Garuda

Bergamot and orange arrive with surprising brightness, immediately brightened by cumin's dusty spice and pink pepper's subtle bite. The citrus feels almost herbal, as though you've crushed dried peel between your fingers, and within moments the composition begins its inward turn toward something more contemplative.

The oud emerges as a dark thread running beneath rum's honeyed warmth and saffron's peppery opacity. This is where Garuda becomes genuinely compelling—the spiced notes coalesce into something almost incense-like, creating a quietly hypnotic middle passage that feels both mysterious and oddly comforting. The composition becomes resolutely woody, earthy, and introspective.

What remains is almost whisper-soft: patchouli, vetiver, and cedarwood create a muted, skin-like base, with vanilla and musk providing barely-there softness rather than sweetness. The fragrance becomes increasingly intimate, settling into a gentle, earthy embrace that smells like aged paper and distant oud smoke. By this stage, Garuda exists more as a memory of scent than as an active presence.