DECEMBER SMELLS DIFFERENT

December arrived quietly, but it did not arrive empty.

It announced itself in smells first. Smoke in the air. Spices warming oil. Meat sizzling somewhere nearby. The kind of smells that make people smile without realizing they are smiling. The kind that mean celebration is coming.

The house changed with the month.

Laughter came easier. Music played longer. People stayed up late, talking about days that hadn’t happened yet. I heard the word Christmas often—spoken with excitement, with plans, with certainty.

Certainty is a frightening thing when you are not part of the decision.

I was fed more now. Better food. Richer. At first, I thought it was kindness. Then I noticed how often people paused to look at me while they talked. How their eyes measured. Compared. Approved.

I stopped meeting their gaze.

At night, I dreamed of the street.

I dreamed of heat and horns and dust. Of my brother walking beside me, so close I could feel him without touching him. In the dreams, we were always moving, always just about to turn a corner that led somewhere safe.

I always woke up before we got there.

The closer Christmas came, the busier the house became. Visitors arrived. Children ran around, pointing, laughing, daring each other to come closer to me. One boy asked too many questions. He was shushed quickly.

“Not yet,” someone said.

Those words stayed with me.

Not yet meant soon.

I began to notice things I had ignored before. The way people talked about days like they were objects you could pick up and use. The way sharp objects were washed carefully and set aside. The way the adults lowered their voices when they stood too close to me.

One afternoon, I caught my reflection in a bucket of water.

I barely recognized myself.

Cleaner. Heavier. Still.

On the street, stillness meant danger. Here, stillness was expected. Rewarded.

That night, fireworks cracked in the distance. Early celebrations. The sound made my heart race, every sharp bang reminding me of how loud the world could be when it wanted to announce something final.

I thought of my brother then.

I wondered if December smelled different for him too. If he felt the shift in the air without knowing why. If he remembered me every time the street grew quiet and cold at night.

I hoped he had found someone else to walk beside.

Because I was beginning to understand something I had tried very hard not to:

December was not for everyone.

And Christmas was coming for me.