The Aroma of Us
The first time Clara saw him, the air smelled like burnt sugar and diesel. She was slumped against the counter of her father’s bakery, wiping flour from her hands, when the bell above the door jangled. A man stepped inside,…
musician
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The Quiet Harmony
Clara’s fingers traced the spines of books in the dim glow of the library’s overhead lights, each touch a silent conversation with stories she’d memorized. The air smelled of aged paper and lavender, a scent that clung to her like…
The Last Light of Summer
Clara’s fingers pressed into the dough, kneading until her palms burned. The bakery’s ovens hummed, filling the air with the scent of cinnamon and toasted almonds. She had always found comfort in the rhythm of it—the slap of flour, the…