Except for the subtle smell of incense and the gentle hum of classical music, the yoga studio was deserted. After a particularly strenuous session, I was stretching my limbs and folding up my mat when I saw him resting nonchalantly against the glass wall with his arms crossed and his gaze dark and blank.

"Not finished yet?" His voice was soft, low, and almost playful as he enquired. A chill went through my body.

I tried to seem nonchalant as I answered, "Just wrapping up," but my heart was pounding.

Even when my head tried to remain calm, there was something about him, his firmness in his arms, the way...