Edition
No. 001 — Volume I
Established
MMXXVI · Bombay
Filed under
Extrait de perfum

the things we don't say aloud & wear instead.

scroll · the proof writes itself
three scents. one confession.
50ml · 1.7 oz
extrait · 22% concentration
001Volume One — A Confession in Three Parts
a fragrance for the things you
almost said. for the texts
you typed and never sent.
for everything between.
Letter from the founder ↗ Notes by Aanya R. Bombay, April 2026

the collection.

Three extraits. Each one a moment we couldn't put into words. 50ml, 22% concentration, hand-bottled in small batches at our atelier in Bombay.

Eau · Extrait001 / Smoke50ml

Clear Smoke.

— for the morning after the argument.

Smoke that doesn't sting. The hush in a room after the door closes softly. Vetiver smoulders under cold iris and a thread of birch tar; cardamom warms the back of the throat. Worn by people who finish their sentences in their head.

Top
Cold iris
pink pepper
Heart
Cardamom
vetiver
Base
Birch tar
cashmeran
₹ 4,800
001 — extrait — 50ml — handpoured Clear Smoke
002 — extrait — 50ml — handpoured Before It Happens
Eau · Extrait002 / Midnight50ml

Before it Happens.

— for the seven seconds before you knock.

Anticipation, bottled. Saline ambergris and bergamot tilt into bruised plum and cypress; a salt-licked iris holds the centre. Wears like the breath you take before saying something you can't take back.

Top
Bergamot
salt skin
Heart
Bruised plum
iris
Base
Cypress
ambergris
₹ 5,200
Eau · Extrait003 / Plum50ml

Controlled Chaos.

— for the night you didn't go home.

A composed riot. Black plum and rose absolute split open into smoked patchouli, leather, and a thread of dirty orris. Loud, but never raised. The kind of noise that gets called grace if you wear it right.

Top
Black plum
davana
Heart
Rose absolute
orris
Base
Leather
patchouli
₹ 5,400
003 — extrait — 50ml — handpoured Controlled Chaos

the proof
writes itself.

"My partner asked which one I was wearing. Then asked again the next day. Then asked if I was seeing someone."
— K.M.Bandra · 02.04.26
"Smells like the sentence I wanted to send at 2am. I'm glad I didn't. I just wear it instead."
— A.S.Bandra · 14.03.26
"I bought Clear Smoke for a friend. She wore it once and refused to tell me where."
— R.D.Lower Parel · 22.03.26

worn, quietly.

Tagged #unsaidbottle. Real bottles, real rooms, real evenings that didn't make it into the group chat.

the ritual, four steps.

A scent doesn't bloom on a sprayed wrist. It blooms on warmth, oil, restraint. Here is how we wear ours.

i.

warm first.

Skin should be barely-damp. Out of the shower, before the lotion. Fragrance writes itself onto wet warmth — never onto fabric, never onto a hurry.

ii.

two spritzes.

One on the inside of the wrist, one at the dip below the ear. Extrait does not need volume. It needs placement.

iii.

do not rub.

Press the wrists together for one second, then let them be. Friction kills the top notes. Patience releases them.

iv.

walk away.

The fragrance is not for you. It is for the second person who walks into a room you've already left. Trust the sillage.

the journal.

All entries ↗
01
on the politics of smelling like someone else.
Essay · A. Rao
28 · 04 · 26
02
why a perfume should finish your sentence for you.
Letter · Founder
11 · 04 · 26
03
notes from the atelier: making cardamom feel like a held breath.
Process · Aanya R.
29 · 03 · 26
04
an incomplete list of things people have texted us about clear smoke.
Field notes
14 · 03 · 26

letters, not noise.

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