Chapter 1: The Sanctuary of the Superficial
The “The Peak” Yoga Studio sat atop a glittering skyscraper in the heart of the city, a glass-walled cathedral dedicated to the modern gods of aesthetic and influence. The air inside didn’t smell like sweat; it smelled of expensive eucalyptus, lavender-infused steam, and the subtle, metallic tang of filtered oxygen. Everything was white, minimalist, and designed to look perfect in the background of a high-definition selfie.
At “The Peak,” yoga wasn’t a spiritual practice; it was a status symbol.
Tiffany and Sienna, both twenty-two and vibrating with the nervous energy of people who lived their lives through a front-facing camera, were in the middle of their daily ritual. They were “fitness influencers,” a title that, in their minds, gave them the right to judge anyone who didn’t possess a visible six-pack or a designer matching set of spandex.
“Setting up the ring light, babe,” Tiffany whispered, her voice modulated for her five hundred thousand followers. She adjusted her neon-pink top, which was tight enough to restrict breathing. “The lighting in the advanced flow class is just… chef’s kiss.”
Sienna checked her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “Ugh, look at that corner. Who is that?”
She pointed a manicured finger toward the back of the room. A woman had just walked in. She looked like she belonged in a different zip code, or perhaps a different decade.
Clara was thirty-four years old and seven months pregnant. Her belly was a prominent, beautiful curve that she didn’t try to hide, though her outfit—a faded, oversized gray T-shirt and basic black leggings—certainly didn’t highlight it. She looked tired. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she carried a blue yoga mat that was frayed at the edges, its foam thinning from years of use.
Clara moved slowly, unrolling her mat in the far corner, away from the mirrors. She just wanted one hour. One hour where her back didn’t ache, where her breath felt full, and where the weight of the world—and the new life inside her—felt balanced.
Tiffany nudged Sienna, her phone already recording. “Is this a yoga studio or a zoo?” she giggled into her clip-on microphone, keeping her voice just loud enough to carry. “I didn’t know they allowed beached whales in the advanced flow class. Look at her. She’s going to break the floor if she tries a handstand.”
Sienna snickered, adjusting her hair. “Ugh, she’s totally ruining the ‘aesthetic’ of my background. Hey, lady!” she called out, her voice dripping with fake concern. “The prenatal class for beginners is across the street at the community center! This is an advanced power session. You might, like, hurt yourself or something.”
Clara didn’t look up. She sat on her mat, crossing her legs into a simple lotus position. She closed her eyes and began her Ujjayi breath—a deep, oceanic sound that started in the back of her throat.
Ignore them, she told herself. They are children playing at a craft they don’t understand.
But Tiffany wasn’t satisfied with silence. She walked over, her phone held out like a weapon, and “accidentally” kicked Clara’s stainless steel water bottle. It clattered across the polished hardwood floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the quiet room.
“Oops,” Tiffany smirked. “Maybe you should pick that up. Oh wait, can you even bend over?”
Clara’s hands gripped her mat. The rubber stretched under her fingers, showing a strength that didn’t match her “heavy” appearance. She whispered, “Just one hour of peace. That’s all I need.”
“You need a treadmill and a reality check,” Tiffany hissed, before sauntering back to her ring light.
Chapter 2: The Wager of the Crow
The substitute teacher for the day was a young man named Marcus. He was talented, but he was clearly intimidated by the high-profile clientele of “The Peak.” He kept glancing at Tiffany and Sienna, hoping for their approval.
“Alright, everyone,” Marcus said, his voice slightly shaky. “Let’s begin with a Sun Salutation B. Focus on the flow, keep the core engaged.”
As the class moved, the contrast became laughable. Tiffany and Sienna were obsessed with their reflections. They moved into Downward Dog, but their primary focus was ensuring their poses looked “snatched” for the camera. Their alignment was terrible; their shoulders were hiked up to their ears, and their lower backs were strained. They were flexible, yes, but they had no foundation. They were all surface, no substance.
Clara, meanwhile, moved like water.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page to discover the rest 🔎👇
