Vedant
The house feels emptier the moment Chiara leaves. It’s like she took something important with her, and I’m walking around aimlessly trying to look for it.
Her scent lingers in the air for hours after she’s gone, faint but stubborn. I inhale the smell of her perfume like I could get high from it, then catch myself and cringe, alone in the vacancy of my house.
The sofa still has the small dent where she used to curl up around her homework. The coffee table where our hands first brushed while exchanging the pencil sharpener feels like a cruel echo.
I tell myself it’s for the best. Her time near me was well spent, and she did indeed heal faster. Now that she’s almost better, it feels important to let her return to her own space.
But the truth is that the house doesn’t feel righ
