/02/ Orange & Vanilla Candle

It smelled like freedom. And soft pretzels.

You were thirteen. Maybe fourteen. You had five crumpled dollars in your pocket and a perm you were still learning to live with. The mall was its own kind of kingdom then. Escalators humming, music videos flickering through glass storefronts, everything neon-edged and full of possibility.

You found the kiosk by instinct. No sign. Just the swirl of oranges and sugar and vanilla rising like a secret into the food court air. You drank it slowly, knowing some things should last.

This candle remembers.