Turning point

 He combs his still damp hair. Unsatisfied with his looks, he poured additional gel to his palm and applied from front to back. He combed again. Better now. He heard his wife, humming their favourite Maranao song while preparing the table for breakfast. He smells the aroma of a freshly roasted native coffee being brewed. His stomach growled. He buttoned his shirt and walked to the table. He smiled.

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