Not a Goodbye

"Not a Goodbye" - Contrived (listen in new tab)

A man, 30-ish, and a woman, about the same age, lie in bed. Everything starts when the alarm clock goes off. But it’s not the alarm. It’s the snooze button and our protagonist wakes up and realizes it’s almost too late. He wakes her up. There’s a mad scramble around the apartment. It’s her last day in Canada. She grabs her tickets from the kitchen table. They read Paris, France. That’s a long way from Toronto. It’s chaotic as the two tear down the stairs, with toast in mouths, arms full of luggage.
 Out into the early morning. It’s late summer, and the sun is cool in the clear eastern sky. The city isn’t quite awake yet. Everything is piled into a beat up green Cavalier. And then there is a montage of them driving through the city. The sunlight is yellow and orange, and flares in the camera’s eye as they move past some familiar landmarks on the way to Pearson Airport.
They park. Into the airport. The lines are miraculously short and they run to security, dodging other morning travelers. Outside security, the flight is called. She has to leave him there. They hug. Kiss. And she is waved away by metal detecting wands. Someone steps in and takes her place. He stands there for a moment, a long moment, watching the gate where she left his sight.