The chic Paris bistro buzzed with the boisterous laughter of Americans, a sound Mira Attwal diligently ignored. She sat stiffly, a silent protest against the rowdiness of her colleagues, determined not to be lumped in with the typical loud tourist. As a fresh round of expensive wine was poured, she watched her boss, Frank, appraise the labels with a practiced eye.

Her attention drifted to Jake Lewis, the salesman across the table. His smarmy grin and gelled hair grated on her nerves, a stark contrast to the sophisticated ambiance. He joked about handling his liquor, prompting Mira to mutter under her breath, a small act of defiance against his irritating presence. She was Mira Attwal, he was Jake Lewis, and despite working for the same company, their similarities ended there.

As the night wore on, punctuated by Jake's persistent attempts to flirt with the waitress and Mira's internal eye-rolls, an email notification glowed on her phone. Her flight, it seemed, had been changed. A middle seat, later departure. Then, to her dismay, Jake’s phone buzzed with the same news. Stranded together for another twenty-four hours in Paris, Mira’s meticulously planned escape was about to become an unexpected detour.