short fiction · 2026-10-07

Scent of Remembering

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

She paused at the doorway, the scent of old paper and beeswax wrapping around her like a familiar coat. In that instant, she was ten again, sitting cross-legged on the attic floor, tracing the cracks in the wooden planks while her grandfather’s voice read from a book that smelled of pipe smoke and rain. The attic had been cleared out years ago, but the aroma pulled the room back into existence, dust motes dancing in the slanted light, the weight of the quilt she’d forgotten she’d made.