The air outside has turned crisp, carrying with it the earthy scent of fallen leaves and the distant promise of winter. The sky is painted in soft hues of amber and rose as the sun dips earlier each day, tucking itself beneath the horizon in a languid surrender to the encroaching night.

Inside her apartment, she feels the familiar twinge of longing—a delicate ache she’s come to cherish as much as the comfort of his presence. He’s not here yet, but she knows he’ll arrive soon. Until then, she has a ritual to bring him closer—a simple act that fills the space with his warmth, even when he's miles away.

She walks into the living room. Golden light from the setting sun spills through the windows, casting elongated shadows across the polished wooden floor. The room is cozy, a refuge from the chilly evening outside, where autumn’s breath whispers against the glass. On the mantel, nestled among a few carefully placed decorations—burnished pumpkins, dried leaves in shades of crimson and ochre, and a vase of goldenrod—sits a candle. It’s his candle, the one that speaks of him in ways words never can.

She strikes a match and touches it to the wick. The flame leaps up and steadies, its soft glow gradually spreading across the room. As the wax warms, the fragrance unfurls like a secret, filling the air with notes uniquely his: the smoothness of sandalwood, the spiced warmth of clove, and the sweet, mellow trace of vanilla. It’s a blend that wraps itself around her like a familiar embrace, drawing her back to moments when his presence was as palpable as the fragrance now permeating the air.

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, letting the scent weave through her thoughts. Memories bloom—vivid and tender—like a garden in full flourish. She can almost hear the echo of his laughter, that easy, warm sound that always brings a smile to her lips. The candle flickers, casting a soft, golden light that dances playfully on the walls. For a moment, it feels as though he’s there with her, sitting on the couch, his arm draped casually around her shoulders as they talk about everything and nothing.

The room is still and quiet, but in her mind, it buzzes with life: the gentle murmur of their conversation, the clinking of mugs as they share steaming cups of tea, the low cadence of his voice as he reads aloud from the book they both love. She can almost see him now, leaning back against the cushions, his eyes half-closed in contentment, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as the spiced scent lingers in the air between them.

She curls up on the couch, pulling a soft plaid blanket over her legs—the same one he always insists on sharing, even though it’s barely big enough for two. The candlelight casts a halo of warmth around her, and she breathes in deeply, letting the fragrance fill her senses. It’s as if he’s right there, holding her hand, his fingers tracing familiar patterns on her skin as he whispers something that makes her laugh softly in the hush of the room.

Though he’s not here yet, the scent of him—of sandalwood, clove, and vanilla—fills the space with his essence: his warmth, his kindness, his sweetness. The candle flickers, a small beacon of light and love, a reminder that he’ll be home soon.

Until then, she has this: this scent, this memory, this moment of connection that transcends distance and time. And when he finally walks through the door, the fragrance will greet him like an old friend, mingling with the warmth of her embrace, welcoming him home to the sweetness of another autumn evening together.

https://mrjaspersays.com.au

Mr Jasper Says will appear as well in our upcoming Chandlers Coffee Tablebook
with an additional beautiful special >>