12-06-2025, 01:14 PM
Next Day Morning on the Terrace – First Light, First Fire
The terrace was hushed, the early morning air cool with a hint of dew, like the city itself hadn’t fully woken up. Abhi stepped out barefoot, shirt loose over his pajamas, as the sky blushed pale orange behind the skyline. His chest felt heavy—code reviews, expectations, the long distance from family—it was too much for four walls. He just needed air.
But then he saw her.
Meghana.
There she was at the far end of the terrace, the light tracing gold along the edges of her body as she moved—slow, deliberate, centered. Her black leggings hugged her hips like a second skin, tapering down long, athletic legs. The pale blue sports bra contrasted strikingly against her golden-brown skin. Her torso was lean but strong, sculpted like a dancer’s—every line defined, her abdomen taut with effort.
Her face was calm, deeply focused, and luminous in the soft light. High cheekbones framed her face, her lips full but untouched by gloss. Her dark eyes were closed now, lashes long and fanned out against her cheeks as she moved from Downward Dog into Chaturanga—her body hovering low above the mat, arms tight, triceps flexed with control.
Abhi swallowed.
She flowed into Upward-Facing Dog, chest open, giving him ample view of her blossom, shoulders drawn back, her neck arched delicately. Her breasts lifted subtly with the pose, the stretch accentuating the curve of her body in a way that made Abhi forget why he came up here in the first place.
A part of him wanted to leave—to not be that guy. But he couldn’t move.
She shifted into Trikonasana—Triangle Pose—legs spread wide, one arm pointing to the sky while the other traced the inside of her shin. Her side elongated, ribs visible beneath skin, as if her whole body was a ribbon being unspooled. The morning sun caught the sheen of sweat near her jawline, making her glow.
Then, as if she sensed his gaze, her eyes opened—and met his.
She smiled. Wide. Knowing.
“Well, hello again, 203,” she said, staying in the pose. “Here for fresh air or front-row seats?”
Abhi blinked, caught but not ashamed. “Bit of both?”
She slowly came out of the pose and transitioned into Ustrasana—Camel Pose—kneeling back, arching her spine until her hands rested on her heels. Her chest lifted, neck stretched, breath deep. It was impossible not to look, and equally impossible to pretend he wasn’t.
“You’re looking again,” she said, eyes still closed, a small smile playing at her lips.
Abhi's mouth opened, but no excuse arrived.
“It’s okay,” she continued, lifting herself up and sitting cross-legged, arms resting lightly on her knees. “I told you—you can look. Just don’t pretend you’re not.”
He chuckled, easing himself to sit a few feet away, the concrete warm under him. “I was actually here to clear my head.”
“Well,” she said, tilting her head as she stretched her arms above her, the line of her torso elongating, “you came to the wrong place if you want a clear head. I tend to cause distractions.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replied, eyes still tracing the way sunlight kissed her hidden treasures peeking from her top.
She grinned and leaned back on her palms, letting her spine arch slightly. “You’re tense. IT guy tension. You need yoga.”
“Not sure I can focus.”
“That’s the point.” She scooted her mat slightly closer. “Try something simple. Sit straight. Close your eyes.”
He hesitated but followed, unsure if he was obeying a spiritual guide or being gently seduced.
“Now breathe in,” she said, her voice softer now. “Not too fast. Deep and slow.”
He did.
“Now out.”
He let go.
“Better?”
He opened one eye and looked at her—close enough to feel her breath. “Still distracted.”
She smirked. “Good. That means it’s working.”
She straightened, rolled her shoulders, and walked a few steps toward him, arms resting loosely by her sides. “You always look like you’re solving a math problem when you stare.”
“I wasn’t—” He caught himself. Then smirked. “Okay, I was. But, in my defense, that was distracting.”
He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to let his eyes wander again. But she was impossible not to notice. Her waist tapered just enough to invite the eye, hips flared elegantly, and her long neck had a softness that begged to be touched.
“You’re seriously good at this,” he said, shifting his weight. “Ever think of teaching?”
She tilted her head, looking him up and down. “Why? You thinking of becoming my disciple?”
“Maybe.” He smiled, half-teasing. “If you're taking students.”
“I might make an exception,” she said, walking past him slowly, her scent—fresh, clean, a hint of something floral—brushing his senses. “But I warn you, I don’t go easy on beginners.”
“Rough is fine,” he said before thinking, then flushed. “I mean, I can handle discipline.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Careful, 203. That kind of talk in yoga class might get you... bent into positions you didn’t expect.”
He chuckled, both flustered and intrigued.
She turned back toward him, stretching her arms overhead one last time, exposing the full length of her torso—the delicate lines beneath her ribs, the soft dip of her navel. “If you’re serious, you’ll need a yoga mat. And proper clothes.”
“Define proper.”
“No jeans, no pajama bottoms, and definitely no checking out your instructor while she’s in camel pose,” she said with a smirk.
“No promises,” he replied.
“Fair enough.” She tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder. “Come up tomorrow. Same time. I’ll teach you the basics.”
“And if I’m late?”
“I’ll make you do extra stretches. The kind that hurt.”
Abhi grinned, pulse still drumming from more than just morning chill. “Looking forward to the pain.”
Meghana gathered her mat under one arm. As she walked past him toward the stairwell, she leaned in slightly, her voice low and warm in his ear.
“Oh, and Abhi?”
“Yeah?”
“If you wear anything too loose tomorrow, I’ll assume it’s intentional.”
Then, with a wink and a sway of her hips, she disappeared down the steps—leaving him alone on the terrace, body warmer, breath slower, and tomorrow already too far away.
The terrace was hushed, the early morning air cool with a hint of dew, like the city itself hadn’t fully woken up. Abhi stepped out barefoot, shirt loose over his pajamas, as the sky blushed pale orange behind the skyline. His chest felt heavy—code reviews, expectations, the long distance from family—it was too much for four walls. He just needed air.
But then he saw her.
Meghana.
There she was at the far end of the terrace, the light tracing gold along the edges of her body as she moved—slow, deliberate, centered. Her black leggings hugged her hips like a second skin, tapering down long, athletic legs. The pale blue sports bra contrasted strikingly against her golden-brown skin. Her torso was lean but strong, sculpted like a dancer’s—every line defined, her abdomen taut with effort.
Her face was calm, deeply focused, and luminous in the soft light. High cheekbones framed her face, her lips full but untouched by gloss. Her dark eyes were closed now, lashes long and fanned out against her cheeks as she moved from Downward Dog into Chaturanga—her body hovering low above the mat, arms tight, triceps flexed with control.
Abhi swallowed.
She flowed into Upward-Facing Dog, chest open, giving him ample view of her blossom, shoulders drawn back, her neck arched delicately. Her breasts lifted subtly with the pose, the stretch accentuating the curve of her body in a way that made Abhi forget why he came up here in the first place.
A part of him wanted to leave—to not be that guy. But he couldn’t move.
She shifted into Trikonasana—Triangle Pose—legs spread wide, one arm pointing to the sky while the other traced the inside of her shin. Her side elongated, ribs visible beneath skin, as if her whole body was a ribbon being unspooled. The morning sun caught the sheen of sweat near her jawline, making her glow.
Then, as if she sensed his gaze, her eyes opened—and met his.
She smiled. Wide. Knowing.
“Well, hello again, 203,” she said, staying in the pose. “Here for fresh air or front-row seats?”
Abhi blinked, caught but not ashamed. “Bit of both?”
She slowly came out of the pose and transitioned into Ustrasana—Camel Pose—kneeling back, arching her spine until her hands rested on her heels. Her chest lifted, neck stretched, breath deep. It was impossible not to look, and equally impossible to pretend he wasn’t.
“You’re looking again,” she said, eyes still closed, a small smile playing at her lips.
Abhi's mouth opened, but no excuse arrived.
“It’s okay,” she continued, lifting herself up and sitting cross-legged, arms resting lightly on her knees. “I told you—you can look. Just don’t pretend you’re not.”
He chuckled, easing himself to sit a few feet away, the concrete warm under him. “I was actually here to clear my head.”
“Well,” she said, tilting her head as she stretched her arms above her, the line of her torso elongating, “you came to the wrong place if you want a clear head. I tend to cause distractions.”
“I’ve noticed,” he replied, eyes still tracing the way sunlight kissed her hidden treasures peeking from her top.
She grinned and leaned back on her palms, letting her spine arch slightly. “You’re tense. IT guy tension. You need yoga.”
“Not sure I can focus.”
“That’s the point.” She scooted her mat slightly closer. “Try something simple. Sit straight. Close your eyes.”
He hesitated but followed, unsure if he was obeying a spiritual guide or being gently seduced.
“Now breathe in,” she said, her voice softer now. “Not too fast. Deep and slow.”
He did.
“Now out.”
He let go.
“Better?”
He opened one eye and looked at her—close enough to feel her breath. “Still distracted.”
She smirked. “Good. That means it’s working.”
She straightened, rolled her shoulders, and walked a few steps toward him, arms resting loosely by her sides. “You always look like you’re solving a math problem when you stare.”
“I wasn’t—” He caught himself. Then smirked. “Okay, I was. But, in my defense, that was distracting.”
He scratched the back of his neck, trying not to let his eyes wander again. But she was impossible not to notice. Her waist tapered just enough to invite the eye, hips flared elegantly, and her long neck had a softness that begged to be touched.
“You’re seriously good at this,” he said, shifting his weight. “Ever think of teaching?”
She tilted her head, looking him up and down. “Why? You thinking of becoming my disciple?”
“Maybe.” He smiled, half-teasing. “If you're taking students.”
“I might make an exception,” she said, walking past him slowly, her scent—fresh, clean, a hint of something floral—brushing his senses. “But I warn you, I don’t go easy on beginners.”
“Rough is fine,” he said before thinking, then flushed. “I mean, I can handle discipline.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Careful, 203. That kind of talk in yoga class might get you... bent into positions you didn’t expect.”
He chuckled, both flustered and intrigued.
She turned back toward him, stretching her arms overhead one last time, exposing the full length of her torso—the delicate lines beneath her ribs, the soft dip of her navel. “If you’re serious, you’ll need a yoga mat. And proper clothes.”
“Define proper.”
“No jeans, no pajama bottoms, and definitely no checking out your instructor while she’s in camel pose,” she said with a smirk.
“No promises,” he replied.
“Fair enough.” She tossed her ponytail back over her shoulder. “Come up tomorrow. Same time. I’ll teach you the basics.”
“And if I’m late?”
“I’ll make you do extra stretches. The kind that hurt.”
Abhi grinned, pulse still drumming from more than just morning chill. “Looking forward to the pain.”
Meghana gathered her mat under one arm. As she walked past him toward the stairwell, she leaned in slightly, her voice low and warm in his ear.
“Oh, and Abhi?”
“Yeah?”
“If you wear anything too loose tomorrow, I’ll assume it’s intentional.”
Then, with a wink and a sway of her hips, she disappeared down the steps—leaving him alone on the terrace, body warmer, breath slower, and tomorrow already too far away.
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