L Train, NYC. Your perfume evoked NYC—the good version: with jazz on stoops and windows open in summer. We looked at each other. Then away. Then again. You read, without turning a single page. I stayed on past my stop just to keep smelling the air between us. I fell in love with you—in that wild way we invent an entire life for a stranger and then grieve it. That was two years ago. I still ride that line, yearning to see—and smell—you again. Alas, so far: only questionable pizza. But that NYC—with your scent, and the silent connection we shared—that’s the city I haven’t found, but can’t bring myself to leave.

Le Labo, Daikanyama, Tokyo. We met in the lab. I said I wished there was an equivalent of ASMR for the nose—soothing, stimulating, sensory, but with scent. “There is,” you said. “Candles and perfume.” Duh! Since then, I’ve been sniffing everything—hand soap, library books, strangers on escalators. I've become part truffle pig. In fact, I’m on my way to LE LABO right now—to fly my nose around the world. Drinks after in the airport lounge?

Denver, Colorado. I was counting down the days to the City Exclusive launch while you were packing to escape it. “I have to leave town,” you said, panic-folding scarves. “I can’t be trusted with that kind of access...” I think you mentioned a remote lighthouse. Wherever you are, I hope you made it out before September hit.

Hi LE LABO! I have built one of your elegant boutiques out of LEGO bricks. It has working taps, a sink for the little lab technician, and I’ve poured the tiny candles by hand (or by finger). Would you consider sending a few 0.1ml bottles to display on the distressed shelves? They don’t need to function (I haven’t completely lost touch with reality). I just want to be ready for the City Exclusive event—it’s shaping up to be our biggest year yet!

Venice, Cannaregio. I caught the dazzling scent you left in your wake as you turned the corner. Quite unlike myself, I followed. Through archways and winding alleys, over bridges and under balconies. Eventually, the trail dissolved into air, and I realized I was lost. But maybe that was the point. Fragrance doesn’t always lead us to something. Sometimes, it just takes us somewhere else—and for a moment, that’s enough to remember who we are.