips.
Tulips, girl. As in, not the gas station roses na halatang last-minute.
These were intentional tulips.
With pink wrapping.
May effort.
May ribbon.
I froze like a badly coded NPC.
"What. The. Actual. Novel?" I whispered to myself. "Is this real life? Or is my fever dream having a hallucination?"
Because last i checked, he was the one with the fever, not me.
He looked up and smiled, not the barkada joke smile, but the soft, may sinasabing smile, the kind that makes your stomach fold into origami.
And then he said, "Hi."
JUST "HI." Like he didn't just pull up looking like the season finale of my life.
My knees? Weak.
My heart? Screaming.
My brain? Buffering.
"You're supposed to be sick!" I said, walking up to him like i wasn't melting inside.
"I was," he said, handing me the flowers. "I still kinda am. But you took care of me, so i figured… return the favor?"
Return. The. Favor.
I swear the universe did a slow pan.
The wind blew.
Somewhere, a background music played. Siguro BINI or James Reid or something cinematic.
"You didn't have to…" I blinked, sniffing the tulips like i was born in a perfume commercial. "I was literally gonna text you 'don't die' again earlier."
He chuckled. "I didn't."
"Yet!" I said, poking his arm. "You could've relapsed! For tulips! Babes, this is high drama behavior."
"From the girl who panicked and asked if hugs or kisses cure fever?" he teased.
I gasped. "You were half-conscious! I didn't know you were listening! And for the record, hugs are emotionally medicinal!"
"So… do you always do this?" I asked, clutching the bouquet like it was made of gold-plated tulips instead of actual, legit, imported-looking peonies. "Like, show up outside buildings like a feverish K-drama lead with a car that probably runs on unicorn tears?"
Cairo, still slightly pale, smirked as he leaned on the wheel. "Only on weekdays that end with a Y."
I dramatically gasped. "You're sick and you're making jokes? Babe, what if you fainted on the pavement? What if i had to drag your six-foot frame into my Uber? What if—"
"Elara."
"What?"
"You talk more than the Waze voice."
I gasped again. That was three gasps in less than five minutes. New record. "Excuse me?!"
He chuckled, and the sound was raspy but stupidly attractive.
Like, sir, pick a struggle.
You can't be charming and borderline dying at the same time. "I'm saying, you're cute when you're panicking. Like a Chihuahua with lip gloss."
"Oh my god. I can't believe i'm dating someone who compares me to a designer dog."
"Hey, I said with lip gloss. That's premium."
I rolled my eyes but grinned like a sixteen-year-old with a diary entry pending.
My heart was doing this embarrassing flutter thing again. Like, calm down. He's just being sweet. He's not proposing. Probably. Maybe. I don't know. Shut up.
As he turned onto our street, I clutched the flowers tighter. "So... like, hypothetically. If you were bringing me again a flowers 'cause i was sick, what kind would you want if roles were reversed?"
He snorted. "Easy. A cactus."
I blinked. "What?"
"A cactus," he repeated with a straight face. "Spiky. Low maintenance. Still cute."
I stared at him. "You're so weird."
"And you're asking me about reverse florals like this is a Vogue quiz."
"Well, I'm sorry for caring about your fictional flower preferences!"
He laughed again, and I swear, if laughter was a vitamin, I'd have glowing skin right now. "Okay fine, if not a cactus, maybe a bouquet of hot wings."
"Cairo!"
"What? It's practical and delicious."
"I should've let you melt in bed."
"But you didn't," he said, turning off the engine smoothly. "You took care of me. You panicked. You Googled how to check a temperature using only vibes."
I covered my face with my hand. "Oh my gosh, you heard me talking to myself, didn't you?"
"Every single word."
Kill me now. I groaned and slumped in my seat. "Ugh. You're never letting that go, are you?"
He leaned over, pressed a soft kiss on my cheek, and whispered, "Not a chance."
My heart did that annoying thump again.
That one that says: yup, girl. You're in deep.