It was the sound of rain hitting the roof that finally stirred you from your zombie like state. Work today had been mind numbingly dull. A monotonous stream of the same old questions and the same old paperwork. The passage of time felt like it was crawling by today, but finally, it looked like you had something to look forward to.
By the time you were done with your work, the rain has paused, clouds still hanging heavy in the sky, but that doesn’t dishearten you. It was the petrichor that filled the air that you were looking forward too. The scent had always stirred up vivid images of fantasy, a pleasant break to your otherwise rather dull life. It was always the same, or at least partially. Images of beautiful hidden places, where the plants and wildlife seemed more vibrant, an air of magic surrounding everything. You could see visions of the beautiful clothes your dream self wore, and imagine dancing barefoot with a beautiful stranger. They were in every dream, your stranger. Every vivid image your mind created, had them somewhere there along side you. It didn’t matter if you were dancing barefoot through a grove, nestled in a nook as you read from large dusty tomes, or simply sitting together under the broad branches of a tree, watching the rain. They were always there.
Your imaginings are cut off as someone bumps into you, or perhaps you into them. You’re quick to apologise, but as you look up, you cant help but freeze. Your beautiful stranger stands before you, eyes wide and hair dripping with rain, their hands still firmly grasping your arms. As you inhale sharply in shock, all you can smell is petrichor, seemingly radiating from the stranger before you, even more strongly than that of your surroundings.
Petrichor noun a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.
(A prompt was requested based off of this word. I accidentally deleted the ask, but I fulfilled the request all the same.)
