Delia
I wasn’t supposed to be on campus that day.
I’d finished my classes early and told myself I’d head home, maybe stop for a coffee on the way. But something tugged at me. Not hard—just a whisper. A nudge. Something in my gut said stay.
So I did.
I wandered through the University of Michigan quad, letting the warm breeze play with the ends of my hair. The day was bright and peaceful, students sprawled across the grass or clustered around benches. Finals week stress hung in the air, but not even that could quiet the strange calm that settled over the campus.
I told myself I was just stretching my legs.
Until the scent hit me.
It was like nothing I’d ever smelled before—fresh-cut grass and lemon zest. Clean. Crisp. Wild. Like spring after a thunderstorm. Like home and heat and some
