The scent lingered in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what once was. Jack stood motionless in his apartment, the empty bottle of her perfume cold in his callused hands.

“You still keep it,” Sarah said from the doorway. Her voice was steady, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something deeper.

“Hard to throw away memories.” He placed the bottle on the windowsill, where the setting sun cast long shadows through the glass.

“It’s been three years.”

“Feels like yesterday.” Jack lit a cigarette, the smoke mixing with the fading traces of her signature scent. “You look good.”

Sarah stepped into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. “I’m getting married next month.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Jack took a long drag, his face betraying nothing. “He’s a lucky man.”

“You could have been that man, Jack.”

“We both know I wasn’t built for happiness.” His words came out harder than intended. “Not the kind you deserved.”

Sarah moved to the window, her finger tracing the rim of the empty perfume bottle. “You never gave yourself a chance. Always running, always fighting someone else’s wars.”

“It’s what I know.”

“It’s what you choose to know.” She turned to face him, years of unspoken words reflected in her eyes. “I didn’t come here to argue.”

“Why did you come?”

“To return this.” She placed a small key on the table. Their old apartment, their shared dreams, their broken promises - all condensed into a single piece of metal.

Jack nodded, a gesture heavy with understanding. The cigarette burned down to his fingers, but he barely noticed the pain.

“The perfume,” Sarah said softly. “You remember what I told you about it?”

“‘Scents are memories we can carry with us,’” he quoted. “You said that the first night we met.”

She smiled, a sad, beautiful thing. “Keep the bottle, Jack. But let the scent fade.”

As she walked away, her perfume trailed behind her - the same fragrance that had once filled their home, their life. Jack watched until she disappeared, then picked up the empty bottle again.

Some said time healed all wounds. But sometimes, Jack thought, time just taught you to live with the scars. He placed the bottle back on the windowsill, next to her key, watching as the last rays of sunlight caught the glass, creating patterns on the wall.

Tomorrow, he would book another flight, find another war to fight. But tonight, he allowed himself to remember - the scent of her perfume, the sound of her laughter, and all the happiness he’d been too afraid to claim.

The bottle would stay, but perhaps Sarah was right. It was time to let the scent fade.