The Retreat

“The Retreat”

It’s strange how the mind, once you give it a few moments of quiet, can circle back to things you never thought to examine. Or maybe not strange at all. Maybe it’s inevitable. The yoga retreat was supposed to be a cleanse. It’s always a cleanse. At least that’s how they sell it to you: detox the body, detox the mind, breathe in the fresh air, leave behind the clutter of your life. It’s a packaged promise that’s supposed to shine with possibility. A little weekend escape to reset your life, your thoughts. And for what? To come back feeling somehow different, better, or—more likely—worse than when you arrived?

I’m sitting on the edge of a stone path that leads to the meditation hall. The air is still and thin. The kind of dry, unyielding stillness that you either love or you don’t, depending on where you’re standing. The women around me are all smiles and perfect poses, their legs folded in ways that make me wonder how they sleep at night. The bright yellow and orange yoga mats scattered in the grass look like something you’d find in a magazine, all the yoga clichés perfectly aligned, but none of it feels real.

I look over at the tree in the corner, its gnarled branches twisting up toward the sky. I’m supposed to be meditating. Instead, my mind keeps flicking back to her. Maya.

Maya—who had arrived with that effortless air of someone who was always exactly where they needed to be, even if they didn’t want to be there. She spoke like the sun was always setting in her favor, like each word she said had been carefully constructed in the silences she inhabited. She didn’t rush, didn’t fumble with her thoughts. Everything about her made me feel too fast, too loud. I was too much, and she was too little. The way she moved—graceful, deliberate, as though the world could bend in her favor without her even needing to try—was something I had never mastered. She was the kind of person you meet and wish you were but would never be.

She’d come here on a whim, or maybe she hadn’t come at all. I couldn’t figure out which. She was like that—unpredictable and unsettling. A little too distant, a little too close. She was standing next to me in the circle of women during that first session of restorative yoga, and I had caught the slight, almost imperceptible glance she threw my way. Her eyes had lingered, just long enough for me to think I imagined it.

We hadn’t spoken much since I arrived. There were the usual pleasantries, the way you nod at strangers when you’re stuck in a place where everyone is here for the same reason, but no one quite knows why. She had said something about the heat, something about the stillness. But I had nodded and turned back to the others. I didn’t want to acknowledge that it wasn’t the heat that made my palms sweat, it was her.

The retreat was turning into something I wasn’t prepared for. Something I hadn’t expected. The silence and solitude felt endless, like the walls of the canyon kept whispering secrets I didn’t want to hear. I wasn’t getting what I came for. The air was heavy with the kind of stillness you can’t escape from, the kind that settles in your bones.

“Evie,” Maya’s voice broke through the fog of my thoughts, sharp and warm all at once. She was sitting beside me now, her legs crossed neatly under her. I hadn’t noticed her approach.

I turned to her, a little too fast, and she tilted her head slightly, like she could see the confusion flickering behind my eyes. The sun was hanging low in the sky, casting everything in shades of gold and orange.

“You’re not meditating?” she asked, though it didn’t sound like a question. More like an observation, like she knew exactly what I was doing.

“I don’t think I can,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I meant. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the unease that had been settling in my chest all day. I never could quite sit still, especially not when I didn’t understand why I was here. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing here. Do you feel… I don’t know… changed?”

She paused, and I could feel her gaze settle on me, unblinking. “No,” she said simply, as though the answer was so obvious it barely required thought. “But I’ve never really believed in change. Not like that.”

I nodded, though I didn’t know what she meant, not really. “Yeah, me neither. But I thought…”

“You thought it would be different?” she interrupted, her lips curling into something that might have been a smile or might have been something else entirely.

I wanted to say yes, but the truth felt like something heavy in my throat. I wanted to be here for some spiritual epiphany, some glorious moment when my mind would fall silent and I would understand. But the only thing I understood was that nothing here felt like me. I wasn’t sure if I was looking for change, but whatever I was looking for, it certainly wasn’t here.

“I think,” I said, hesitant, “I thought it would feel… easier. You know? Like it was supposed to work.”

Maya was watching me closely now, her expression unreadable. “Sometimes it’s the trying that messes it up,” she said, her voice quiet, almost too soft to hear over the hum of the world around us. “Sometimes it’s better not to try at all.”

I felt my heart beat faster, but I couldn’t tell if it was from her words or from the way she was looking at me, like she was seeing something that I wasn’t even sure was there.

For a moment, there was nothing between us but the silence. The air between us was thick with it, like we were both holding our breath, waiting for something to happen. I didn’t know what it was, but I felt it, somewhere deep inside. The weight of it made my fingers itch, my thoughts scatter. I felt too much, too quickly, like my skin wasn’t enough to contain everything I was feeling.

Without thinking, I leaned in closer, just a fraction. Maya’s eyes flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes, as if she was deciding something—if she should stay still, if she should pull away, if she should give in.

I swallowed hard, the air between us heavy with something unsaid. Something that had always been there but had never had a name.

I closed the gap, my lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was at once tentative and sure, like we were both unsure if we had permission to be this close, but too drawn to each other to stop. Maya’s lips were warm and soft, her breath shaky. I felt her hand against my arm, a slight pressure as if she were trying to pull me deeper into the moment. My heart raced, and the world seemed to shrink around us, leaving only the two of us tangled in the space between the silence and the touch.

When we finally pulled away, the distance felt unbearable. I looked into her eyes, unable to speak. She was already smiling, a little crooked, a little knowing.

“I think,” Maya said softly, “sometimes it’s not about what you’re trying to find. It’s about what you’re willing to feel.”

I wanted to respond, to say something meaningful, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I just nodded. The world outside us didn’t matter anymore. Everything was just the two of us, here, now, in this moment. It wasn’t the kind of change I had expected, but it was something more. Something I didn’t know I needed.

And in that moment, the stillness didn’t feel oppressive anymore. It felt like something I could breathe into.