Page 6 of Love Letters from a Libra (BLP Signs of Love #13)
Notes App - Text never sent – I like that you leave space at the end of your sentences. It’s like you’re deciding if I deserve the full version of you.
Three days. That was how long I’d given her to ruminate on our botanical garden outing.
Three days of checking her Instagram stories, reading between the lines of her horoscope posts, wondering if she was thinking about me too.
I grabbed my phone from its charging station, weighing my decision to send the invite.
This kind of fixation wasn’t like me. I was usually calculated and strategic.
I didn’t spiral over women I barely knew.
But Zanaa wasn’t just any woman.
Me:
Found something more interesting than overpriced cocktails for our second date. Thursday night, if you’re free. [link to Ambient Flow]
I hit send before I could overthink it. The message showed as delivered and was read almost immediately. Those three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again. She was crafting her response carefully. I liked that about her, the deliberation.
Zanaa:
Somatic meditation? You’re trying to realign my chakras on a second date? Bold move, what should I wear?
I grinned in the darkness of my apartment. I knew she’d call me out, challenge the unconventional suggestion rather than just politely accepting or declining.
Me:
Only if you consent to enlightenment. Something comfortable you can sit cross-legged in. And yes, it’s intimate in a way that will allow us to connect without the usual social noise. Pick you up at 6:30?
Her response came faster this time.
Zanaa:
Consent to enlightenment. Sounds like something they’d put on a yoga tank top at the mall.
Me:
Would you buy it?
Zanaa:
Absolutely not. But I’d judge the people who did while secretly wanting one.
I laughed out loud. The cursor blinked as I considered my next move. This was the shit I’d been missing—someone who could keep up but didn’t try too hard to impress me.
Me:
So is that a yes to Thursday? No pressure. There’s always the tried-and-true dinner option.
Zanaa:
I’m in, but fair warning, my heart chakra’s been known to bite. See you then. 823 Fairfax St.
Me:
Deal. I’ll pick you up at 6:30.
Zanaa:
I’m bringing my own mat. Don’t trust those communal ones. People sweat out their darkest secrets on those things.
Me:
Smart woman. See you Thursday.
I smiled at my screen. Thursday couldn’t come fast enough. I glanced at my phone one more time before heading to bed. Already, she had changed me, making me reach for connection, making me want to be seen instead of just observed.
After parking on the corner, Zanaa and I entered the Ambient Flow Studio.
I guided Zanaa through the entrance with a light touch on her lower back.
Her hair smelled good, and she was dressed in black leggings and a loose top that draped across her shoulders.
No makeup except for a clear lip gloss that caught the light when she pressed her lips together.
She was beautiful in an unpolished way, like someone who had accidentally walked into the right moment and made it their own.
“This place is gorgeous,” she commented.
Exposed brick, large windows, polished concrete floors, wood beams across the ceiling, Himalayan salt lamps, and plants strategically placed softened the industrial aspect.
I pointed to the cubbies along the wall. “Our shoes must go here,” I said, bending to remove mine. Zanaa followed suit, revealing light blue socks with stars on them, giving a glimpse of her whimsical side.
A woman with silver-streaked hair gathered in a loose bun approached us. “Welcome, I’m Sarena. Is this your first time with us?”
“Yes. We’re looking forward to the experience,” I responded.
Sarena smiled. “Heart chakra work is powerful for connections. You’ll find the cushions in the back, and partners face each other directly.”
“Thank you,” Zanaa answered.
We made our way through the room, passing other couples already seated. We paired up and settled onto the cushions, cross-legged and facing each other. Zanaa seemed amused and nervous as our knees nearly touched.
“So, what exactly happens in these classes?” she asked.
“Not sure. Never done this one before.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You brought me to a class you’ve never tried?”
“Would you rather I bring you to one I did all the time? Where I already knew all the moves, and you were the odd one out?”
She considered it, then nodded. “Fair point. I prefer us both being clueless.”
“Good evening, everyone. Tonight, we’ll be working with the heart chakra, also known as Anahata.
It is the center of connection, compassion, and our capacity for love.
Partners, face each other, and we’ll begin with synchronized breathing.
” Sarena demonstrated the sitting position with her spine straight.
Zanaa adjusted her position. Our knees now touched, and the contact sent a visible ripple of awareness through her body.
Sarena’s voice was calm and measured. “Now, place your hands on your knees, palms up. Close your eyes and take three deep breaths together. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
Zanaa’s eyes fluttered open, meeting mine. A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth, and then she leaned in slightly, her voice low enough that only I could hear. “This feels like foreplay for people who read horoscopes.”
I burst out laughing, not my usual controlled chuckle, but a genuine, unexpected laugh that came from somewhere deeper. A few heads turned our way, including Sarena’s, who gave us an indulgent smile.
“Sorry,” I managed, still grinning.
“Care to share the joy with the class?” Sarena asked, not unkindly.
“Just finding our rhythm,” I replied, which made Zanaa bite her lip to keep from laughing again.
It hit me then. I couldn’t remember the last time someone made me laugh like this. Not the polite laughter of client meetings or the knowing chuckles exchanged with my sister. This was something, spontaneous and unguarded. The kind of laugh that broke through my coolness.
Zanaa watched my face with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction, like she’d just discovered something valuable. “You should do that more often,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Laugh for real. It changes your whole face.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever commented on my laugh before or noticed the difference between the real thing and the performance. But of course she would. She saw things others missed, just like I did.
“Place your right hand over your heart and extend your left palm toward your partner,” Sarena instructed.
We followed the instructions. Our extended hands didn’t quite touch.
“Feel the energy between your palms before they meet. The living field that connects all beings,” Sarena continued.
Sarena moved through the room, adjusting postures and offering quiet guidance. When she reached us, she nodded approvingly. “Good energy here,” she said, then moved on without elaborating.
Zanaa rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. She’d settled into this space, into us, in a way I hadn’t expected. And so did I.
Zanaa was focused on our hands, and her expression shifted from skepticism to surprise. She felt something.
“Now, gentle pressure, palms together, eyes meeting. Synchronize your breath,” Sarena instructed.
Our palms met. Zanaa’s hand was warm and slightly smaller than mine. I adjusted the pressure and met her eyes, slowing my breathing to make it easy for her to follow.
“Inhale for five. Hold for five. Exhale for five.” Sarena demonstrated her instructions.
We found our rhythm, and I saw the tension in her shoulders release.
Sarena’s voice guided us. “Allow your breath to become a conversation.”
We maintained eye contact. I watched her pupils expand and contract with each breath, a physiological response she couldn’t control.
“Now, place both hands palm to palm with your partner. Breathe into your heart space,” Sarena instructed.
Slowly, Zanaa lowered her shoulders. Her breathing deepened, and the rise and fall of her chest grew more pronounced. The tension in her fingers eased, her palms melting more fully against mine. She hadn’t grasped or held on. We simply touched and existed in the same space, sharing the same air.
Minutes passed this way, or maybe longer.
Time felt stretched and compressed at once, the way it did in moments of pure presence.
I noticed everything: the small callus on her right thumb, probably from writing, the faint pulse I could feel through her wrist, the way her lips had softened naturally, more at ease.
When she finally looked up at me, something shifted.
Her eyes, usually sharp and evaluating, had deepened somehow, like clear water suddenly revealing its true depth.
Then, a shimmer as actual moisture gathered at her lower lids.
Not enough to fall, just enough to signal something unexpected happening beneath the surface.
“Allow yourself to see and to be seen,” Sarena said softly.
The tear finally formed in the corner of Zanaa’s eye, hovering before tracing a path down her cheek.
She blinked rapidly, frustration flashing across her features.
I watched as she swallowed hard, jaw tightening briefly before relaxing again.
Whatever emotion surfaced, she clearly hadn’t invited it.
Zanaa seemed annoyed at her body’s betrayal, at this crack in her facade.
I remained steady. I continued to breathe, to be present, to hold the space between us without demanding it be filled with explanation.
“This is where we remember our shared humanity, the place where we meet beyond words.” Sarena blew a soft breath.
Another tear followed the first, and Zanaa gave a small, almost embarrassed smile. I returned it with warmth.