Affair

What the hell was I even doing here? Me, the dutiful wife, the mother of two, the one who opens the wine at five o’clock on the dot because the day was so long—I was standing in my neighbour’s cellar, sniffing a Cabernet as if … Read more

The smell of turpentine and fresh coffee hangs in the air as I enter the gallery – sharp, artificial, but somehow alive. The walls are plastered with garish splashes of color, abstract forms that seem to move if you stare too long. I usually hate … Read more

Lena’s fingers tremble as she pushes down the handle. The rain has soaked through her t-shirt, it clings to her skin like a second, cool layer. “You’re shaking,” Marc states, his voice a rough whisper that fills the narrow hallway. He closes the door behind … Read more

The biting smell of burnt coffee and cold metal hung in the carriage as Lena stepped over the threshold. Her gaze swept over the reserved seats – window seat, aisle side, next to a man who sat motionless. She hoisted her bag into the luggage … Read more

“So you caught me,” he says, his grin as crooked as the lamp over the coffee machine. I stare at the cup in my hand as if the reason he’s standing here is swimming in the milk foam. “Micha?” I ask, though I already know. … Read more

The scent of oakwood and damp earth enveloped Marlene as she descended the stone spiral staircase—a smell that reminded her of yellowed pages and forgotten summers. She had always loved it, but tonight every nuance seemed to lie on her tongue like a promise. Her … Read more

As I entered the gallery, the smell of turpentine and jasmine hung in the air — not the cloying scent of cheap air fresheners, but real resin, mixed with the smoke of incense sticks and the damp coolness of the old building. I actually hate … Read more

The rain drummed against the windowpanes as Lena opened the door and Tom stood in the doorway – wet, with dripping hair, and in his eyes a glow she hadn’t seen in twenty years. “You’ve hardly changed,” he said, letting his gaze glide over her … Read more

The smell of cold smoke on his leather jacket – and then, seventeen years later, I’m standing on the crowded terrace of the conference hotel, champagne glass in hand, and I see him among the office people. His name is Felix. He’s barely changed, just … Read more

Her forehead pressed against the cool windowpane, she watches the landscape rush by in a gray-green blur. The train rattles, a steady rhythm that lulls her into a light trance. Next stop in twenty minutes. She should sit down, but she prefers to stand, legs … Read more