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.”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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