His Smell - by Vee's Pen ✍️❤️

People have always mistaken my silence for shyness.I never bothered correcting them. When I moved into the neighborhood, I wanted one thing—peace. A place where no one knew me, asked questions, or tried to become part of my life. Living alone suited me just fine. The first knock on my door came before I'd finished unpacking.A woman stood outside, smiling warmly, holding a tray of homemade food. "Welcome to the neighborhood," she said. "I figured you shouldn't have to cook on your first day." I thanked her and invited her in.It had been a long time since someone had shown me kindness without expecting anything in return.From that day on, she visited often.Sometimes she brought food. Sometimes she came with tea. Most times, she simply wanted someone to talk to.She filled the room with stories while I filled the silence with nods.She never seemed to mind.Almost every conversation found its way back to her husband.She spoke about him with the kind of love people write poems about. How patient he was. How thoughtful he was. How safe she felt whenever he was around.But there was one thing she mentioned more than anything else. His scent. "I know it sounds silly," she'd laugh, "but I love the way he smells. I'd recognize it anywhere." I would smile politely and nod.There wasn't much else to say. The neighborhood wasn't exactly safe. Burglaries, assaults, and disappearances weren't unheard of. Everyone tried to know their neighbors because, if something happened, at least someone would know who to call. Then one morning, her husband disappeared.No one saw him leave.No one knew where he had gone.The police searched.Neighbors whispered.Flyers appeared on walls and electric poles.Days passed.Every time she came over, her eyes looked heavier. "I miss him," she'd say. "I just want him back." "I even miss the way he smells." I listened.I always listened.Nearly a week after he disappeared, she visited again.The moment she stepped inside, her face changed.She stopped walking.Her nose wrinkled. "There's a strange smell in here." I looked around. "I don't smell anything." "It... it's getting worse," she said, covering her nose. "Have you checked everywhere? Maybe something died in the walls or under the floorboards. You should really find it." She didn't stay long.She practically rushed out of my house.I locked the door behind her and stood there, confused.I breathed in. Nothing. Not to me. "I thought you loved the way he smelled," I whispered into the quiet. The house answered with silence.She always said she'd recognize her husband's scent anywhere. I smiled to myselfSo why did she keep complaining about the smell in my house?

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