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Scent was one of the most powerful senses tied to memory. Connor couldn’t remember what his parents looked or sounded like or how it felt when they’d held him. But every the faintest scent of jasmine wafted by, he felt a powerful sense of nostalgia and wistfulness, a feeling that made him without fail think about his mother.

He didn’t know jasmine was her favorite flower, that she regularly wore them in her hair, that his father would always pick her the flowers, sometimes crushing the plants into a paste that yielded their oil, which he’d then give her to wear, daubed on her neck and wrists.

Connor didn’t know why jasmine always made him think of the mother he never knew, but he did know that after that pang of nostalgia, it left him with a strange sense of comfort.

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December 2016

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