“You look different,” he said.
Sun filtered through cracks in the morning sky, fluttering and falling in between his words.
“Different?” I asked.
“Different,” he said.
“Just different. From four weeks ago, you look different.”
“Different good,” he said.
Light flung from his mouth to the far corners of his face, before it stretched into a shining smile.
“See you tomorrow,” he said. And then he was gone.
It was a Thursday morning.
After two and a half hours of yoga and my first attempt at teaching, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. And we sat there, a friend and I, in the little bakery down the stairs from the Ashram. We sat in silence and watched the colours of India pass us by. The sun warmed our aching bodies. We drank chai and ate cheese toast, sharing it with a dog in a jacket who smiled in appreciation.
It was a good day. It was a Thursday. And it was as simple as that.