She went to bed knowing that when she would wake up in the morning, he would be here, somewhere in his apartment. Itâs been fifteen days. Fifteen days and not a single one when she didnât think about him. She didnât change the sheets when he left, needing the wrap herself in what left of his scent every night. He told her he would land in the morning. He didnât precise the exact time of his landing, so sheâd clean his house and set the table for a breakfast for two. Sheâd planned to cook eggs and make pancakes, even if she knew he probably wouldnât let her finish and let the pan burn while he showed her how much he missed her on the kitchen counter. She fell asleep, smiling at this thought and expected to have the nicest dreams.
But suddenly, thereâs something different in the bedroom. Itâs the middle of the night, she can feel the darkness through her closed eyelid, but something is slowly waking her up. Something she hadnât felt for a long time. No⊠Something she hadnât smelled for a long time. Him. The room smells like him. Cologne, sandalwood and something indescribable thatâs only his. She must be dreaming. She read once in a magazine that dreaming appeals all your senses. She keeps her eyes closed, waiting for the sleep to take her back, but the scent is more and more intense, vivid, and it makes her shift on her side unconsciously, to have more of it. Sheâs not awake. Sheâs not sleeping. Somewhere in the middle. She lays on her side and takes a deep breathe, filling her nostrils with him. One second later, sheâs wide awake. Her nose buried in the crack his neck, her arms possessively wrapped around his bare torso. Her legs hovering his. How this could have happened without she realized it? she wonders.
âYou here?â she whispers, still not really self-aware
âIâm here.â he says softly. âGo back to sleep, weâll talk tomorrow.â
She feels him nuzzling her hair deeply before she falls asleep again, wrapped in the scent of him, for real this time.
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