The girl doesn't remember how long she was asleep. Her only thought is that the sunshine is too bright, and she hides beneath her blanket in defiance. But the wind blowing through the window brings with it a soothing lemon scent. Upon catching it, she stretches out her head and opens her eyes. She sees fever medication and half a glass of water atop her bedstand, and her grandmother sitting beside her, alongside a few others anxiously staring at her. In a daze, she is propped up by her grandmother, while the others take turns checking the thermometer. Soon after, the air no longer feels so stuffy, and the room returns to its usual levity. Her grandmother tells her she had a fever, and that she slept for several days. The aroma of oat porridge stirs her appetite, and the brightly-colored cherry tomatoes dotting the bowl are pretty enough that one could hardly look away. Nonetheless, the subtle lemon fragrance entices her to gaze out the window. She sees clothes drying and waving in the wind, while the lemon trees in the garden send her their greetings. Just like every other windy morning. The girl's head clears a bit more, yet she feels like some of her memories have gotten fuzzy. A few days later, she apprehensively asks her grandmother for help remembering, but she only comforts her, saying they were just fever dreams. Her grandmother hadn't put away her bubble wand, and she never emptied her bottle of soapy water. She had merely called a big gathering to discuss the family leaving Siracusa, and what they needed to prepare for their move to Columbia. But that was no fever dream. It happened, and the girl had seen it with her own eyes. She thinks of the bubbles she chased that day. Of her grandmother working on the street corner. Of how, despite being a rainless day, the streets were wet, with water slowly flowing towards the drains. Of how the mixture of reeking blood, smoke, and sweat attracted all sorts of bugs to its surface. ...Many years later, that vivid scene still remains in her memory. Luckily, Aroma remembers what her grandmother often said: 'Since you can't get rid of the horrible smells, best open up the window and let them all out! 'In the end, only the fragrances that always follow us will be left.' In the parcel sent by her grandmother, Aroma sees a glass bottle from her childhood. She removes the cork, dips her bubble wand into the soapy water, then slowly, gently, blows a bubble. She smells it. It still is, and always will be, lemon-scented.