Page 62 of The Yoga Teacher

It was because she didn’t know how to hold the weight of what she felt.

Not yet.

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The night moved around her in a blur—conversation and clinking glasses, the hum of music vibrating under her ribs. Hannah kept her smile easy, her questions thoughtful, her laughter just loud enough to pass for real.

She was managing.

Not thriving. Not enjoying. Just managing.

Daniel was still at the end of the table. Not speaking much. Not drinking. Just… there. A quiet shadow with her memories stitched into his skin.

Hannah felt him in every part of the room.

“I’m going to grab another round,” she said, already halfway out of the booth. “Anyone need anything?”

Hands lifted, voices called out orders, but she didn’t really listen. She just needed the excuse. The space. The moment.

She weaved her way through the crowd, the bar glowing ahead like a mirage—bright and loud and detached from the things she couldn’t outrun.

She found a sliver of space, stepped into it, exhaled.

“Hey there,” a voice slurred from her left.

Hannah turned her head, already bracing.

The guy was in his late forties, maybe early fifties. Button-down open too low, skin flushed with alcohol. He grinned at her like they were in on something together.

“You here alone?” he asked, his eyes not bothering to meet hers. “Because that dress is making it real hard not to introduce myself.”

Hannah straightened slightly, spine stiff. “I’m here with friends.”

He leaned in closer, unfazed. “Then you won’t mind a little company. Let me buy you a drink.”

She tried a polite tone. “I’m all set, thanks.”

He didn’t move. His hand landed on the bar behind her, boxing her in. His cologne hit her like a wave—something sharp and synthetic.

“Don’t be like that,” he said. “One drink. I’m not asking for forever.”

He smiled like the line was charming. Like she should be flattered.

When she didn’t respond, his fingers started to drift toward her waist.

She felt her body tighten. Her breath shorten.

And then he was gone.

Yanked back, firmly, not violently. Just…removed.

Daniel stepped between her and the man, calm and still but unmistakable in his presence.

“Step away,” he said. His voice was low. Controlled. But his body was coiled, jaw tight, knuckles pale.

The man blinked, startled. “Whoa, hey. Just talking here.”

“You’re done,” Daniel said. “Walk away.”

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