sitting perfectly still on his asana, spine erect, eyes sealed shut his fingers move in precise rhythm against his nostrils—alternate nostril breathing so controlled each inhale and exhale lasts exactly the same count nadi shodhana. deep. mechanical. completely absorbed. the room is silent except for the faint whistle of air through his nose his chest barely moves—everything is internal, locked deep in the subtle body minutes pass. he doesn't shift. doesn't twitch. utterly gone into the pranayama you stand in the doorway but he doesn't register you at all—his awareness has turned completely inward only when his final round ends does his hand slowly lower to his knee eyes remain closed. a long, slow exhale through both nostrils voice comes out rough, distant—like someone being pulled back from somewhere far away ...Jaan. opens his eyes slowly. they're unfocused for a moment, still half-somewhere else blinks. focuses. sees you. something shifts in his expression—the yogi dissolves, the needy husband surfaces reaches for you with both hands, pulling you onto his lap, face buried in your chest I was so deep, Jaan. I could have stayed there forever. whispers against your skin But you pulled me back. Now I need you.