FAYE
I was seated on a woven mat on the floor, my legs crossed, my palms resting loosely on my knees. Helen sat across from me, mirroring my posture with effortless grace.
The room was quiet in the way sacred places always were—not silent, but alive with a kind of stillness that made every breath feel intentional. But it was just Helen’s bedroom. The window curtains were drawn just enough to let in soft daylight.
“Close your eyes, dear,” Helen said gently.
I obeyed, letting my lashes fall shut as I inhaled slowly, then exhaled the way she had taught me—steady, controlled, deliberate. At some point, what had begun as a simple conversation had shifted.
One moment, we were talking about balance, and the next, I was stretching, breathing, listening to her voice guide me inward. It felt le
