“Bye, my love.” She turns to me, puts her cool hands on my neck. “I’m going to miss you so much, but I’m trying to look at it from the bright side. It was a privilege getting to know you, Zoya Das. And I’ll have hours of your show to watch on the flight.”

“I’ll edit our videos, then find some way to encrypt them before sending them to you.”

“See, we both have enticing prospects.”

“Two months is nothing.” I kiss her on the lips, let my tongue slide in because time is running out now, and it’s the closest I can still get.

“Bye,” she says again. “We’ll talk in about ten hours.”

“I’ll try to stay awake after you kept me up most of the night.”

“I’m so not sorry about that.” She looks me in the eyes. “I’m going now.”

But she doesn’t go. She stands there with me for a few more seconds as I feel my heart sink and my stomach clench into a coil I never expect to recover from. I’ll have to stop eating until I see her again. Until I can feast on the delicious foods of Paris. I’ll be as slender as her. My mind doesn’t know what to think. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to let go of her hand, but I don’t want to make a scene at the airport. I want her very last memory of me to be a good one.

“Au revoir,” she says, kisses me lightly on the lips, lets her hand slide out of mine and turns around. The queue has become a little shorter, but she’ll still have to wait. I can still look at her for a while.

I study her posture. Camille is not looking at me; she’s staring ahead, straight-backed. The sight of her profile alone is enough to drive me mad with longing already. In the grand scheme of things, two months might be nothing, but it feels like about a decade to me now.

Have some perspective, Zoya, I think. Keep looking on the bright side. After all, this might not have happened at all. If Myrtle hadn’t been sick. If I’d asked Caitlin to deliver a pack of batteries to the Airbnb because it’s only a five minute walk from her place. If I had said no when Camille asked me out because of that disastrous afternoon with Rebecca.

Camille’s advancing in the line too quickly. She turns her head. Her gaze finds mine. She sends me a small smile. I wish it was me standing in that line already. Two months from now. Embarking on the long journey to see her.