DAYLIGHT Eau de Toilette

Morning arrives slowly. Steam still curling from the bathroom, the faint hush of a warm shower clinging to skin. White tea opens soft and clean, unhurried, like the first breath you take. Then comes the whisper. Lily-of-the-valley, green leaves, barely there, the way sunlight touches without pressing. And something powdery beneath it—talc, maybe. Baby powder, he mused once, half-smiling into your shoulder. Or the ghost of a floral bath wash, rinsed away but never quite gone. Still tracing the places the water touched. The base notes linger like a lazy afternoon. White musk, soft as cotton. Amber, the feeling of sun-soaked sheets against bare legs and the knowing that nothing, for this one moment, needs to be anything more than this. Gentle. Familiar. The kind of clean that feels like comfort.