The Scent of Rain:

Alina had in no way appreciated rain. It reminded her of the night her mom died—Karachi’s skies weeping as if they knew some thing she didn’t. That night time, the heady scent of rosewater and sandalwood lingered inside the air, a fragrance her mom wore religiously. but after her dying, Alina may want to in no way recreate it. She attempted each method, every ratio. not anything felt right.

Now, five years later, she sat alone in her small condo, surrounded by means of bottles and notes. Her task as a skincare formulator paid the payments, however her coronary heart became stuck inside the past. Then, one nighttime, a letter arrived. No return cope with. simply her call, written in delicate Urdu script.

Inside changed into a unmarried sheet of paper. One factor: “Vetiver.” And a line that read, “begin with what she cherished.”

Alina’s palms trembled. Vetiver changed into the bottom observe in her mom’s perfume. She hadn’t used it in years. She tucked the letter into her journal and went back to work, however sleep evaded her. Who despatched it? Why now?

the next week, every other letter arrived. This time: “Damask Rose.” And the message: “She wore her reminiscences like heady scent.”

Alina began mixing. Vetiver. Damask Rose. She delivered a hint of sandalwood, just to check. The result turned into hauntingly acquainted. Her coronary heart ached.

each week, a brand new letter got here. “Cardamom.” “Jasmine.” “Frankincense.” each with cryptic strains that felt like poetry, or warnings. She saved them all, constructing the components piece by way of piece.

One night time, she received a letter with no ingredient. just a message: “They buried extra than her frame.”

Alina’s breath stuck. She remembered the rumors—whispers that her mother were working on a revolutionary skin care formula, one which healed no longer just the skin but the soul. A luxurious brand had approached her, however she refused to promote. Weeks later, she was gone. formally, it turned into an coincidence. but Alina had by no means believed that.

She dug thru her mother’s old journals, hidden in a field underneath her mattress. There, she observed notes—formulation, letters, and a call: “Veloura.” A brand that had launched a miracle serum months after her mom’s demise.

Alina’s coronary heart pounded. She searched Veloura online. Their flagship product had the equal components she’d been despatched. Vetiver. Damask Rose. Cardamom. It became her mother’s system.

The very last letter arrived on a wet night. “you realize now. what will you do?”

Alina didn’t sleep. She wrote the whole lot down—her mom’s notes, the letters, the components. She contacted a journalist who had as soon as investigated Veloura’s surprising upward thrust. together, they published the story.

It went viral.

Veloura denied everything, however the fragrance of truth changed into stronger than their silence. Alina released her own line—GentleBloom. Her first product: The scent of Rain. A tribute to her mom. a mix of grief, memory, and restoration.

And every bottle carried a message: “She wore her recollections like fragrance.”

Alina named her first product The heady scent of Rain—a quiet tribute to her mother’s memory. every bottle held extra than fragrance; it carried a story of love, loss, and resilience. And underneath every label, a message whispered: “She wore her memories like fragrance.”

Alina didn’t are seeking for revenge. She selected remembrance. With The heady scent of Rain, she bottled her mom’s legacy—one notice at a time. And beneath every label, a quiet truth remained: “She wore her recollections like scent.” In that perfume, Alina observed peace—now not with the aid of forgetting, but through sooner or later being seen