The smell of oranges makes me lock the bathroom door

Dear Delyara, The man who assaulted me wore orange cologne. It was cheap and sweet, the kind sold near supermarket checkouts. Twelve years later, that smell still changes the room before I understand why. Yesterday, a new coworker wore it. When he leaned over my desk, I ran to the bathroom and locked myself inside. He has done nothing wrong. He is friendly, married, and younger than I am. Still, my body spent the rest of the day preparing to escape him. I have not told my manager because the explanation would make the office look at both of us differently. I also do not want to ask an innocent man to change what he wears because another man taught my body to fear it. On the train home, a woman peeled an orange beside me. The scent was natural, sharp, almost clean, but my hands still went numb. People say trauma lives in memory. Mine lives in a fruit, a bottle, and every room where sweetness arrives unexpectedly.