The strong perfume

Samira stood in the sterile, brightly lit perfume production room, her senses assaulted by the pungent scents of various floral extracts and essential oils. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of roses, the sharp tang of citrus, and the earthy undertones of sandalwood. Yet, to her dismay, she could barely discern the delicate nuances of the fragrances she was supposed to be working with.

Her heart sank as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She was stationed at her usual spot in the far corner, near the large steel blending machine. Her hands moved mechanically, guided more by muscle memory than by any real connection to her work. The flowers—delicate jasmine and violets—lay before her, waiting to be processed. The petals were soft and velvety between her fingers, but the once intoxicating scent felt distant, almost like a memory she couldn’t fully grasp.

“Extract the liquid from those flowers and don’t just stand there like a statue!” Charlie, the head of production, barked at her from across the room. His voice, always a few decibels too loud, snapped her out of her haze.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, quickly turning back to her task. But as she poured the floral extract into the blending machine, she couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of dread that had been plaguing her for days.

Charle, a man in his late forties with a perpetually furrowed brow and a mouth set in a permanent scowl, had always been a difficult boss. His reputation for being gruff and unyielding was well known, and he had made it clear from day one that he wasn’t thrilled about having a woman on his team. He was old-school, one of those who believed that perfume-making—at least at the professional level—was a man’s job. And though Samira had proven herself capable more than once, she knew that in Charle’s eyes, she was just waiting to fail.

She was nearly done with the extraction when Charle approached her station, leaving behind the rows of neatly packed bottles he’d been counting. His steps were heavy, deliberate, and with each one, Samira’s anxiety spiked a little higher.

“What the hell is this?” Charle exclaimed as he leaned over the machine, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He jabbed a finger at the control panel and switched off the blending machine with a flick. “It’s so strong and thick! What are you trying to make, glue?”

Samira blinked in surprise. “But it isn’t—” she started to protest, but Charle cut her off, his voice rising in irritation.

“It is! Look at this!” He grabbed a vial of the extracted liquid, holding it up to the light. The normally translucent liquid was indeed thicker, with an almost syrupy consistency.

Her heart sank further. She’d followed the procedure to the letter, but the result was nothing like what it should have been. A creeping doubt settled in her mind. Was it her failing sense of smell that had caused her to misjudge the process? Had she somehow lost her touch entirely?

“Guys, come try this out!” Charles barked to the other three men working in the room. They looked up from their stations, exchanging wary glances before making their way over.

Jacob, Caleb, and James—her colleagues and, for the most part, her friends—each took turns inspecting the liquid. Their expressions confirmed her worst fears: they found it as thick and overpowering as Charle did.

“See!” Charle exclaimed triumphantly, tossing the vial aside with a look of pure disdain. “This is why I hate working with females. If you can’t handle the job, then quit! I can’t afford to have my team slowed down by someone who can’t even extract perfume properly.”

Samira bit her lip, holding back the sharp retort that sprang to mind. She knew he was right, at least in this instance. The perfume was wrong. “I’ll improve,” she said quietly, more to herself than to him.

“You keep saying that, but I’ve had enough! Get out of my team!” Charle yelled, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. The finality of his words hit her like a punch to the gut.

Samira nodded numbly, her hands shaking as she untied her apron and hung it on the nearest hook. Without a word, she turned and headed for the back door, her mind a whirlwind of shame and frustration. As she stepped outside, the cool air hit her like a slap, starkly contrasting the stifling atmosphere inside.

She found a metal chair near the back of the building and sank into it, burying her face in her hands. Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. She wouldn’t cry over something like this. Not here. Not now.

Her thoughts drifted back to the perfume, to the moment she’d realized something was wrong. It had started a week ago, a subtle shift in her ability to detect the fine notes of the fragrances she was creating. What began as a minor inconvenience had slowly turned into a full-blown nightmare. The scents she used to navigate so effortlessly now felt like they were behind a thick veil, distant and muddled.

She had already scheduled a doctor’s appointment for later that night, hoping for some explanation—some solution to her failing senses. But for now, all she could do was endure.

Charle’ words replayed in her mind, his disdain cutting deeper than she cared to admit. He wasn’t just the head of production; he was a master perfumer with decades of experience, and his approval—or lack thereof—could make or break careers. His contempt wasn’t new, but today it stung more than usual.

The back door creaked open, and Samira quickly wiped at her eyes, composing herself. She looked up to see James standing there, concern etched on his face. He wasn’t as tall or imposing as Charle, but there was a warmth in his brown eyes that made him approachable—a stark contrast to their boss’s cold demeanor.

“Are you okay?” James asked softly, taking a seat beside her.

Samira forced a small smile, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just…frustrated.”

James didn’t push, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a chocolate bar, his favorite snack. He handed it to her with a grin. “Here, this might help.”

Samira took the chocolate with a grateful nod, unwrapping it slowly. She bit into it, expecting the familiar rush of sweetness, but there was nothing. No taste, just the dull texture of chocolate melting in her mouth. She forced herself to swallow, her throat tight.

“Don’t mind Charlie,” James said, leaning back in his chair. “He’s always grumpy. He was like that to me when I first started, too. It took a while, but eventually, he came around.”

Samira sighed, rolling the wrapper between her fingers. “I wish I could believe that, but it feels different with me. He…he really doesn’t want me here.”

“That’s Charlie for you,” James said, shrugging. “But honestly, none of us like him. We just put up with it because, well, we have to. But you’ve got us—we’ve got your back.”

Samira smiled, genuinely this time, the warmth of James’ words cutting through her despair. “Thanks, James. That means a lot.”

At that moment, Jacob and Caleb emerged from the back door, joining them in their impromptu break. Jacob, ever the jokester, immediately launched into a rant about Charlie . “You know, I’ve been dreaming of the day I get to punch that smug face of his.”

Caleb nodded in agreement. “Seriously, if we all band together, maybe we could—”

“Guys,” Samira interrupted with a laugh, “let’s not get carried away.”

“Well, we just want you to know we’ve got your back,” Caleb said, his tone sincere. “Charlie might be a pain, but he’s not the be-all and end-all. You’re great at what you do, Samira. Don’t let him get to you.”

“Thanks, guys,” she said, feeling a surge of gratitude. “You’re all awesome.”

“Now that we’ve cheered you up,” Caleb said, leaning in conspiratorially, “how about you give us the number of that girl from marketing?”

Samira couldn’t help but laugh, the sound genuine and light. “You never give up, do you?”

“Not when there’s a chance for love!” Jacob quipped, earning a chorus of groans from the group.

The camaraderie lifted Samira’s spirits, even if just a little. She still had to face Charlie, still had to figure out what was happening with her sense of smell, but at least she wasn’t alone. And for now, that was enough.

Later, as lunchtime rolled around, Samira made her way to the company cafeteria. The large, bustling room was filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of cutlery. Despite the crowd, she felt a sense of isolation, her thoughts still heavy with the events of the morning.

As she entered, she noticed a commotion near the entrance. Employees were standing stiffly, their eyes wide with surprise. She followed their gazes and felt her stomach flip. Ray—her husband, and more importantly, had just walked in, accompanied by his ever-present friend, Joey.

The sight of Ray in the cafeteria was unusual. He rarely made an appearance in the more casual areas of the city.