The Smell of Damp Asphalt

Dear Delyara, I just stepped outside the cabin at 1:15 AM to take a breath of air, and the smell of the damp asphalt after the summer shower hit me with a sudden, agonizing wave of nostalgia. It smelled exactly like the courtyard of my university library in London during exam season years ago—that sharp, clean scent of a night filled with late study and massive, unblemished hope. Back then, the night hours were a choice, an exciting frontier before the launch of a career. Now, they are a cage of economic necessity. Standing on the wet tarmac tonight, the contrast between the boy who walked that courtyard and the man standing here in uniform is a sharp, physical pain in my chest. I walked back inside and shut the door, but the smell followed me.