OUR LAST NIGHT IN PARIS

Sometimes one night is enough to change everything.

At ten past seven on a wet Thursday evening, Clara Moreau is standing on platform 3 of the Gare de lEst waiting for the light off a train, and Daniel West is standing in the middle of the concourse with two suitcases, checking a route he will take in the morning.

They lived together for eighteen months. They have not spoken in four years.

His flight is at seven-forty. The post is in Nairobi and the contract is three years. He gave the flat back that afternoon, which means that everything he owns is with him on that platform, and that there is nowhere for either of them to be until the morning.

So they walk. Across a city that neither of them will admit to having chosen, through twelve hours in which every question they never asked is still available and the answers still cost something — and at the end of it there is a train, and one of them has to be on it.

A second-chance romance that unfolds in a single night, about the four years nobody explained and the one conversation that was never had.