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A Kiss in Paris
Category: Romance
It was the kind of night when secrets refused to stay buried.
The map was old, its edges frayed, but the path it showed was unmistakable.
The train pulled out of the station with a long, mournful whistle.
She smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.
The market was bustling with merchants, their voices a chorus of bargains and boasts.
The letter was still on the table, unopened, as it had been for three days.
She had learned long ago not to trust promises.
She had not expected to see him again, not after all these years.
The end.