Page 3 of Written in Scent

“Oh! Hi!”

She hops to her feet and crosses the room before I can say anything, wrapping her arms around me in an enthusiastic hug.

It happens so quickly I don’t even think to react until I’m already being hugged.

Behind me, my parents pause.

“Oh,” my mom says, pleased.

The girl pulls back, still holding my shoulders. “You must be Elodie. I’m Sophie.”

Up close, she smells like honey and chamomile and something silky beneath it, like warmed milk just before it cools. The scent lands gently in my lungs, soothing instead of overwhelming. It’s strangely comforting.

“Hi,” I manage to choke out.

She gives my arms one last squeeze before letting go. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was hoping my roommate would be nice, but you look nice, so I think I got lucky.”

“I—” I stop, recalibrating. “I hope you did.”

My parents exchange a glance behind me, one of their silent conversations.

“We’ll go get the rest of your things,” my mom says, already steering my dad back toward the door.

“Yes,” he says. “We’ll bring everything in.”

They slip out before I can object, the door clicking shut behind them.

I turn back to Sophie, who is still smiling at me like I’m the most interesting thing she’s seen all day. Up close, her eyes are an almost startling shade of green, clear and open in a way I’ve never quite managed to be.

She smells safe.

I suddenly become very aware of my own scent, peach and strawberry brightened with a flicker of lemon, always a little louder than I mean it to be. I hope she doesn’t mind. I’ve never quite figured out how to make it quieter.

“I like your cardigan,” she says, as if she’s been waiting patiently for me to look over everything.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Awkward. Brilliant response. Truly unforgettable.

Sophie doesn’t seem to notice.

The door swings open again before I can think of something less embarrassing to say, and my parents reappear balancing an uneven stack of boxes between them.

My dad nudges the door shut with his foot. “Fragile,” he announces, as if we might otherwise assume the glass edges poking out of the top box are decorative.

“That’s my fault,” I say quickly. “I packed those.”

“Of course you did,” my mother says fondly.

Sophie watches with open curiosity as they set everything down. “So,” she says, brushing her hands lightly together, “what are you studying?”

I open my mouth to answer, but my dad beats me to it.

“She’s going to be a scientist,” he says, unmistakable pride threading through every word. “Just like her old man.”

“Dad,” I groan at the same time my mom does.

Sophie laughs, loud and unembarrassed, and the sound fills the room without overwhelming it. “I love that,” she says. “That’s adorable.”