Page 89 of The Yoga Teacher

But something in her stopped.

Because he wasn’t asking her to forgive him. He wasn’t trying to fix anything.

He was just trying to be useful.

She stared at him, lips pressed in a line.

If he had shown up like this a year ago—hell, even six months ago—maybe their story would’ve bent a different way.

But he hadn’t.

Not until he had broken her heart open.

She let out a slow breath. “Fine. You can volunteer.”

He nodded once. No smile. No relief. Just a soft exhale, like he didn’t expect the grace and didn’t know what to do with it.

“Thank you,” he said.

And then he turned.

And left her office like a man stepping out of a church he’d never be allowed to worship in again.

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Hannah wiped her palms against her jeans, glancing around the community garden. It was alive with movement—kids kneeling in the dirt, tiny hands pressing seeds into the earth, seniors guiding them with patient smiles.

Some of the older volunteers sat on benches, sharing stories about the gardens they used to keep, while others took their time tending to the plants, their wrinkled hands careful and practiced.

The scent of freshly turned soil hung thick in the air, warm and rich under the late morning sun. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of the old oak trees lining the park, carrying the quiet hum of laughter and conversation from all around.

This was exactly what she had envisioned when she pitched this program—a place where generations could come together, where stories and knowledge could be passed down, where people could build something real with their hands. Something that would last.

She should have felt proud. Should have felt light.

But instead, she felt like someone had knocked the air from her lungs.

Daniel was here.

Kneeling near one of the garden beds, sleeves pushed up, hands in the dirt. Listening.

A frail-looking older man sat on an overturned bucket beside him, gesturing as he spoke, voice low but animated. Daniel wasn't just nodding along, wasn't just waiting for his turn to talk. He was engaged, focused. His brow furrowed slightly like he was really thinking about whatever the man was telling him.

It didn't make sense.

Daniel didn't do events like this. He never had.

She had invited him to things like this before. Community days, fundraisers, engagement programs. Every time, he had some excuse—a work deadline, a game on TV, a vague promise of “next time.”

And now, here he was.

Not standing on the sidelines. Not watching. Not waiting to be noticed.

Just… helping.

Hannah swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away.

Because she didn’t know what to do with this.

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