Page 148 of The Yoga Teacher

Hannah

THE GARDEN BUZZED with soft activity, the low hum of conversation blending with the rustle of leaves and the occasional clatter of tools against stone paths. It was the kind of afternoon Hannah usually loved—sunlight dappling through the canopy, kids laughing near the compost bins, and the scent of rosemary and warm soil lingering in the air.

She knelt by the herb bed, carefully checking the irrigation lines. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, but her mind was elsewhere.

Because Daniel was here. Again.

He hadn’t said a word to her. Hadn’t looked her way.

She spotted him across the garden near the raised beds. He was crouched beside a small group of elementary schoolers, showing one of the younger boys how to check for aphids. His sleeves were rolled up, hands dirt-stained, hair slightly tousled from the breeze. A senior volunteer leaned on a nearby rake, watching him with a faint smile.

He still didn’t look at her.

Hannah sat back on her heels, heart knocking in her chest.

She liked this version of him. Quiet. Present. Not asking for attention. Not performing.

Just... helping.

It had been weeks of this now. A pattern she hadn't wanted to name. He would show up when they needed hands—without fanfare, without speaking to her. He planted, hauled, listened, swept. He faded into the backdrop of good people trying to do good things.

And that—somehow—was more destabilizing than anything else he could have done.

"He's been here since before I arrived," a voice said behind her.

Hannah turned to see Elaine crouch beside her, her arms resting on her knees. She wore mirrored sunglasses and the faint smirk of someone who was too observant for her own good.

“I’m not keeping track,” Hannah muttered, even though she absolutely was.

Elaine snorted.

Hannah didn’t answer. She returned to checking the hose spout, trying to pretend her pulse hadn’t quickened.

“He tries not to stare at you,” Elaine added after a beat. “But he does.”

“He knows I don’t want him to,” Hannah said quietly.

Elaine was silent for a long moment. “If this is a game, he’s playing the long con of a lifetime.”

Hannah glanced at her sharply.

“But I don’t think it is,” Elaine added. “I think this is just who he is now.”

Hannah hated how much that landed. Not because it was wrong—but because it might not be.

She looked back across the garden just as Daniel helped one of the seniors up from a kneeling pad, steadying her elbow with careful hands.

There was no performance in his posture. No need to be seen.

He didn’t even glance in Hannah’s direction.

She felt the breath hitch in her chest. A strange, unwelcome warmth bloomed behind her ribs.

“He’s not playing,” Hannah said softly, mostly to herself.

Elaine didn’t say anything. Just nodded once, and stood.

Hannah stayed kneeling in the dirt long after she left, her hands still, the trowel forgotten beside her.

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