You know what's worse than being single on Valentine's Day?
Waking up at 6 AM on a weekend for training, only to find out that your car skills are not car-ing, your reflexes are basically still asleep, and your coach—yes, the same Coach Leo who said i had "potential" (LIE)—is now looking at you like you're the physical embodiment of a flat tire.
Like hello??? I am not a tire, I am a person. A beautiful, determined, shockingly flexible person.
Anyway.
It's day two of my driving journey and guess what, Sherlock?
I am still horrible.
As in horrible horrible. As in Coach Leo literally sighed so hard this morning i thought the wind changed directions. He made me do this practice lap thingy again, and i was like, "Okay girl, today is the day we conquer curves."
Spoiler alert: we did not.
The curve conquered ME.
I don't even know how, okay? One second i was turning like a normal girl, the next second my steering wheel was doing this... thing, like it had a secret beef with me.
I ended up on the grass again. Not the aesthetic Coachella grass. The I-might-have-murdered-some-ants kind.
"Elara," Coach Leo said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he suddenly developed an Elara-allergy. "You braked at the apex of the turn again."
"What's an apex?? Is that the one with the volcano?" I blinked.
He didn't answer.
He just looked off into the distance like he was remembering his happier days.
Probably the days beforeI joined his class.
After the sixth lap—and sixth brush with death he finally sat me down beside the track.
Like, sat me down-sat me down. On a plastic monoblock chair. In full sun. I felt like i was about to be voted off Survivor: Motor Skills Edition.
"Elara," he started. "Maybe… just maybe... racing is not your thing."
HUH??? Excuse me???
"You said i had potential," I reminded him. I even did that pouty anime-girl look just in case he forgot i was adorable.
"I also said that to my nephew once," he sighed,"and he broke our washing machine."
Wow. Betrayal.
Then came the worst part.
"We have an idea," Coach Leo said, while wiping sweat off his forehead like he's about to break up with me on national TV. "If you're still interested in joining the team, you could maybe… consider being one of the car race models. Or a water girl."
I blinked at him. Twice. Like a shocked tarsier.
Model? Water girl??
I mean okay, I get it. I'm pretty. I have cheekbones that can slice air. But like—what happened to female empowerment? What happened to women behind the wheel? What happened to "Fast and Fierce: Elara Edition"???
"Wait, wait, wait," I said, trying to process my downfall in real-time. "So you're saying… instead of being the main event… you want me to be like… aesthetic background support?"
He nodded slowly. Like painfully slowly. Probably afraid i'd cry or combust or both.
And honestly?
For a second… I considered it.
For a second.
But then i remembered who i am. I am Elara freaking Zulueta. I do not hand out water. I do not wave a flag. I AM THE FLAG.
So i stood up (dramatically, of course), flipped my hair (there was wind, it was perfect), and said:
"You know what, Coach Leo? I'm gonna be the best girlfriend to a racecar driver. Like… number one supportive, the kind that brings coffee and kisses and snacks with motivational Post-Its."
And that's how i announced my early retirement from carsport.
At 10:46 AM.
On a sunny Thursday.
After only two days of training.
Slay.
Anyway, since i was already in full glam—hello, I curled my lashes at 5:45 in the freaking morning—I texted Cairo:
"Babe, I'm free na. Let's eat something before you go back to vroom-vroom world. 🥲💅"
He replied instantly, of course, because i am literally his entire world.
"Okay. I'll pick you up at the café by 11. Love you, Love."
"Love you more, my Speed Racer 💋"
I walked to the café near the track with my heels clicking like a certified ex-driving prodigy, and i sat there, sipping my caramel macchiato like a woman who just survived mechanical humiliation.
When Cairo arrived, I did what every supportive girlfriend does.
I flung myself at him.
"You smell like gasoline and success," I whispered against his neck.
He chuckled. "And you smell like drama and caffeine."
"Exactly," I nodded. "Match made in chaos."
We ate spaghetti and fries like two normal people who aren't secretly suffering from career crises. Well, I was suffering. He was just vibing.
"By the way," he said, mid-fry. "I passed by Coach Leo earlier. He said you retired?"
I clutched my chest like he just mentioned my dead puppy. "Yes. I'm now officially your number one fan. Like… in full merch. If you ever get famous, I'm gonna be the girl screaming your name with glitter on my face and a custom banner."
Cairo laughed. "Honestly? That sounds kinda hot."
"That's the spirit."
After lunch, we walked back to the parking lot, and i did my signature Elara thing: tripped exactly as he opened the car door for me. But Cairo caught me like a freaking K-drama lead, one arm around my waist, the other supporting my head.
"Did you fall for me again?" he smirked.
"I fell for the ground," I corrected him. "But thanks."
He dropped me off at our condo like a gentleman-slash-boyfriend-slash-mechanic, and before i got out of the car, I kissed his cheek and whispered:
"Win your race, Speed Racer. And if there's a girl prettier than me there, tell her to go home. She already lost."
He just rolled his eyes, but i know he liked that.
Because hello, I am iconic.
-
"I'm not dramatic, I'm just a woman with feelings."
You know that existential crisis people say they get at thirty?
Yeah well, I'm twenty-four and I'm pretty sure i just had one inside my condo while holding a banana and staring at the wall.
Like legit.
I was in the kitchen, right? Wearing this silk lavender robe—because aesthetics—and holding this banana i was supposed to eat para healthy.
But instead of actually eating it, I just stood there. Staring. Blank. As in, totally brain empty.
Because what am i doing with my life???
I mean let's just be honest here:
I suck at driving.
I can't act beyond being "pretty girl in background."
My modeling career peaked at age 16 when I did that toothpaste commercial na may split-screen smile.
And don't even get me started with vlogging.
The only thing i'm consistent in is… posting cute pics and… being adorable??? Does that count as a job?
"Am I… useless?" I whispered to the banana.
And swear—if bananas could talk, this one would've just nodded like, "You kinda are, girl."
I plopped down on my couch with full ✨main character ✨ sadness. You know the one—messy bun, robe slightly open for drama, Spotify playing "Hopelessly Devoted to You" like i'm in an 80s romcom montage.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: Mom, what was i born to do?
Mom: To marry rich and bring the family more assets.
Me: WOW OKAY THANKS MOM.
No help.
I opened Instagram.
Stalked myself.
Regretted everything.
Scrolled through my old "actress" photos.
Like—OMG remember that indie movie i did where i played the dying barista? I had two lines and one of them was:
"Sir, your coffee."
And the other one?
death rattle
UGH.
I covered my face with a pillow and screamed into it.
How did i go from potential GMA breakthrough star to woman yelling at a banana in less than hours???
I tossed the banana away (gently okay, I'm not a monster) and marched to the mirror. I gave myself a pep talk. Like full TED Talk mode.
"Elara," I said. "You are NOT a loser. You are funny. You are smart. You have amazing hair. So WHAT if you can't act or drive or become a racer like Cairo??? You are your own person! You just need to find YOUR thing! Maybe… maybe you can be a businesswoman???"
Yeah.
…What business tho.
My face dropped again. I lay flat on the floor like a dead Sims character.
Cairo's face flashed in my mind. Supportive girlfriend era was supposed to be my rebrand! But now i'm just a sidekick in his montage!
LIKE HOW IS THIS MY SPIN-OFF???
Suddenly i gasped.
WAIT.
What if… I joined Miss Universe???
I mean i have the height.
I have the waistline. I can lie and say i care about world peace.
I Googled: how to join Miss Universe without training
…Too many requirements.
Ew.
Okay next.
What if i became an influencer coach? Like, "Hi I'm Elara, and I'll teach you how to pose like you just cried in the rain but still look hot."
Hmm.
Still no.
I needed THE ONE idea.
But instead, I ended up in the kitchen again—making sad girl ramen in a pot while watching mukbang on YouTube. Because why not spiral in style?
It was around 10PM when i heard keys turning at the door.
Cairo.
MY CAIRO.
I sat up straighter, checked my reflection on my spoon, fixed my hair, then rushed to open the door like a desperate dog who hadn't seen her owner in years.
"Hi baby," I said, fake casual but absolutely not casual.
He looked… exhausted.
Helmet in hand. Sweat dripping. Hair messy. Grease on his cheek.
Literal walking ✨man drama✨.
And what did i do?
I gasped and cupped his face immediately.
"Oh my God, are you okay? You look like you just survived Fast & Furious 13: Cairo's Drift!"
He blinked. "I'm fine. I just… really tired."
"Awww," I cooed. "Did you miss me? Did you think about me while you were racing and being hot and saving the world???"
He chuckled under his breath. "Mostly i thought about my water bottle."
"RUDE."
I pulled him in, forced him to sit on the couch, and handed him my ramen.
"Eat this. It's slightly overcooked but made with love and tears," I said dramatically, wiping his cheek with a tissue.
He stared at the bowl. "Did you cry into this?"
"Just a little," I whispered with a smirk. "Gives it flavor."
He laughed. GOD i missed that laugh.
I sat beside him, my knees up, hair in a loose bun, pretending to be chill but totally calculating whether or not to cry just for attention.
"So… how was training?" I asked, leaning my head on his shoulder.
"Intense. They're all prepping for the international race tomorrow," he murmured, chewing.
I nodded. "You're gonna win, you know."
He looked at me.
Like really looked at me.
"I hope so."
I smiled. Soft and proud and cheesy. I kissed his cheek and said, "If not, you still win Best Boyfriend in the universe."
"…That's not a real award."
"It should be."
I let him finish the ramen, then forced him to shower while i picked out his clothes like the ✨ domestic goddess ✨ I was born to be.
When he got out, hair wet and messy, shirt slightly loose, I sighed dramatically and said, "You know, I'd really love to jump you right now but i'm too emotionally unstable. So let's just cuddle."
And that's exactly what we did.
Me, the dramatic flop of the week.
Him, the tired race car prince.
Together, under one blanket, in one world where at least for tonight, I wasn't just an extra in someone else's story.
I was his main character.