Page 72 of The Yoga Teacher

He blinked, startled.

She saw it hit him—the shame, the regret—but he shook his head. Slowly. Painfully.

“Never.”

She nodded once. A hollow, mechanical motion.

And then, more softly, she said, “Did you think about me when you were with her?”

The question hovered. Hung between them like a storm cloud.

Daniel didn’t answer.

He didn’t even try.

He just dropped his eyes.

And that silence—God, it cut deeper than any word ever could.

Her breath hitched.Her chest ached like something inside had been ripped clean open.

“I don’t think you’ll like my answer,” he said, barely above a whisper.

She laughed. Once.

It sounded wrong coming out of her mouth—empty, unfamiliar. A sound made of disbelief.

“Of course.”

She turned away from him. Her arms tightened around herself, and it wasn’t for comfort. It was to stay standing.

To not fall apart in front of him.

“Iwouldlose out in that comparison,” she murmured. More to herself than him.

“What?” he said quickly, lifting his head.

“You thought she was better.” Her voice was sharper now, but still laced with something fragile underneath. Like every word hurt to say. “You thought she was better than me.”

“No,” he said immediately. Desperate. “Hannah—”

“Younger. Prettier. Easier. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Stop.” His voice cracked. It wasn’t a command. It was a plea.

“Why?” she snapped, her breath catching. Her voice was trembling now, no matter how tightly she gripped herself. “You got to say every detail. But I can’t say the truth out loud?”

He looked wrecked.

It wasn’t enough. She wanted himmorewrecked.

“That’s not what it was,” he said, stepping forward. Hands open. “That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what the fuck did you mean, Daniel?” Her voice cracked on his name. Her hands were shaking now. She didn’t care if he saw.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

She could see him scrambling for something that wouldn’t sound like an excuse.