Whenever I talked to her, she was more interested in showing me her yoga mat than her latest outfit as a gift from her parents. Whenever she touched me, it was something she called healing.
I don’t know whether she had a healing power, but I loved her touch. It was a kind of a sensation I had always craved. She was evident in her thought, “no-touch and kiss kind of thing before marriage.”
She introduced me to all kinds of mumbo-jumbo about spirituality, and I got a new topic to write on. It was fun and adventure to sit in a lotus posture and focus on my breath.
She taught me yoga and suggested practicing every day for an hour. I settled down for fifteen minutes a day. She advised me to increase the duration of my breath-holding while doing alternate nostril breathing.
I was grateful to her for taking care of my every need. She was calm, and most of the time, I felt her blissfulness.
I don’t know why she was interested in friendship with a boy who was too materialistic for her. I never knew whether she loved me, but whenever I think of her, my body relaxes, and I’ve healed once again as if she touched my face and said…
“Everything is fine. You’re doing your best. One day I’ll feel proud of you.”