short fiction · 2026-10-07

Lavender Seam

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the attic, the mirror's crack is not glass but time, a thin seam where lavender drifts from a kitchen that never was, or always is. I breathe, and the scent pulls me through the fracture: hands kneading dough in sunlight that fell fifty years ago, or maybe tomorrow. The mirror does not show my face, but the curve of a wrist, the tilt of a head that knows this scent as home. When the lavender fades, the seam closes, leaving only the ghost of herb on air, and the certainty that some moments are stitched into the world, waiting for a nose to find them.