Her mat is slung over one shoulder. When she dug it out of the back of the closet earlier, it was covered in a fine layer of chalky dust, a testament to how sedentary she has become. As she turns down the correct street, she notices a green sandwich board a little ways ahead of her on the sidewalk, in front of the studio, that reads, Lotus Yoga Centre, in bold black letters. An elegant white stencil of a lotus bloom sits above the studio’s name, and a picture of a woman balancing on her forearms, below.

Kavita’s stomach seizes. She stops walking. Glances over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t blocking the way. Anything to stall moving any farther. It isn’t too late to make a U-turn, she thinks. She could buy herself a consolation peppermint hot chocolate on the way home and tell herself it’s okay. She isn’t ready yet. Last night was a big enough step. Hawthorn was just being nice to the new girl when he invited her. He doesn’t actually expect her to show up. It would be weird. Seeing him out of context, outside of the church basement, in his real life.

But then, that’s part of the draw. How does he do it? Go to group one night, and still have enough energy to wake up the next day, pert and ready, to teach a yoga class. How did he manage to get to such a healthy place, when she, in comparison, feels barely functional? She needs to see what recovery looks like up close. After all, she promised herself to find a better way.

She pushes onward, past the sign, up the stone walkway that leads to the converted red-brick century home, before she loses her nerve. A bell chimes as she passes through the first French door into a small closet-like foyer. As she glances at the community board to her left, she notices a poster of Hawthorn seated cross-legged with his hands folded in namaskar, advertising an upcoming karma class. She will have to ask him about it, she tells herself, as she passes through the second French door and enters the studio.

Pushing back her hood, she takes a moment to check out the space. The only place for coats and boots is a row of hooks above a bench to her left. The yoga room itself is large and open, with cork floors and high ceilings, and the usual collection of yoga paraphernalia available for use at the back of the room. A dozen or so people are milling around, fetching props, gabbing, limbering up on their mats, or simply lying still.

But there is no sign of Hawthorn.