Nine minutes at the end of three years. Or two, that felt more like three.
Yet another Cambridge farewell. A hurried wish for a safe journey ahead, a photograph of packed boxes, and plans for future meetings.

Paris is not far, we know.

And yet, there's a sense of an end here. End of my post-Trinity years. Yes, I have moved myself (as evidenced even in our last conversation), but it never quite felt like moving. After all, you were here, and she was here, and we had our weekends.

'What's next?' is a quintessential Cambridge question – which many have failed to answer, and they were taken from their room in a hearse van through King's Parade at the age of ninety-three. For those that answered it, there was elsewhere.

There was, and always will be, Paris.

Here's to the next phase, you.

Godspeed.