Next on the ntal list: perfu.
Not because he was image-obsessed, but because he often t people in small conference rooms, sat next to senators, executives, foreign investors. It would be nice not to sll like coffee, sweat, and recycled plane air.
He walked into a departnt store and headed for the fragrance section. Glass shelves, rows of bottles, brand nas he knew and a lot he didn’t.
A saleslady approached, polite but not pushy.
"Good morning, sir. Looking for sothing fresh? Or more on the woody side?"
"I have no idea," Timothy said plainly. "I just want sothing that doesn’t sll like I’m trying too hard."
She smiled at that. "Understood, sir. Sothing clean and subtle."
She sprayed one sample strip. "This one is more fresh, everyday use. Good for dayti, office."
He slled it. Light, citrus at the top, then it settled into sothing quieter.
"Okay," he said. "What else?"
She sprayed another. "This one is a bit more woody, more presence. Good for evening events. Not too strong."
He tried that one too. It felt a bit heavier but not suffocating.
"Why not take both, sir?" she said. "One for daily use, one for special engagents. We can include a small travel atomizer for your bag."
"Sure," he said. "Box them."
While she rang them up, he noticed his reflection in one of the glass panels. Plain black T-shirt, jeans, worn sneakers, new shopping bags at his feet. He looked like a normal guy who had just splurged after a bonus.
Except his "bonus" was the net profit of multiple subsidiaries and a rising stock value.
He took the bags and left the departnt store.
By mid-afternoon, his hands were full: phone, clothes, fragrances. Nothing outrageous, no insane impulse buys, just upgrades. He walked back toward the parking area, enjoying the fact that for once he wasn’t walking into a boardroom or a briefing.
Inside the sedan, he placed the bags beside him on the passenger seat. He sat there for a while before starting the car, looking at the iPhone box.
He opened it.
The plastic seal ca off cleanly. The box lifted with that familiar tight, controlled resistance. Inside, the device lay flat, wrapped in its thin protective film. He picked it up, turned it in his hand. Brand new, no fingerprints, no scratches.
He powered it on. The screen lit up with the startup logo, then the "Hello" setup ssage in different languages.
He didn’t rush the setup. He connected it to the car’s Wi-Fi, logged into his account, and started the data transfer process from his old device. An estimated ti appeared: 25 minutes.
He leaned back and let it run.
Outside the windshield, BGC continued its weekend routine: families crossing streets, cyclists waiting for the light to change, a street cleaner pushing a cart.
He thought briefly of Tondo again. The cramped alleys, tricycles narrowing the already narrow roads, shouting vendors, kids playing in the street because they had nowhere else to go. Back then, a working secondhand phone was a luxury. An original branded shirt was a big deal. A trip to the mall was a rare event.
Now, he could buy an entire mall chain if he wanted to. But sitting here, in an underground parking slot, transferring data to an overpriced phone on a free Saturday afternoon—it felt less like showing off and more like sothing else.
Normal.
He let the transfer finish. When the setup completed, the new phone’s ho screen appeared, now populated with his usual apps. ssages appeared. Notifications synced. A short flood of digital life.
He glanced at them, then locked the screen and put the phone down.
He started the engine and pulled out of the parking space.
Instead of heading straight back to One Serendra, he took a detour. He drove slowly around BGC High Street once, then toward 32nd Street, passing a few TG-owned properties without really looking at them. Offices. Data centers. Logistics hubs. They would still be there later.
Traffic was light. He slipped onto C5, then EDSA, then into familiar roads leading back to the condo. He parked in his slot, took the bags, and headed up.
Inside the unit, he placed everything on the dining table.
Phone first. He put the new device on the runner and set the old phone aside near the router, just in case he needed to pull sothing manually later.
Then he opened the clothing bags. He took the garnts out one by one, removed the tags, and inspected the seams and stitches like he would inspect welds and joints on a piece of equipnt. Consistent stitching, clean hems, no loose threads. Good.
He hung the blazer and shirts in the built-in cabinet. The jeans went into a separate drawer. The perfu boxes he opened carefully. He placed one bottle on the bathroom counter and another on the small shelf near his bedroom door, where he kept his watch and keys.
He changed into one of the new shirts and looked in the mirror. It fit better than the generic ones he usually grabbed. The cut sat right on his shoulders. He tried a single spray of the lighter fragrance on his wrist, waited, and slled it again.
Clean. Nothing dramatic. Just like he had asked.
He walked to the living room and opened the curtains. The city sprawled underneath, buildings crowding the horizon, traffic sliding along the avenues.
He sat on the couch with the new phone in his hand and took a photo of the view. The image ca out clear and balanced, details on distant buildings sharp even through the glass.
He set a new wallpaper—not of the city, but of a photo Hana had taken a week ago in Horizon Market: him and his mother standing near the produce section, both not looking at the cara, both mid-conversation. It wasn’t a flattering picture, more candid than composed. But it felt right.
He locked the screen and put the phone down.
No eting in an hour. No call he was already late for. No one asking for a last-minute statent.
Just a quiet unit, a Saturday afternoon, and the knowledge that tomorrow he would go back to the sa grind—reactor tilines, legislative drafts, project briefings—but today, he had done sothing else.
He had bought a phone, so clothes, and a couple of bottles of perfu.
Pointless to so.
Necessary to him.
He stood up, walked to the small kitchen, poured himself a glass of cold water from the dispenser, and leaned against the counter while he drank. Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, for the first ti in a while, he felt like the day belonged to him and not to anyone else.
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