Inked Star

seven.

I messaged Cairo to ask if he was in contact with my brother. He said they were Facebook friends, and he reached out to Cal when he invited me to go out.

You didn't have to explain. I typed.

I wanted to be clear. He responded.

I then received a notification. It was a friend request from Cairo. We had a lot of mutual friends—mostly people from the same province as us, and I wondered why we didn't get connected sooner.

Cairo delivered the painting over to his client, and in a blink of an eye, the week was over. It was time go back to our usual routine saturated with predictability and normalcy. The city, despite its bright lights and bustling nightlife, felt empty and cold. The stars in the province, in all its simplicity, offered something novel and authentic.

My jaw dropped when Cal broke out the news to me—the day we were supposed to leave. Together.

"I'm staying for a few more days," he said. "But the good news is, Cairo's also going home. You can join him."

"But—" before I could even get another word out, Cairo knocked on our front door as if on cue. He was carrying his duffel bag.

"The gate's open, so I let myself in," he said. "Where's Auntie?"

"She's at the back, tending to her tiny greenhouse."

Cairo grinned. "I'll go say hi first, then."

He gave me a friendly nod before leaving.

"I wasn't informed of this change," I blurted out, sending my brother daggers with my eyes. "I barely know the person."

"You should start getting to know him, then," Cal replied with nonchalance.

Just then, I heard Mom and Cairo's voices get closer and closer. They were talking about sweet potatoes, or something along those lines. When they arrived in the living room, all I could do was look at my feet. It was weird seeing Cairo on our premises. However, the way he interacted with my family gave me the impression that he was no stranger to them.

"Aster," Cairo finally called out. I raised my eyes to gaze at him. "I'm so sorry for the short notice. You must have been surprised."

"'Surprised' is an understatement," Cal chimed in. "She was about to throw hands."

I didn't reply.

"Well, have you eaten already?" this time, it was Mom. "Let's all have breakfast first."

🌻

Mom needed help around the house, and it just so happened that Cal had the flexibility to extend his stay. The water tank needed to be checked in order to confirm whether it needed to be replaced or not.

"I'm so sorry for being a nuisance," I began, when Cairo made his way to the main road. The air conditioner was in full blast, and he already had music playing in the background.

"You're not," he said. "I'm actually glad I don't have to travel alone."

His movements remained languid—they were as soft as his voice.

"I'll split the gas with you," I said.

He smiled. "You don't have to. Cal already paid for it."

"He did?" I blurted out, aghast.

Cairo chuckled. "Why are you so shocked?"

"He's a cheapskate, that's why," I answered, while squinting my eyes because of the sunlight. "Give me the receipt for the fuel later, if that's okay. I need to show him that because I know he'll charge me."

"All right," Cairo reached for the sun visor above me and pulled it down. I looked at him, and he glanced at me in return. "You were struggling to see just now."

I cleared my throat to calm myself down.

"Do you want some water? There's one beside you. It's sealed."

"For an only child, you're attentive," I pointed out.

"Now, you're just stereotyping," he playfully shot back. "Only children are usually observant."

"I see."

Being with Cairo was strange. However, it was the good kind of strange. At work, I had to show up as a proper adult. With my ex, I had to tone myself down. Spending the past few days with Cairo made me forget that I was already thirty. I had no idea if that was a good thing or not, but inevitably, that very thought brought me peace.

I didn't have to strive. I didn't have to act a certain way. I simply needed to be.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, pulling me out of my reverie.

"I think," I began. "I think I'm idealizing you."

"I see."

"It's a bad habit of mine," I confessed. "Whenever I meet new people, I tend to put them on a pedestal and look at them through rose-tinted glasses."

"And then what happens if they don't meet your expectations?"

I was caught off guard by his candid question—his tone was sincere.

"I leave," I choked out.

"I won't meet your expectations, whatever those are," Cairo said. "I'm bound to fall short. However, I hope you don't leave."

"Why do you speak like we're in for the long haul?" I looked at him. "By that, I mean we'll stay connected."

"Because we are connected," he answered. "And I am in for the long haul."

I could only scoff and shake my head at his remark.

"Aster," he said again. "Of all the things you've written, what was your most favorite one?"

I looked up thoughtfully.

"It's not necessarily my favorite, but it was the most memorable to me."

"How so?"

I smiled. "I exhausted every part of myself in there. I spilled my innermost thoughts until I couldn't anymore."

"What made you write it?"

I paused. Nobody asked me that before. Cairo's question made me face something I had been avoiding for the longest time.

"It was my gut feeling," I finally admitted, while staring at the blur of trees and rice paddies. "At that time, I wanted to explore why I felt a certain way."

"And what were you feeling?"

"Nothing," I replied, without missing a beat. "I simply felt nothing. As if I were hollow."

Cairo stayed quiet, which urged me to go on.

"Maybe I sensed that I wasn't happy anymore, but I wanted to find the logic in that. So I wrote. I ended up feeling vulnerable afterwards."

"And then what happened?"

"I stopped writing altogether."

The silence was thick, but my heart didn't feel heavy. It was liberating to finally say it out loud. I had nowhere else to go, as well. Not unless I jumped out of the car.

"I hope you tell me what that story is about," was all he finally said.

"Maybe soon," I replied.

"Maybe soon," he echoed. "Feel free to sleep, as well. I'll wake you up when we reach a pitstop."