"Good morning, son," Mang Lope greeted Alvin as he came down the stairs. The old man’s voice was calm and soothing, as if he had been up for hours already, embracing the quiet peace of the dawn. There was something timeless in his tone, a sense of routine and unhurried purpose that matched the steady rhythm of rural mornings.Alvin’s eyes wandered to the kitchen, where Mang Lope was standing by the small stove. The familiar clatter of pots and pans filled the air, accompanied by the savory scent of fried eggs and longganisa. A soft plume of steam rose from the sizzling pan, curling upwards and dispersing into the air, bringing with it the rich aroma of garlic and spices."Good morning to you too, Mang Lope," Alvin replied, his voice bright, despite the early hour. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the old man deftly flip the eggs in the pan, his hands steady, almost graceful, as though he had been doing this for decades.The small kitchen was bathed in the warm, golden light o
Last Updated : 2024-10-02 Read more