Her neighbour, her dad, the pilot.
Somehow, she’d always know when he reached back home after operating a tiresome flight.
Not by seeing his car in the garage, not by hearing about his arrival from her grandparents or any other subtle hint.
That strong, distinct, familiar whiff of his ‘Issey Miyake’ scent seemed to travel through his apartment and she’d get a hint of it whenever she stepped out to use the elevator, which faced his door.
She’d forget all her errands, leave her house and rush to ring his doorbell.
He’d open the peep door with an apprehensive look, like the Feds were after him or something, only to realize it was his one and only daughter and he’d open the door with a rather relieved smile.
"Hi Baby " would be the usual welcome, followed by a warm hug.
"I knew you were back dad, I guessed as much!" would be the prompt reply from her end.
She never told him about his perfume giving the game away. She let him assume she got to know of his arrival by his car in the garage. That was her little secret…
It’s been four years since her last conversation with him, four years since she’s ever stepped into his house to greet him…
And even though I’d get that strong, distinct, familiar whiff every time we cross each other’s path, I’ve still kept that secret to myself, like I did all those years when I rang that doorbell.
