FAMILIAR SCENT

My name is Emma. If you ask my professors, they will say, Emma? Oh, the lecturer's daughter. The perfect, obedient girl. If you ask my classmates, they will say, Emma? The pretty but cold one. She never talks more than two words. Both are right. And both are completely wrong. On the outside, I have a perfect reputation. I don't hang out late. I don't party. My mom is very strict. My dad too. Both are lecturers, so they think they know how to control a daughter perfectly. I never dared to talk back. I was the obedient girl everyone wanted. What they didn't know was that behind every obedient girl, there is a small devil slowly growing inside. I was never a happy person. Solitude had become my comfort zone. I became so introverted that I ended up alone. Every night, I used to cry myself to sleep. I used to stare at the ceiling and wish I would just disappear for good. College was no better. It feels like a nightmare to me. I try so hard to study, but I just can't focus. Do you know why? Because there are too many crushes around. When they are walking in front of me, smiling, how am I supposed to study? You must have heard of stories like Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers... I never thought my own story would be Nightmare to Lover. Until that summer changed everything. When I was twelve, my parents sent me to the countryside to my relative's house for holidays. They said it was for my own good. I thought it was punishment. The countryside was silent. Just fields, an old orphanage at the end of street, and a small shop that always smelled of old books. And there, I met him. Ethan. I still remember the first time I saw him. He was in the orphanage yard, making a group of small kids laugh. He had this silly, childish way of making people smile without even trying. He was wearing a too-big t-shirt, his hair was messy. And then he looked at me. The moment our eyes met, I felt a jolt. Not a crush. Something deeper. His scent. A faint, familiar scent came with wind. Like old books, rain, and something I could not name. Like I had known him in another life. For the first time in months, I was genuinely happy to see a stranger. He was the most cheerful person in that whole orphanage. So full of life. Later, an aunty told me his story in whisper. He was abandoned after a bad incident as a child. A kind woman found him unconscious in a dark, cold room. He was kept in dark for so long that his mind blocked everything. He forgot all his memories. He forgot his own parents. The orphanage named him Ethan. And he had a secret. Whenever there was thunder, he would cover his ears tightly and close his eyes. Like a small child trying to hide from world that hurt him. That night, sky broke. Thunder was louder than ever. Power went off in whole village. It was pitch dark. My heart was beating fast. Where is Ethan? I took a small torch and ran towards orphanage. And there he was. Sitting alone in corner of cold veranda, shivering, frightened, alone. His knees pulled to his chest, his hands tightly covering his ears. Another loud thunder crashed, and he flinched so hard that tears rolled down his cheeks. I sat beside him. The thunder made him so insecure that he hugged me tightly without even realizing who I was. His familiar scent was now mixed with rain and fear. I stroked his head and whispered, It's okay... it will be gone soon. I'm here. The boy who made everyone laugh with all his effort, fell asleep in my arms like a cute little baby who just needed his mother. I held him all night. I didn't sleep. But just before midnight, when thunder was at its loudest, he murmured something in his sleep. He was still hugging me tightly. He whispered my name. Emma... please don't leave me again... this time. My blood froze. I had never told him my name. Not once. Not ever. How did he know my name? And what did he mean by AGAIN? That was the night I thought I lost him forever. I was wrong. He was about to walk back into my life as my worst nightmare. After that night, I had three days left in village. I did not tell anyone what happened. Next morning, Ethan behaved like nothing happened. He made kids laugh, ran around. But when his eyes met mine, his ears turned red. On my last day, I made a bracelet with blue glass beads from old shop. I waited one hour at orphanage yard, but he did not come. Warden said, Ethan went to old shop. He is waiting for someone. I ran to shop. There he was, staring at road. You are leaving today, he said. Yes, I said. He took something from his pocket. A paper crane from old newspaper, slightly crushed. For you, he said. I don't know why, but I know you like birds. I gave him bracelet. He wore it immediately, though too small. Will you forget me, he asked in low voice. Never, I said. Promise you will come back, he said. I promise. It was a promise a twelve year old should never make. My parents never sent me to countryside again. They said city school had extra classes. I waited for letters. No letter came. Relative's phone changed. Village was too far. Slowly my life became about being perfect obedient girl again. I kept paper crane inside my mathematics book. It stayed there for six years. Until college. First year, first day, second row. Professor Harris calling attendance. Ethan Miller? Present, a voice said from back. My heart knew before mind. That voice. Deeper now, but same. I turned. It was him. Taller, leaner, messy hair different way. Black hoodie. Not smiling. Cold, angry at world. Then he saw me. Eyes met again after six years. For second, I saw recognition. Shock. Lips parted like he wanted to say my name. Then face became blank. Cold. He looked away. He does not remember me, I thought. After class, I walked to his bench. Classmates staring. Do you remember me, I asked. Countryside. Orphanage. He looked up, eyes tired. I think you have wrong person, he said. I never been to countryside. His words were ice. I am Emma, I said. You made me paper crane. Something flickered in eyes. Pain. Confusion. He touched forehead like headache. Look, I don't know what you want, he said standing. But stop making up stories. He walked away, leaving me standing. Whispers started. Cheeks burned. That was start of nightmare semester. He became nightmare student. Always late, always in detention, always arguing. Professors hated him. Students scared. He never talked to anyone. Sat alone, ate alone, walked alone. And cruelest to me. If I answered in class, he rolled eyes. If I dropped books in library, he stepped over them. I cried that night. Not because he was rude. But because my Ethan was gone. I decided to hate him. It was easier. Until punishment. Professor Harris punished us both for not bringing art journal. We have to decorate art block for cultural festival. Together. Every day after college for one week. Otherwise fail internals. I wanted to say no. But perfect obedient image did not allow me to say no. So we started. First day, no words. Only sound of tape and fairy lights. Ladder shaky. He held it for me without looking. I held it for him without thanking. Second day, it rained. Heavy, loud rain. Kind that makes whole city stop. We were stuck in art block. Power went off. Dark at four PM. And then thunder came. My first thought was not me. It was him. I looked. He froze middle of room, bunch of paper stars in hand. Face gone white. Hands slowly went to ears. Sank to floor, knees to chest. Exactly like six years ago. Nightmare boy was gone. Small scared boy was back. I sat beside him. It's okay, I whispered, hand on his head like that night. It will be gone soon. I'm here. He shivered. Then slowly leaned head on my shoulder. Hands still covering ears, but less tightly. Thunder crashed again. He flinched. I stroked his hair. I am here, Ethan. I won't leave. Not this time. Not again. At words not again, he looked up. Eyes wet, red. You, he whispered. You said same words that night. On veranda. I remember. I remember your scent. Rain and old books. I dreamt of it for years. I thought I imagined you. After adoption, doctors said I would forget stressful memories. I forgot village. Forgot orphanage. But I remembered a name. Emma. I kept writing it in notebooks without knowing why. He was crying now. Really crying. Because we knew each other before orphanage too, he said. What? My adoptive mother found old record later. When I was four, before dark room incident, I lived short time in same city as you. Our parents were colleagues. We were neighbors. We played together every day. You were three. I was four. You called me Ethu. Then my biological parents had accident. I was left alone in that house for two days in dark, until someone found me. That's when I lost first memory. Orphanage was second. You were my first friend. And my last memory before everything went dark. That's why I knew your name that night. I could not speak. Pieces fit. Familiar scent that felt like another life. It was not another life. It was this life. We knew each other since three and four years old. I took out wallet. Inside, folded six years, was torn paper he gave me in village. Emma, don't forget me. He took out his wallet. Inside, was crushed, faded blue bead bracelet. One I gave him. We both had kept proof. We sat there on floor of art block, in dark, with thunder outside, holding old childish gifts, crying and laughing at same time. After that, everything changed. We decorated art block like two kids making dream house. We made two hundred paper cranes from colorful papers. We hung fairy lights like stars. We talked for hours. About his adoptive mother who is kind but always worried. About my strict lecturer parents. About solitude and being alone. He was not nightmare. He was just boy who had been left alone too many times, so he built rude wall so no one could leave him again. And I was not cold perfect girl. I was just lonely girl who wanted someone to stay. Festival came. We won first prize. His mother came. She hugged me and said, So you are Emma he kept writing about. My parents came too. My father looked at Ethan and frowned. You look familiar, he said. Have I seen you? Ethan said, Yes, uncle. I used to live next door. House number 14. I stole your mangoes when I was four. My father laughed first time in months. That evening, on steps of art block, under our own fairy lights, he held my hand. What should we do with five thousand rupees prize, he asked. We should buy house next door, I said. He smiled. We have time, he said. We have whole life. This time, we won't forget. This time, we won't leave. And somewhere far, thunder rumbled again. But this time, he did not cover ears. He just held my hand tighter. Because this time, he was not alone. This was not Nightmare to Lover. This was Lost and Found. And we had finally found each other... Again