Page 135 of The Yoga Teacher

This was where she had come.

She hadn’t even let herself think past the shower. Had gone straight from the gym to her car. Still flushed from the lift. Still tasting that rush. Still carrying that wild, sharp certainty in her chest like a live wire.

I could.

She didn’t need to overanalyze it. Didn’t want to.

Not tonight.

This wasn’t a reunion. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t hope. It wasn’t softness.

It was control.

It was choosing the terms.

Her boots hit the pavement with a soft crunch as she stepped out. Her bag was slung over one shoulder—light, practical. She adjusted her coat like it was armor.

She walked toward Room 6 like it didn’t cost her everything.

She knocked once. Not timid. Not uncertain.

A beat passed. Then the door opened.

Daniel stood there.

Sweatpants. Bare feet. A black long-sleeve tee that hung a little loose. His hair was a mess. His jaw rough with stubble. His eyes—

His eyes nearly undid her.

Because he looked wrecked at the sight of her.

Like she'd just walked out of a dream he'd been clinging to for dear life.

“Hi,” she said, steady.

His throat worked. “Hi.”

He stepped back without hesitation, his body moving before his brain could catch up. Like if he thought about it too long, she might disappear.

She walked in.

The room was dim. Small. Faintly sterile in the way all motels were. The air smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and something vaguely metallic.

He closed the door behind her slowly, hands shaking just enough that she noticed.

“You want… water?” he asked, and his voice cracked halfway through. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at her. “Or something?”

“No,” she said, turning to face him. “Don’t make this more than what it is.”

His mouth parted—hurt flickered behind his eyes—but he swallowed it down. Nodded.

She stepped closer. Then closer.

He didn’t move, but she could see the restraint in every line of his body. His chest rose and fell too fast. His hands curled into fists and then released again at his sides.

Her fingers brushed his sleeve.

His whole body flinched—not away. Toward. A twitch of longing he didn’t quite catch in time.

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