I believe that every woman has her own scent. Not just perfume, but an extension of her soul. Something that lingers after she leaves. Something that turns heads. Something that is remembered.

Sometimes I choose a scent like I choose a dress:
Delicate, almost weightless — when I want to be fragile.
Warm, with notes of vanilla — when I'm waiting for a hug.
Spicy, deep — when I'm going to win.
And a little daring — when I'm playing. Just a little.
My fragrances know my moods.
They are my secret allies.
They speak for me before I say anything.
Sometimes a fragrance is my “self” in a world where you have to be silent.
Sometimes it's my armor. Sometimes it's my tenderness.
And every time, it's a part of me.
I love it when a man remembers a scent.
When he whispers, “You smell different today...”
When he catches my scent on the pillow.
When the scent is like a touch, only deeper.
A woman's scent is not just perfume.
It is her shadow. Her story. Her desire.
It is something that cannot be forgotten.

And yes, sometimes I choose a scent not for the season, not for the outfit, not for the weather.
But simply for myself — the one who woke up this morning.
The one who feels.
The one who wants to be different, but always herself.