Page 6 of Written in Scent

I lean into it before I can second guess myself.

They pull away a minute later.

My mom waves through the open window until the car turns at the end of the drive, my dad lifting two fingers from the steering wheel in a final, almost military salute. I keep waving even after I can’t see them anymore, just in case.

The campus feels larger without them beside me.

Not silent, exactly. There are still voices drifting across the lawn, doors opening and closing somewhere behind me, the hum of early evening setting in. But the space around me has shifted. I’m standing in it alone now.

I wrap my arms loosely around myself, more from habit than from cold.

Something damp brushes against my ankle.

I startle, then look down.

A small gray tabby is pressed confidently against my leg, her fur soft but a little rough at the edges, probably from too much time spent outdoors. She moves with deliberate purpose, tail lifted, winding once around my calves before bumping her forehead against my shin.

“Well,” I murmur.

She’s mostly silver, striped faintly along her sides, with a white belly and paws that look dipped in cream. Her nose is the faintest pink, and when she tilts her head up at me, her blue eyes are startlingly clear.

“You’re brave,” I tell her.

She blinks, unimpressed.

Then she bumps me again.

The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. I crouch carefully, letting her sniff my fingers. She smells faintly of dust and grass and something else beneath it. Not unpleasant. Just… real.

“Are you lost?” I ask.

She answers by stepping directly onto my shoe.

I let out a hushed laugh and straighten, she immediately follows, weaving around my legs as I head back toward the dorm entrance.

“You look like you need dinner,” I tell her.

She agrees by not leaving.

By the time I reach the dorm entrance, she’s still twining around my ankles with determined confidence, as if she’s already decided I belong to her.

“I should warn you,” I say as I push the door open, “I’m bringing someone in with me.”

Sophie looks up from where she’s sitting cross-legged on her bed. The moment she sees the cat, her entire face lights.

“Oh my goodness,” she breathes.

The tabby walks straight into the room like she’s been assigned to it along with us, tail high, paws silent against the floor.

“She followed me,” I explain, even though it feels unnecessary.

“I love her,” Sophie says immediately.

“That was fast.”

“I make decisions quickly.”

I set my bag down while the cat conducts a thorough inspection of the rug. “She looks like she might be hungry,” I add.