"I swear to every star in Orion's belt, if you don't come with me, I will cry, Ari. I will cry in full mascara. And you know i don't do waterproof."
Ari didn't even blink. "That sounds like a personal choice."
"Ari!" I whined, sprawled dramatically across the couch like i was in a 2003 telenovela. "Please! I need moral support."
"From me? At a car race?" he blinked, holding his cup of ginger tea like it was holy water. "Girl, I can't even drive. My most dangerous vehicle is a shopping cart."
"That's why you're perfect. I can't drive either. We're both emotionally allergic to engines. It's like we're going to war together, side by side."
He squinted. "You just want someone to film you looking hot in the bleachers while pretending to understand the race."
"…Also that."
"And you want to see Cairo."
I crossed my arms. "And i want to see Cairo."
Ari sighed, long and theatrical. "Fine. But if i get a nosebleed from the tire smoke, you're paying for my nose job."
"You don't need a nose job."
"I still want one. Just in case."
-
Two hours later.
We were at the racetrack, sun blazing, engines roaring, and i was already regretting everything.
Why were car fans so loud?
Why did the cars sound like aggressive lawnmowers on steroids?
And why the hell was Nadine here?
No. Seriously.
Why. The. Hell.
Was Nadine.
Here?
She stood near the edge of the pit lane, wearing an unnecessarily cute denim jacket over a tube top, hair blown out like she was doing a shampoo commercial, and smiling—smiling—at the crowd like she was the poster child of "Supportive Girlfriends of the Racing Community."
I elbowed Ari. "Tell me she got lost. Tell me she thinks this is a Coachella pre-party."
Ari blinked. "She's doing a full-on press interview."
"What?" I snapped around.
Sure enough, two reporters were filming her while she smiled that same sugary smile i wanted to scrub off with micellar water.
"I'm just here to support Cairo," she said sweetly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You know, I really admire his dedication to the sport."
I stood there, blinking.
What the actual F is going on?
That's my job. Supporter? My sugarplum? My honeybunch Cairo?!
Ari clutched my forearm like i was about to commit a crime. "Breathe. You're turning red. Not the sexy kind."
"She's hijacking my arc," I hissed. "That's my slow-burn romance. My supportive fan-to-lover plot. Not hers. I paid for that narrative with emotional damage and organic green juice!"
"You don't even like cars, not even own one."
"I don't even like her!"
Cairo appeared just then—walking toward his team, in his full racing gear, helmet tucked under his arm, sweat glistening just enough to make a grown woman reconsider her moral compass.
He looked… divine.
And then—like it was nothing—he walked up to her.
To Nadine.
Smiled.
Thanked her.
And hugged her.
Okay. Not a real hug.
More like that side-hug, kind-of-awkward hug you give to someone you vaguely know but don't want to seem rude to.
But still.
My brain went blank.
Like, full factory reset.
Ari nudged me. "You okay?"
"Who am I?" I whispered. "What year is it? Are we in a simulation?"
"Elara—"
"I came here to support Cairo! I wore lip balm for this! I studied engine metaphors just in case i got interviewed!"
"You didn't study anything."
"I Googled 'cool car words' last night. That's basically research."
Ari tried to keep a straight face. "Want me to push her into a tire?"
"Yes. No. Maybe. Wait—is this a test?"
"Elara, your eye is twitching."
Before i could reply, Cairo looked toward the stands—and his eyes found me.
Just for a second.
Just long enough.
And i swear to all that is dramatic and divine, his mouth twitched.
Almost like a smirk.
Like he knew i saw everything.
Like he knew i was ready to storm the racetrack and tackle someone for sport.
I blinked at him.
He nodded once.
Then turned away.
Back to the cars.
Back to the race.
Back to his passion that didn't involve stolen hoodies or PR hugs.
"Elara?" Ari whispered. "Should i get popcorn?"
"No," I said firmly, straightening up and squaring my shoulders. "Get me sunglasses."
"Why?"
"Because i'm going to sit there, look insanely hot, and pretend none of this is bothering me. And if i cry, no one will know."
"…You're actually insane."
"And stunning. Don't forget that part."
He sighed again. "You really are in love with a man who thinks gasoline smells good."
And i really, truly was.
Even if i didn't know what gearshift meant.
-
I planted myself on the bleachers like I owned the racetrack. Crossed legs, chin tilted just slightly upward, oversized sunglasses firmly in place. My lip gloss was holding on for dear life in the sun. If i was going to suffer, I'd do it with dignity or at least with highlighter.
Ari plopped beside me with a lemonade that cost more than my monthly subscription to heartbreak. "You good?"
"No," I said without flinching. "But i look good. So we're halfway there."
The engines revved again, a loud mechanical growl that vibrated through my ribcage like a bad decision.
Cairo's car zoomed into view—sleek, black, aggressive—and I felt my chest tighten in places i didn't know existed.
Why was i like this? Why did i simp for a man who probably thought tire pressure was more important than my existence?
I leaned closer to Ari. "Okay but listen. Just hypothetically. If someone were to... I don't know... pretend to understand racing for the sake of being a supportive mystery woman in the crowd... that's cute, right?"
He looked at me like i had just asked if i could marry a rotisserie chicken.
"Elara," he said slowly, "is this where you tell me you now believe you and Cairo have a secret language of smirks and eyebrow raises?"
"…No."
He just blinked.
"…Okay. Yes. Maybe."
"Elara."
"What!"
He took a deep sip of his overpriced lemonade. "Babe. You made eye contact with a man through a helmet visor at seventy miles per hour."
"It was meaningful eye contact!"
"I'm sure."
"And he smirked!"
"He had something in his teeth."
I elbowed him.
Ari grunted. "Okay, okay. What do you want me to say? That he looked at you like you were his muse? His reason for racing?"
"Yes!"
He shook his head in defeat. "Delulu. Fully delulu. At this point, your imagination deserves its own zip code."
I exhaled through my nose. "I just don't get it. Why is Nadine here? Why is she being interviewed like she's the official race girlfriend? I'm the one who watched three YouTube videos on F1 terminology last night. Do you know what a chicane is?"
"No."
"Neither do I! But i tried."
Just then, a group of fans nearby started cheering.
Cairo's car had taken the lead.
People stood.
Chanted.
Screamed his name like he was a rockstar.
And me? I just sat there, heart thumping wildly like i was personally driving that car with my emotions.
Ari leaned toward me, voice low. "Okay, I'm going to ask something insane."
"I'm listening."
"Why do you like him?"
I turned slowly. Blinked behind my sunglasses. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he gestured vaguely at the track, "he's not your usual type. He's quiet. He wears black. He looks like he broods for fun."
"He does brood for fun."
"Exactly. And yet here you are. Watching cars go vroom-vroom under the summer sun like it's your life's mission."
I didn't answer right away.
Because truth?
I didn't know either.
There was just something about him. Cairo. The walking contradiction.
The silent engine of chaos in my otherwise scripted life.
He didn't look at me like i was a punchline. He didn't even flinch when i said weird things. And that—somehow—was rarer than i'd like to admit.
"I like him because he doesn't make me feel like i'm too much," I whispered finally.
Ari blinked.
"And also because he looks like a Greek god dipped in asphalt."
"There it is."
"Shut up."
The race ended with a blur of engines and cheers. Cairo's car crossed the finish line first, and the crowd exploded. Fireworks. Confetti. Horns. Honestly? It was a lot.
And i was too busy watching him.
He climbed out of the car, sweat-soaked and golden in the light. Pulled off his helmet like a scene from a shampoo commercial for emotionally repressed men.
And just as he looked up at the stands—at me—
Nadine ran to him.
She hugged him again.
Tighter this time.
And the cameras loved it.
I froze.
"Elara," Ari whispered carefully, "don't cry. Your lashes are expensive."
"I'm not crying."
"Elara."
"I'm just… sweating from the eyes."
Then Cairo looked up again.
Past the cameras. Past the chaos.
And for half a second, we locked eyes.
Just long enough for him to see me.
Just long enough for me to look away.
Because that hug?
It broke something.
Something soft. Something silly.
Something delulu.
And i realized… maybe i wasn't the main character in his story.
Maybe i was just an extra who bought a ticket and wrote fanfiction in her head.
Still.
I stood.
I adjusted my sunglasses.
And i clapped.
Because love—real or imagined—should never make you small.
It should make you braver.
Even when it hurts.
"Let's go," I said to Ari.
"Now?"
I nodded. "Before i do something crazy."
"Like what?"
"Like confess my love with a megaphone and a monologue."
He blinked. "That actually sounds kinda—"
"Let's go, Ari."
We walked away.
But just before we left the bleachers, I heard someone call my name.
"Elara!"
I turned.
It was him.
Cairo.
Helmet still in one hand.
Eyes on me.
He jogged toward the fence separating the pit from the crowd.
And for the first time since the race began—
He smiled.
Really smiled.
"Elara!" he said again, breathless. "Wait!"
And in my head?
The entire world paused.
To be continued.