Page 165 of The Yoga Teacher

He stood.

She didn’t smile.

Just raised her brows slightly, like she was checking to see if he would do something stupid.

He didn’t.

“Hi,” he said. He kept his voice low, steady.

“Hi,” she replied, sliding into the chair across from him.

He sat too quickly. Nearly knocked his water glass. Great start.

The silence between them wasn’t quite comfortable, but it wasn’t dangerous either. It felt like standing in a hallway between rooms. He would’ve spent the rest of his life earning just this silence if that’s all she gave him.

“Thanks for picking this place,” she said finally. “It’s nice.”

His throat loosened slightly. “You said you liked quiet.”

She nodded. Sipped her water. Looked around.

There were twinkle lights strung above the bar. Someone in the back was laughing—sharp and real and far away.

He felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. He felt the words spilling out of him.

“I know that being sorry isn’t enough. I don’t get points for how much pain I feel.”

Hannah didn’t interrupt. Just watched him.

“I didn’t understand what I was feeling. I was pathetic, stupid. I’m so sorry, Hannah, I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life.”

She looked down at her plate. He kept going.

“I was scared of growing older. But now I can’t wait. Because every year I age, it’s another year that I will be spending loving you.”

Her eyes lifted again.

And something in his chest cracked a little. Not in pain. Just... space.

She asked him about work. He told her the truth—that every new hire used to make him feel ancient, but now he didn’t mind so much. That therapy had helped him see that growing older wasn’t a moral failing. He asked her about the greenhouse, about Robert and Elaine, about her.

And slowly, the space between them started to breathe.

She laughed when he told her about a kid in the garden who’d tried to name his tomato plant “King Beef Supreme.” He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her laugh until it hit him in the chest, sharp and bright and completely unearned.

By the time they walked out into the cold, the wind had picked up. She pulled her scarf tighter. He didn’t offer his jacket.Just walked beside her, hands in his pockets, giving her space to set the pace.

At her car, she paused.

He did too. Didn’t reach. Didn’t speak.

She looked at him like she was trying to read a weather report—assessing the winds. The pressure.

Finally, she said, “That wasn’t awful.”

His heart stuttered.

He smiled, but only barely. “I’ll take it.”

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