That morning, Milo woke up with a strange feeling.
And with a new smell.
It wasn’t the usual scent of biscuits.
It wasn’t even the smell of his food.
From the kitchen came different aromas, richer, slower…
and in the air there was something sweet, too.
A light scent.
Milo lifted his nose.
Chocolate.
“This must be Easter,” he thought, even though he didn’t really know what it was.
He looked for it in his cushion.
Nothing.
In his bowl.
Nothing.
In the pocket of the jacket.
Only old smells.
So he went out into the garden.
There were colored eggs everywhere.
Blue, yellow, red.
And that sweet scent was there too, in the air, just a hint.
Milo sniffed them one by one.
Nothing.
“Strange place, Easter,” he murmured to himself.
He was almost ready to give up when he felt something.
Not a smell.
Something softer.
From the porch came slow voices.
His family was sitting together.
Laughing quietly, without hurry.
Milo walked closer.
He sat down.
And waited.
A hand brushed his head.
Then stayed there.
Warm.
Still.
Milo closed his eyes.
And he understood.
Easter wasn’t those scents filling the house.
It was what came after.
When no one is in a hurry.
When you stay close.
When a touch lasts a little longer.
Milo lay down next to them.
He stopped looking.
And while the scents from the kitchen and that soft hint of chocolate lingered in the air,
he stayed there…
in the right place.