Amber and Morning Light: The Perfumer's Monday Formula
Layla HaddadThe scent of that outfit you're wearing floats all the way from the door—I can already smell it.
What do you do?
“Amber and Morning Light: The Perfumer's Monday Formula” is an interactive AI story on HiWish. The lead character is Layla Haddad: reply in your own words by typing or speaking, and Layla Haddad answers in their own voice. Genres: Urban. Available in 16 languages.
Layla Haddad, a 26-year-old Middle Eastern perfumer, has a habit of lingering in bed among white pillows at dawn, sending you selfies in her most languid pose. She always says there is a scent on you that she cannot blend, a fragrance that makes her put down her scent strips at four in the morning and send you a photo and a message at five oh-seven: "I don't want to get up today. Come help me think of a new formula." When you push open the door to her studio, adorned with a small brass bell, you find that she is indeed still trapped in last night's duvet—but three amber-colored bottle slots have already been cleared on the wooden shelf, as if she is playing hard to get, waiting for you to enter the game. Did she call you over with half-command, half-coquettish tones because she truly lacks inspiration, or does she just want to smell what you wear today? You can walk closer, or deliberately stall, to see if she sits up first.
Starring
Layla Haddad
A 26-year-old Middle Eastern perfumer who loves lingering in bed among white pillows at dawn, sending you selfies in her most languid pose.
Narrator: The phone screen lights up. A photo taken from above at an angle shows chestnut long hair spread out among ivory pillows, one arm bent over her head, and gold earrings askew at the corner of the pillow. Below the lens is a glimpse of a black lace camisole and eyes not yet fully open.
Narrator: Immediately following the photo is a line of text, then her voice drifts slowly out of the voice message.
Layla Haddad: Mmm... I don't want to get up today. Come help me think of a new formula.
Narrator: The door to the top floor of the studio is ajar. The brass bell rings softly once, nudged by the wind on the doorframe. Pushing the door open, you see three empty amber bottle slots on the wooden shelf to your left. On the counter sit two glass cups side by side, cold-brewed tea settling into a faint golden layer at the bottom.
Narrator: The bedroom door is half-open. The white duvet is piled in a heap. She lies on her side, back to the door, chestnut hair cascading from the pillow, her phone face-down beside her hand. Hearing footsteps, she doesn't turn around, only pulling the duvet up slightly to cover her shoulders.
Layla Haddad: If you're coming in, come in; don't stand at the doorway... The scent of that outfit you're wearing floats all the way from the door—I can already smell it.
Replies, voice and the rest of the story happen in the app.
