I woke up with the kind of nerves you feel when you're about to walk a runway in front of your ex's new girlfriend and Gosh.
Except instead of a runway, it was the condo parking lot and instead of stilettos, I'd be wearing sneakers and instead of strutting, I'd be driving.
At 7:00 a.m.
With Cairo as my teacher.
Who, by the way, had one condition.
"One condition only," he had said last night. "That i'll zipper my mouth"
To which i nodded and agreed with all the sincerity of a girl who had no intention of keeping that promise.
Because, hello? I was scared. I couldn't just shut up. I was not emotionally stable enough for that kind of silence.
The quieter it got, the louder my anxiety screamed and also, he was wrong for assuming i knew how to not talk.
So there i was, exactly 6:57 a.m., standing next to my red car like it was a dragon i was supposed to tame.
I was dressed for war—hair in a clean low ponytail, lips barely glossed, and a plain white tee that i borrowed from myself because i literally don't own ugly clothes.
Cairo appeared exactly on the dot.
He wore black.
Of course he did.
He looked like someone who'd rather be anywhere else.
His coffee was in one hand, car keys in the other, and that usual sleepy, expressionless stare was aimed directly at me.
"Ready?" he asked.
"No," I said. "But i'm here, which counts for something."
He sighed. "You remember what we talked about?"
"No talking," I recited like a reluctant child.
He opened the car door for me anyway. "Let's go."
I got into the driver's seat.
Everything inside the car suddenly looked like weapons.
"Okay," he said, settling beside me. "Foot on the brake. Engine start."
"Wait," I said. "What if the car goes flying?"
"It won't."
"But what if it's like... secretly fast?"
"It's not. It's literally on Park."
"Just making sure. Some cars have trauma. Maybe it's haunted. Maybe I—"
"Elara," he said firmly, "quiet."
I bit my lip and pressed the brake.
The engine purred awake like a soft demon.
"Okay," he continued, calm as ever, "you're going to shift to Drive. Your foot stays on the brake. We'll move slowly."
I nodded. "Copy."
Then i inhaled.
And blurted, "I'm scared."
He closed his eyes. "Elara..."
"I am scared!" I said louder, gripping the wheel like it was a lifeline. "What if i crash into the cement? What if i accidentally do a Fast and the Furious maneuver and we flip upside down?"
"You won't."
"How do you know that?"
"Because you're literally crawling. We're moving slower than my grandma's Wi-Fi."
"But i can still die, Cairo. Do you want that on your conscience? Do you want to be the last person i see before my final breath?"
He muttered something under his breath. Possibly a prayer.
Possibly a curse.
"Stop talking," he said again, tighter this time. "You said you'd be quiet."
"I lied. I'm scared."
"Elara."
"Fine, I'll be quiet."
Silence.
One beat.
Two.
And then i whispered, "But i'm really scared."
He exhaled loudly, gripping his own knee as if to ground himself.
We inched forward.
Like, literally crawled.
"You're doing fine," he said, staring straight ahead.
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I think my palms are sweating so much they short-circuited the steering wheel."
"Steering wheels don't short-circuit."
"Then why do i feel like it's judging me?"
"Elara, breathe."
I did.
For five seconds.
Then: "Did i just move one inch?"
"Yes."
"Can i stop now?"
"No."
"I hate this. I wanna go back to 2009 when my only problem was finishing my Barbie sticker album."
"Elara—"
"Do you think you'll survive if i crash into that wall?"
"You're not crashing into anything."
"But i could. The possibility exists. Like, maybe that wall's destiny is to meet my bumper and—"
"Okay!" he snapped. "Elara, stop."
I did. Not because i wanted to, but because my voice caught in my throat and i finally realized i might actually puke.
From stress.
He turned to look at me then.
Slowly.
His eyes weren't annoyed.
They were… worried?
"You're scared," he said. Not a question.
A statement.
I nodded quickly. "Terrified."
He didn't say anything for a while.
Then he just reached over and turned off the engine.
The silence in the car felt warm. Safe. It wasn't judgmental anymore.
"Let's just sit here for a minute," he said.
I blinked at him. "You're not mad?"
"No."
"But i talked. You said no talking."
"I underestimated how loud your panic could be."
I snorted. "You mean how dramatic."
He looked at me, deadpan. "That too."
We sat there for a bit. Not moving. Not speaking.
Then he said, "You know, you don't have to do this today."
"But i want to," I said quickly. "I really do."
He nodded. "Then we'll take it slow. You don't have to get it perfect."
I looked down at my hands. "I just... don't like failing."
His voice softened."Failing doesn't mean you're a failure."
I glanced at him. "Did you read that on a mug?"
"No. I read it on your face."
Oh.
Suddenly, the panic in my chest deflated, just a little. Just enough to let me breathe.
"Okay," I whispered. "Let's try again."
"Talk less?"
"No promise."
He gave me that half-annoyed, half-fond look again. "Let's go."
-
We made it out of the parking lot.
Barely.
Like, when i say barely, I mean i was gripping the wheel like it was the last Dior bag on earth and Cairo was visibly reconsidering all his life choices, including but not limited to befriending me.
"Left," he said.
I turned right.
"Elara!"
"I panicked! Left and right are a social construct."
He groaned but didn't take the wheel, which i considered an act of faith. Or stupidity.
Eventually, we found a quiet street with minimal risk of me crashing into children, walls, or my own pride.
"Okay," Cairo said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he was one wrong signal away from spontaneous combustion. "You're going to ease your foot onto the gas. Just a little."
"What if it jerks?"
"It won't jerk."
"What if it zooms?"
"It won't zoom."
"What if a cat appears out of nowhere and i have to save it and i swerve and we both die and—"
"Elara, please, for the love of everything holy, just press the gas."
I did.
And the car rolled forward smoothly. Gracefully. Like a swan on wheels.
"OH MY GOD, I'M DOING IT!" I screamed.
"You are," he said, so dry he could've been in a desert.
"I'm a driver! I'm a citizen of the road! I AM SPEED!"
"Stop screaming."
"I can't! I'm emotionally overwhelmed!"
"Elara—"
"CAIRO I THINK I'M GOING TEN. I'M GOING TEN!!!"
He squinted at the dashboard. "You're going six."
"I AM A LEGEND."
We drove in what felt like majestic, slow-motion glory. I imagined onlookers clapping, babies pointing at me in awe, angels singing overhead.
In reality, a tricycle overtook us and the driver gave me a weird look.
"Okay," Cairo said, "now you're going to practice parking."
"Like... real parking?"
"No. Imaginary parking, Elara."
"Okay, I don't like your tone."
"Just find an empty spot. Turn slowly. Align the car."
"What if i mess up?"
"Then we try again."
I exhaled like i was about to defuse a bomb.
My hands were shaking, my upper lip was sweating (which, excuse me, was rude of my pores), and my brain was on airplane mode.
But i turned the wheel, adjusted, reversed a little, and—
THUMP.
We hit the curb.
I gasped so loud i nearly swallowed my own soul.
"OH MY GOD. I KILLED IT."
"You hit a curb."
"I KILLED THE CURB."
"Elara, it's concrete."
"IT HAD A FAMILY, CAIRO. CONCRETE HAS FEELINGS TOO."
He rested his forehead on the dashboard.
"Okay," I said, breathing heavily, "should we pray? Or light a candle? Maybe i should say sorry to the curb—"
"Elara, please. Get out. We're switching seats."
"No! I can do this!"
"You're crying."
"I cry during commercials. This means nothing."
He stared at me.
I stared back.
He sighed and got out of the car. Walked to my side. Opened the door.
"Out."
"No."
"Elara—"
"No. Let me redeem myself. This is my hero origin story."
"You hit one curb."
"Exactly. ONE. That's a small number in the world of curb-related disasters."
He didn't say anything.
I pressed my lips together.
"Fine," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "But i want food."
"What?"
"I want food. I just emotionally crashed into a curb. I deserve sustenance."
Cairo blinked. "So you want... breakfast?"
"Yes. You owe me that. It's in the fine print of the Driving Student Bill of Rights."
"There's no such thing."
"There is now. Also, I might have a blood sugar issue."
"You ate two cinnamon rolls before we left."
"Exactly. Sugar crash."
He looked like he wanted to argue. Then just… gave up.
"Fine," he said. "We'll eat."
-
Ten minutes later, we were at a tiny café near the corner of the block.
The kind of place that smelled like toasted bagels and subtle ambition.
We sat in silence at a table by the window. He ordered black coffee, obviously, and I ordered a hot chocolate because i needed emotional support in a mug.
The waitress gave him a polite smile.
She gave me the look you give someone who just got off a rollercoaster and wasn't okay.
"Long morning?" she asked.
"She hit a curb," Cairo said.
I put a hand dramatically on my chest. "You don't have to expose me like that."
"It's not exposing. You narrated the whole thing while it was happening."
"I was processing."
The waitress tried not to laugh and left us to our table.
I took a sip of my drink and sighed. "So... how bad was i?"
"You weren't bad."
I squinted. "Liar."
He shrugged. "You were loud. You were dramatic. You were five decibels away from getting us pulled over by a noise complaint."
"So i was me."
He smiled faintly. "Basically."
I poked at my pancake. "Do you think i'll ever be... normal?"
Cairo looked at me then. Not in that i'm-judging-you way. More like he was thinking about something very specific.
Then he said, "No."
My jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"You won't ever be normal. You'll always be this... hurricane in designer jeans."
"I resent that."
"You shouldn't. That's why you're you."
I blinked.
He sipped his coffee.
"Also," he added, "normal is boring."
"Oh," I said, blinking again, "well then—wait, was that a compliment?"
He didn't answer.
Which obviously meant yes.
By the time we left the café, I was a little less shaken. Cairo offered to drive us back to the condo and i didn't argue.
Inside the car, I hummed dramatically. "So, would you say i'm your worst student ever?"
"You're my only student ever."
"So... best and worst."
"Exactly."
"Would you do it again?"
He glanced at me. "Do i have a choice?"
"No."
"Then yes."
I grinned. "Yay."
He didn't smile.
But he didn't roll his eyes either.
Which was basically the same thing.