Page 25 of The Sound of Forever
He slows as he approaches the edge of the yard, his gaze landing on me. For a moment, I think he’s going to keep running, but then he stops, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. He hesitates, like he’s debating whether or not to say something. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rough. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I straighten from my pose, brushing my hands on my leggings. “You’re not interrupting,” I say, offering a small smile. “Just practicing.”
He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he’s wary of crossing some invisible line. “Yoga outside the studio?” he asks, glancing at the mat.
“Yeah,” I reply, folding my arms loosely across my chest. “It’s kind of my thing.”
He nods, his gaze flicking between me and the mat. “You look . . . It looks peaceful.”
“It can be,” I say. “Depends on the day.”
There’s a pause, the silence stretching between us. He shifts his weight, his hands resting on his hips as he catches his breath. “You just moved in, right?” he asks finally.
I nod. “You live nearby?”
“The house down the path,” he says, nodding toward the direction he came from. “Been here a few of months.”
“You should come by the studio again,” I suggest. “There’s a class tomorrow at noon.”
He lets out a short laugh, dry and humorless. “I don’t think I’m the yoga type. Pretzel poses seem too hard for a guy . . . like me.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, keeping my tone light. Do I want to know what he means with ‘a guy like me’? Certainly, but this isn’t the time for questions. “It’s not about touching your toes or holding impossible poses. It’s about learning to breathe again. To feel like your body is yours. Sometimes just standing still is enough as long as you connect with your breath.”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place—hesitation, maybe even fear. Any second now he’s going to shrug it off and tell me to fuck off. But then, almost imperceptibly, he nods.
“Maybe,” he says, his voice quieter now. “We’ll see.”
“No pressure,” I offer, softening my smile. “The door’s always open. Or if you want to avoid people, you can join me here in the mornings.”
His gaze drifts to the mat, then to the house behind me. “Yeah, I can see how it’s different here. You’ve got a nice spot. Quiet.”
“That’s what I was aiming for,” I admit. “Moving here was a big change, but the quiet helps.”
He shifts his attention back to me, really looking this time. His eyes are intense, searching, like he’s trying to piece me together. I meet his gaze, surprised by the rawness in it, something that pulls at the edges of my chest, making it ache.
“Rayne is your kid, right?”
The question hits harder than I expect, and I take a step back. “How do you know Rayne?”
“She came by my deck yesterday,” he says. “Seemed like she was looking for something. Or maybe she lost something she’ll never find, but she’s hopeful.”
The instinct to keep things private wars with the sense that this man might need a connection. Someone to help him get out of whatever hole he’s been stuck in. If I open up, maybe he’ll trust me a little more.
“She’s my niece,” I explain, my voice careful but steady. “My sister died a few months ago. It’s been . . . an adjustment for both of us.”
He nods, his expression softening slightly. “I’ll keep an eye out for her if I see her alone. I’ll remind her to head back home.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely grateful. “That would mean a lot.”
“Good luck with the practice,” he says, stepping back onto the path. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Maybe,” I reply, watching as he jogs away, his footsteps fading into the distance.
I stand there, the morning air cool against my skin, trying to process the strange, unexpected conversation. There was something about him—something familiar and distant, like a half-remembered dream.
Shaking my head, I turn back to my mat, lowering myself into a seated position. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it expand through me, trying to fill the spaces his presence left behind.
The world settles into quiet again, but it doesn’t feel the same.
