Page 10 of Written in Scent

The citrus and amber scent has vanished as suddenly as it arrived, lost in the shuffle of shifting bodies and scraping chairs as people begin to stand. Without it, the warmth under my skin fades just as quickly, leaving behind only embarrassment and the faintest trace of confusion.

Perfuming over a smell… honestly?

I keep my head down as the rows loosen and students start filing toward the exits, slipping into the movement before anyone can decide to notice me again. Being small has its advantages. I angle between shoulders, pass unnoticed behind taller figures, and make it to the doors without brushing anyone on the way.

By the time I step out into the open air, my pulse has almost remembered how to behave.

Almost.

Orientation yesterday was a disaster.

Objectively, no one would have known that unless they were sitting within a one seat radius of me. OK, maybe two… but there were too many people in that hall for a brief hormonal malfunction to register as anything more than background noise.

In that sense, the crowd was helpful.

Still, I keep thinking about Jack.

He seemed kind, a little nervous in a way that felt genuine rather than performative. The last thing he deserved was to be caught in the radius of whatever was happening to me.

If I see him again on campus, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave. Do I pretend nothing happened? Do I apologize? Is there a normal response for something like that?

I keep replaying it, turning the memory over meticulously, searching for the moment where it shifted.

There was a scent. Warmth threaded through citrus, something golden beneath it, something that made my chest loosen and tighten at the same time. It settled into me before I understood what it was, and by the time I tried to name it, my body had already answered.

The most reasonable explanation is that it was a dessert.

Which feels ridiculous even as I think it.

Perfuming because something smelled sweet sounds like a stereotype, not something that should happen to someone who plans her coursework in advance and keeps her notes organized by topic and subtopic. I have never reacted to food like that before. I’ve never reacted to anything like that before.

And yet my body did.

At dinner last night, I avoided the dessert table entirely. I could smell it from halfway across the dining hall, caramelized sugar and baked fruit drifting through the air, and I gave it a wide berth.

I told Sophie I wasn’t in the mood. That wasn’t exactly accurate. I just didn’t want a repeat performance.

This evening, though, resolve proves less reliable.

The dining hall has clearly decided to cater to its audience. With so many omegas on campus, the administration would be foolish not to. One entire wall is devoted to desserts, tiered trays and polished domes gleaming under the lights. Tarts, custards, delicate cakes dusted in sugar. Something caramelized and glossy near the center that smells faintly of treacle.

I last approximately four minutes.

The apple tart is still warm when I cut into it, the filling velvety and spiced, the pastry crisp enough to crack gently under my fork. It tastes like autumn and brown sugar and comfort. The treacle note lingers at the back of my tongue, dark and golden.

For a fleeting second, it reminds me of yesterday.

But only faintly.

The scent in the hall had been deeper. Fuller. Alive in a way this isn’t.

Nothing shifts inside me. No warmth unfurling under my ribs. No sudden bloom of sweetness betraying me to an entire row of strangers. Just sugar and pastry and the satisfaction of proving I am still in control of my own body.

Even though it’s all I can think about, I still haven’t told Sophie about orientation.

The words hover at the edge of my thoughts sometimes, especially when she talks so confidently about pack bonds and attraction and how natural it all is. But we’re settling into something easy, something balanced. I don’t want to disrupt it by admitting that I perfumed in public over what might have been a pastry.

She might not think it’s absurd, but I do.