“That sentence is meaningless.”
“It has eight hundred likes.”
I reached for my phone. Tessa moved it behind her back.
“You do not need the comments. You need to practice balance.”
I cleared space beside the sofa and attempted tree pose. The rug shifted. Tessa caught my elbow.
“Excellent component movement.”
“The floor is uneven.”
“The floor is innocent.”
I reset my foot, then stopped. “Do you believe Dani will take tomorrow seriously?”
“She will make jokes,” Tessa said. “She will also take you seriously.”
There was a difference. Dani teased everything; she did not trivialize everything. She had stopped my assessment before stubbornness became injury, let me set the cadence during the first challenge, and asked whether the launch kiss crossed a line. I trusted her. The thought returned me to the part of her history I still did not know. Zero finishes. Two attempts. A private medical event she had agreed to explain before the relationship quiz. The boundary was logical. Trust occupied the space where logic ended.
Tessa watched my face. “Yoga or trainer?”
“They are currently connected.”
“Everything is currently connected to the trainer.” She counted: the running plan, the gym, the fake relationship, the voice messages, the bright blue shirt I had begun wearing without discussion. “She has occupied a lot of real estate.”
“Temporarily. The challenge ends in eleven weeks.”
“And then?”
“The arrangement ends.”
“You still like her.”
“I admitted attraction. That is different.”
“How?”
Attraction was involuntary. Liking involved attention: knowing Dani carried hair ties for other people, called Gloria every Wednesday, hid unfinished paperwork beneath an old race magazine, and used jokes fastest when the truth felt closest. Those details had accumulated without permission.
“I am returning to safety protocols,” I said.
Tessa smiled. “That is not an answer.”
It was the only one available.
Practice was scheduled for eight thirty Friday evening in Studio C. Dani arrived with two cleaned mats, a speaker, and emergency snacks.
“We are practicing for thirty minutes,” I said.
“Emergencies are unpredictable.”
She put on soft instrumental music. The mirrors multiplied her white tank top, black leggings, and braid in ways that made concentration unnecessarily difficult.
“We do not require atmosphere.”
“That is usually when it happens.”
