Lilac Scent

Paul - At home

The house I grew up in was always a little too quiet for my liking. Now, the same house is shifting from a place of memories into a cradle for Laura and me.

She has brought most of her things to the house. Unwrapping the last of the boxes, she stares at a small album. She opens it and pulls out a picture.

I wrap my arms around her from behind, resting my chin on her shoulder. Out of habit, I sniff her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Why do you keep smelling my hair?” she asks, still looking at the photo.

I lightly touch my lips to the spot where her neck meets her collarbone.

“It is said that when two people are fated mates, their scent is like a fingerprint, a unique signature only the other can notice.” I pause to take another sniff. “For me, you smell like lilac flowers in the spring, and it’s driving me crazy.”

I nuzzle her neck, breathing in her scent and letting it fill my lungs.