"Do you really have to shave every Sunday? You know na how much I love your beard!" I frowned as he picked up his razor. He looked at me and turned in on, waving it in my face, zeeeeeeein. Even though his beard slight pricked my cheeks whenever we cuddled, I still loved the rawness he radiated. But he believed in keeping a clean shaven face. The other reason I would hate to see him shave was that he always used an aftershave lotion after he was done. While, the aftershave gave an minty cool refreshing smell which had a woody feel, I would get a terrible migraine. I would anyway kiss his chubby cheeks on his child like face, which always bloomed into a big smile.
That day just before he was leaving, he unknowingly left the aftershave bottle partly open. Though it is empty now, the smell still lingers in the room, as if he was still around.
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