My mind is blank. The thought bank is void. But my olfactory nerves seem to be functioning more than always. There is a quaint smell in the surrounding air. Of memories. The old ones. And the fresh ones too.
A smell of spices drifting from somewhere. Spices being fried. Just like the one which used to come from the Paratha shop in Majitar.
I can see a notebook on my table. I pick it up. Opened it. A wisp of smell greeted me. A dried flower. Once a red rose. Now a dark reddish-brown memory between white pages. It carries your smell. Across the distant lands.
Its raining outside. Suddenly. And its not monsoon. Its one of those unexpected showers after a sultry day. Accompanied by the smell of the newly-bathed earth. It carries freshness along with it. And memories. Of the day when we drenched ourselves in the fragrance of the rain, the wet earth...amalgamated with the scent of Elizabeth Arden and Azzaro.
Suddenly the strength of these scents becomes weak. Weaker.
And I realise that I am being dragged out from the "limbo" of the fragrant memories. To the grey reality.