The clock was approaching midnight, and the quiet hall of a classic hotel in Vienna still pulsed with remnants of music that had not been played. On the marble table, remnants of a glass not finished, and a book open to a chapter not read.
A man in a dark gray suit entered with unapologetic steps, did not order anything, and did not greet... he just passed by. But the perfume preceded him, as if it were his signature: the smoke of black tea, soft tobacco, a touch of orange peel, heavy damask rose, and the night fragrance of oud, jasmine, and monoi.
The scent did not scream... but it turned in the room like the gaze of a woman who knows who he is. The waitress who was extinguishing the candles stopped, and the man sitting in the corner raised his eyes unintentionally... as if everything had changed, without a word.