CAIRO'S POV:
"I still don't get why we're doing this."
Nadine's voice bounced lazily off the walls of my living room.
She was sitting cross-legged on my couch, her hair tied up in a messy bun, my hoodie hanging loose on her shoulders.
She looked like she lived here.
Which was the entire point.
I didn't even glance up from my phone. "Because i like it when she's annoyed."
She scoffed, loud and disbelieving. "You're joking."
I wasn't.
The way Elara's entire face transformed when she was frustrated—eyebrows pulled together, that ridiculous little twitch of her upper lip like she was resisting the urge to scream—was... amusing.
Like watching a cartoon character malfunction.
Only, she was real. Too real, sometimes.
"She's coming," I said calmly, eyes flicking toward the security monitor that showed the hallway feed. "Make sure she sees you."
Nadine groaned, but stood anyway, stretching dramatically like this was the most exhausting thing she'd done all day.
"Fine. But if this blows up, I'm not dragging your body from the flames," she muttered as she padded to the door and leaned against the frame, hood pulled up like some clingy, possessive girlfriend.
She even curled one leg up slightly, toe pointed, like she was ready for her debut in a paparazzi shot.
I walked over, opened my door just as the elevator dinged down the hall.
Right on cue.
Elara.
She was wearing that oversized blazer again—navy blue this time, with gold buttons that looked like they belonged to a ship captain.
Her heels clacked across the hallway tiles, each step overly practiced like she was in a commercial for luxury detergent.
Her gaze swept the hallway with casual indifference, but the moment she spotted me—standing just outside my door, with Nadine behind me in my hoodie, her entire body stiffened.
There it was.
That split-second panic in her eyes.
The drama.
God, she was so easy to read it was almost dangerous.
"Elara," I said, nodding politely like i hadn't just staged a scene for her benefit.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
Her expression rearranged itself with dramatic flair—surprise, followed by confusion, then something close to outrage hidden under several layers of forced poise.
"Oh," she said, drawing out the word like it was poisoned. "Wow. What a pleasant coincidence."
I didn't smile.
Not even a twitch.
"Going somewhere?" I asked, knowing damn well she had no idea where she was going.
She tilted her head, arms folding across her chest like a sitcom character about to deliver her punchline. "Actually, I was just… walking. Breathing air. You know, that thing humans do?"
"Of course."
I saw her eyes flick to Nadine, then down to the hoodie.
Nadine, to her credit, didn't say anything.
Just leaned in the doorway like she belonged there, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth.
Elara's voice dipped to a pitch only i could detect: sugar-coated, but dangerous. "Nice hoodie."
"Thanks," Nadine replied, cool and unbothered.
I didn't say anything.
The silence stretched.
Elara shifted her weight, clearly not used to being the outsider in a scene. Her nose scrunched up for half a second, and i caught her staring—not at Nadine, but at me.
Like she was waiting for me to say something. Or admit something.
But i never did.
She let out a quiet "hmp," then turned on her heel, that ridiculous oversized blazer flaring behind her like she was storming off a runway.
Once she disappeared into the elevator, I shut the door slowly.
"Told you," I said to Nadine. "She likes me."
"You're insane," Nadine muttered, shaking her head. "Completely unhinged. Good thing we're friends or i'd report you to a therapist."
I just sat back down on the couch, completely unbothered.
She liked me.
And i liked watching her try not to.
-
It's been forty-three minutes.
Not that i was counting.
Nadine was still scrolling through her phone like she wasn't wearing my hoodie for a show i orchestrated like a script i never admitted i wrote.
She was humming under her breath, some Gen Z playlist that looped in her head the way RPM numbers looped in mine during a race.
"She's not coming back," Nadine said eventually.
I looked up from my glass of water. "Did i say she would?"
"You keep looking at the door like she owes you a dramatic entrance."
"She does dramatic."
"She also does boundaries. Sometimes."
I didn't answer that.
I wasn't expecting Elara to come back. I wasn't expecting anything, really. That's what made her so effective.
Predictable in her chaos.
Loud in her silences.
The kind of girl who'd stomp off in six-inch heels just to make sure you heard her leave.
And i did.
I heard her.
I always did.
Even when i didn't want to.
Even now.
"I think you like her," Nadine said, like it was an accusation.
I raised a brow. "No, I just like watching her unravel."
She gave me that look.
The one friends give you when you're lying through your teeth and they know it. "Cairo. You're not God. You can't just pull strings and expect people to orbit you."
"Didn't say i expected her to."
"You planned that hoodie moment like it was a music video. You wanted her to see it. You wanted her to feel it."
I took another sip of water.
Let it sit on my tongue before swallowing.
"Maybe."
Nadine rolled her eyes and got up. "Text me if you ever grow up."
I didn't answer.
She left, the soft click of the door behind her disappearing into the low hum of the hallway.
And then it was quiet.
The kind of quiet that didn't sit right in my chest.
I stood up. Restless.
Walked to the window, where the skyline of the city looked like a blueprint someone forgot to finish.
I hated being idle.
Hated not knowing what she was thinking.
Because i knew what i wanted her to think.
That i was fine. That i didn't care. That i wasn't the one who remembered the way her wrist smelled like some coconut-laced hand lotion when i helped her clean off actual dog shit from her legs in the parking lot.
God.
That had to be the most disgusting and weirdly intimate thing i'd ever done.
And Elara?
She just kept talking.
Rambling about how "poop is part of life, Cairo, like love or taxes," like we were in the middle of a sitcom.
She didn't flinch.
Didn't cry.
She just was.
So unapologetically Elara.
Delusional. Dramatic.
Too loud for a world like mine.
And i kept letting her in.
Why?
Maybe because it felt like i was in control when i wasn't.
Maybe because she reminded me of the parts of life i never had time to feel.
And maybe—just maybe—I hated the way her voice got smaller when she thought no one was listening.
Or the way she looked at me like i was never going to understand her, but she was willing to let me try.
A buzz pulled me out of it.
My phone.
A message.
From Elara.
No words.
Just a voice note.
0:09 seconds.
I played it.
Her voice came through instantly, breathy and annoyed.
"Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, wow. If you think this little 'display' with hoodie girl is gonna get under my skin—well, it kind of did. But only because you're weird. That's it. That's all. Goodbye."
I stared at the screen.
Didn't smile.
Didn't move.
Didn't reply.
Instead, I saved the message.
Played it again.
Then once more.
Because underneath all that forced bravado, she sounded tired. And i didn't know why, but i wanted to know.
I wanted her to send another voice note.
Or knock on my door.
Or scream at me in the hallway.
Because this thing between us wasn't love.
Wasn't friendship.
It wasn't even hate.
It was something worse.
It was unresolved.
-
"Why isn't she famous?" I asked out loud without meaning to.
Nadine looked up from her phone, one brow lifting. "Who?"
"Elara," I said, still watching the hallway camera on mute. She had this weird habit of talking to herself when she thought no one was looking. Animated. Loud. Like she was starring in her own reality show. "She looks like someone who should be… I don't know. Famous."
Nadine laughed — not the fake kind she used during press cons, but a real one, the kind where she dropped her phone and clutched her stomach.
"Oh my God, Cairo." She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "She's pretty, sure. But she can't act to save her life. Like—imagine her trying to play a poor girl in a drama. She'd still look like she gets weekly facials in Paris."
I didn't reply.
"She's the kind of starlet that you'd cast for two lines, and she'd still request a stunt double in case someone slaps her." Nadine shook her head. "Girl looks like she'd cry over breaking a nail before she'd cry for a role."
I should've disagreed.
Should've said something like, at least she's entertaining, or she's real. But i didn't.
Because maybe Nadine had a point.
But none of that explained why i kept watching the hallway cam like i was expecting her to burst into song. Or why i memorized the sound of her laugh when she nearly tripped over that damn mop bucket three nights ago.
I turned away from the screen.
"Anyway," Nadine said, stretching, "you're sick in the head. You like watching her suffer."
"I like it when she's annoyed," I said, flatly.
Nadine's brows twitched upward. "Sadist."
Footsteps echoed from the hallway monitor.
I didn't even need to check. I knew it was her.
"There she is," I murmured, standing. "Make sure she sees you."
Nadine stood and shrugged on my hoodie like it was a uniform. She knew the drill.
I didn't need to explain the script twice.
"Remind me why i'm helping you again?" she said as i opened the door.
"Because you're bored," I said. "And i'm your only interesting friend."
She rolled her eyes. "You're not wrong."
Right on cue, I stepped into the hallway just as Elara turned the corner. She had that purposeful walk—head held high, eyes narrowed like she was preparing for battle.
Even in slippers, she looked like she was walking a red carpet. God help her.
She really looked annoyed.
And pretty.
Unfortunately.
I didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there with my arms crossed loosely over my chest, leaning against my own door like i had all the time in the world.
Her eyes snapped to mine like she hadn't expected me there, but was somehow already rehearsing what to say.
She didn't speak, though.
Instead, she slowed her walk—not dramatically, just barely enough for me to notice.
Her gaze dropped to Nadine's hoodie still clinging to my body, oversized and worn.
And then, she did something very Elara.
She smiled.
Not the sweet kind.
Not even the sarcastic kind.
It was... sharp. Defensive. Pretty, but layered in armor.
"Nice hoodie," she said in that drawling, fake-casual voice of hers. "Yours?"
I tilted my head slightly. "Maybe."
Her eyes flashed. "Right."
She walked past me then. Smoothly. Like nothing had phased her.
But the way her ponytail whipped behind her shoulder told me otherwise.
She reached her door.
Opened it without looking back.
But right before she stepped in, she muttered—loud enough for me to hear, just quiet enough to pretend it wasn't for me—
"God. What an aura."
I didn't smile.
Not fully.
But there was this heat crawling up the back of my neck as i stepped back into my unit and locked the door behind me.
Maybe it was the way she always showed up pretending she didn't care—when every inch of her body said otherwise.
Maybe it was the way she acted like i was the last person on earth she wanted to impress—yet she still showed up, hair curled, lashes curled even harder.
Maybe it was the weird little performance she gave every time she thought i wasn't watching.
Or maybe...
I just liked her best when she was annoyed.
Because at least then, I was sure she was being real.