Love is a funny thing. It sparks without warning, and sometimes you don’t even know why. You know only that your gaze has locked onto someone like a tractor beam, and you long to get closer.

Our first scent is the smell of a stranger passing by—the briefest of encounters—lingering in the air like a fog. Our second scent is an exotic gourmand full of the intensity of an early love affair when everything is electric and impulsive. Our third scent is the sweet smell of familiar skin—the smell of this is what I imagined the first time I saw you. The smell of perfect closeness.

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