AROMATIC BEAUTY (Fiction)

The Girl Who Swears By Panache

She swayed past him, like a cool gush of breeze in a hot desert, an angelic beauty. The sweetness

of fresh flowers and morning dew made its way through his nostrils as she continued to walk- not

looking back, not halting. The fragrance lingered for some more time after she left, and he couldn’t

help but stare at the empty space that she created at the coffee table in the cafe, where him- the

artist was sitting since four hours, trying to find some inspiration for his next masterpiece. He tried to

remember her face, but realized that he didn’t see that angel’s face, just her back and well- that

unforgettable fragrance of her perfume. He sat back, and held his pen against the white paper, in an

attempt to relive the moment- an attempt of sketching her. He started,

or perhaps never started, because how on earth can you draw a fragrance?

He tried to remember anything about her- her eyes or her hair, her smile or her hands but was blank.

All he could make out and remember were those fresh flowers and the dew, the scent that he

couldn't forget.

As he was returning, he took a picture of the cafe, to remind him of the impeccable memory that

would probably stay with him till years. But alas, a camera can capture people and things, but not

fragrances…

A few months down the line, his masterpiece was ready… portrait of a girl from the back, her long

hair flowing, her hands carelessly in the air and feet never stopping. On her arm he wrote- “aromatic

beauty” and then he fell in love with her, all over again.