Still Warm

Snow had been falling since morning, turning the street quiet and silver by the time she finally reached the house. Her fingers were numb when she pushed open the door, but the cold disappeared almost instantly. The room smelled of African vanilla, soft and sweet, with coconut lingering somewhere beneath it. She slipped off her coat and stood there for a moment, listening to the silence. A faint trace of white flowers drifted from the hallway, the kind of scent that made the house feel lived in even though she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been there.

She walked farther inside, fingertips brushing the old wooden table as memories began returning in pieces. The worn chair by the window, the blanket that always smelled faintly of sandalwood, the little things she had forgotten she remembered. Then she noticed a cup sitting on the kitchen counter. Steam was still curling from the top. She stopped. The house had been empty for months.

And the cup was still warm…