The tavern fills with smoke and song as the sun sets over cobblestone streets. In the corner, a bağlama hums — its strings vibrating with stories older than memory, its notes bending like light through water. Glasses of rakı cloud with ice, releasing the sharp sweetness of star anise into the air, while mastiha — that sacred resin of the islands — lingers on lips and breath. Sandalwood smoke curls from somewhere unseen, weaving through laughter and the low murmur of voices that rise and fall like tides. This is a scent of ritual and release, of music that softens borders, of nights where strangers become family and the hours stretch long and forgiving. A fragrance for those who know that the best moments are never planned — only felt.