She was a princess, and I was a free independent woman. Perhaps that’s what brought us together. She, with her classy style, elegant hands and face, and expensive clothes. And me, with my straightforward attitude, and coffee. And the perfume—her perfume.

It was a Middle Eastern fragrance, incredibly elegant, that I sensed the moment I entered the class. I chose a seat right in front of her, just to be near her scent, to feel some happiness in an otherwise unhappy place.

Unknowingly, I had broken protocol—apparently, the first row in front of and behind her was supposed to remain empty. She laughed gracefully behind her veil at my unawareness, gave her security person a break, and allowed me to stay.

For two hours, I enjoyed her presence, her perfume’s gentle breeze. I studied her face, her veil, her style, and even her carefully chosen crayons. Naturally, I asked her to give me answers to a couple of my homework questions, not just because she was so elegant and beautiful—the princess—but also because she was remarkably intelligent.

She left before I did, smiling and saying goodbye, leaving behind an unforgettable scent of her perfume. I never learned the language, nor what perfume she was wearing that day, but I fell in love with it.