SHORT STORY LAVENDER AND JASMINE
LAVENDER AND JASMINE
Automatic traslation from the original story in Spanish. Not checked manually
The scent of lavender and jasmine that once filled Elena and Daniel’s bedroom now seemed like a distant echo, a shadow of its former self. Also the king-size bed, once the setting for passionate nights, had become neutral territory, a strip of no-man’s-land between two people who once loved each other madly. The problem wasn’t a lack of love, at least not at first. It was the absence of physical intimacy, a deafening silence between their bodies that resonated louder than any argument.
They had started like a perfect storm. Elena, a bohemian artist with an infectious laugh and a gaze that promised adventure, and Daniel, a methodical architect with a warm smile and a deep gaze that inspired confidence. Their attraction had been instantaneous, a spark that grew into a raging fire. The first few months were a whirlwind of passionate kisses, furtive caresses, and nights of love that seemed eternal. But slowly, like a receding tide, the passion began to wane.
At first, they attributed it to stress. Daniel was immersed in a large-scale architectural project, and Elena was preparing for a major exhibition of her works. Fatigue, pressure, lack of time… all seemed valid excuses for the increasingly silent nights, for the caresses that became rarer, for the kisses that lost their intensity. They told themselves it was temporary, that they would soon rekindle the flame. But the flame slowly faded, becoming a barely visible ember.
An awkward silence settled in their bedroom. Elena felt frustrated, misunderstood. Her attempts to initiate physical contact were met with a lukewarm hug, a perfunctory caress, a quick kiss on the cheek. Daniel, for his part, felt growing guilt and overwhelming helplessness. It wasn’t that he didn’t desire Elena, but something had changed in him; an invisible barrier had come between his desire and his ability to express it. Guilt ate away at him, but communication between them had broken down.
They tried to talk, but the words stuck in their throats. The topic of physical intimacy became a minefield, a territory where pain and frustration mingled with sadness and fear. Elena accused him of being distant, of not wanting her, of not loving her the way he used to. Daniel defended himself, citing stress, fatigue, work pressure—excuses that he himself felt were no longer sufficient.
Resentment began to grow, like a weed spreading through an overgrown garden. Elena felt rejected, not only sexually, but emotionally. Her efforts to reconnect with Daniel were met with an indifference that hurt her deeply. The distance between them grew with each passing day, fuelled by the lack of communication, the pent-up frustration, the silent pain.
Intimacy had become a symbol of their failure as a couple. Every night that passed in silence, in the cold distance between their bodies, was a confirmation that something had been irreparably broken. The nights became long and unbearable, filled with an emptiness that no words could fill. Elena took refuge in her art, seeking solace in colours and shapes, while Daniel lost himself in his work, seeking escape in architecture, in the precision of plans, in the cold logic of structures.
One day, Elena found an old photo album. The images, full of smiles and hugs, of moments of shared happiness, reminded her of the love they had once felt. But the images also reflected change, the slow erosion of their intimacy, the growing emptiness between their gazes. Tears began to roll down her cheeks, not only from the pain of loss, but from the sadness of helplessness. She knew their love was dying, slowly, silently, without a big explosion, without an epic drama, but like a candle burning itself out. The final decision was inevitable.
One day, sitting on the couch, in a silence that was no longer awkward, but a sad recognition of reality, they decided to separate. There were no reproaches, no shouting, no dramatic scenes. Only a silent pain, a deep emptiness that filled the space between them. The love that once united them had vanished, not with a bang, but with a whisper, a sigh, the slow, silent extinction of a flame that had once burned brightly. The scent of lavender and jasmine was no longer an echo; it was simply gone, leaving behind the cold smell of a lost love, a love that withered in the absence of a physical connection that had once been the foundation of their happiness.
Lavender and Jasmine – Short stories series – Copyright ©Montserrat Valls and Juan Genovés