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River wasn’t entirely sure what a sound bath was, but he was fairly certain it didn’t involve plumbing.
Annie had mentioned it earlier in the week — she was going with her friend Sarah, something about energy realignment and how it was supposedly good for anxiety.
He’d nodded. He was learning to open up to things that didn’t fit neatly in his worldview. Because Annie — his mathematics genius, who could talk for hours about quantum cryptography — also occasionally liked to have her chakras balanced. She was full of surprises like that.
Now it was Friday night, and he’d been fully prepared to spend it with a beer and the football when she’d texted him.
Sarah’s got a cold. Skipping the sound bath.
He frowned at the screen.
You were looking forward to it.
A moment later:
Not the same on my own.
He sat back. He knew what that meant — or what it didn’t say. It wasn’t that she couldn’t go alone. It was that since that night, she didn’t always want to. The Tube, the dark, the quiet moments when her brain decided to replay it all.
He typed before he could think better of it.
Where is it? I’ll drive you.
No, you’ll be bored stiff waiting in the car.
I’ll survive.
Unless… you want to come?
Which was how, an hour later, he found himself in a darkened community hall in Islington, lying on Annie’s spare yoga mat, one of her many blankets draped over him, while a barefoot woman named Chantelle struck an enormous metal bowl with what looked like a woolly mallet.
The sound rolled through the room like an aircraft taking off underwater.
River resisted the urge to laugh. Annie, next to him, was perfectly still. Peaceful, even. Her hands folded lightly on her stomach, her face soft in the half-light. She looked serene.
He… did not.
His mind was doing laps. Counting exits. Wondering if Chantelle was insured.
Still, he couldn’t help thinking how bizarrely endearing it all was — that Annie Stuart, who once mocked him for saying “Wi-Fi signal” instead of “bandwidth,” also paid real money to lie under a blanket while someone played the gong. The same woman who could decrypt a network in her sleep, who could talk about chaos theory like it was small talk, also believed in energy alignment.
He’d assumed mathematicians didn’t do mysticism. But Annie, apparently, did both.
He shifted slightly, careful not to make noise. He was still trying to figure out how he’d ended up here. He supposed this was what being a boyfriend meant. Turning up. Bowls and all.
He could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing next to him, and somehow, that steadied him. The room darkened further; the gong’s hum deepened. This was the most random Friday night he’d had in a while, but he liked the thought that settled within him — he actually didn’t want to be anywhere else.
At some point, the sound shifted — lower, slower, rhythmic — and the air seemed to hum. Against his better judgment, he closed his eyes.
A light nudge to his ankle woke him. Annie. Her foot pressed gently against his — a silent, amused “caught you.” He blinked, confused, realising he’d drifted off. Christ. He must have been more relaxed than he thought.
When the lights came back up, everyone moved slowly, like waking from a dream. Annie sat up first, tucking her hair behind her ear, that serene little smile still on her face. She looked… well, luminous, really. Like she’d spent a week at a spa rather than a community hall that smelled faintly of Dettol and incense.
Outside, in the car, she turned to him with that half-smile that meant she was trying not to laugh.
“You were snoring,” she said, eyes bright with mischief.
“Was not.”
“I could barely hear the gong.”
He rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop his smile.
“You hated it, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t so bad,” he said diplomatically.
They pulled up at a red light, and she leaned across to peck him on the cheek. “I knew it was going to be a stretch for you when she started shaking that sage stick around at the start.”
He laughed.
“But it’s so sweet you came,” she paused, and he thought she was going to tell him what he’d already suspected, “I just wasn’t geared up for going on my own. Wasn’t in the headspace for doing the journey — it’s silly I know.”
“It’s not,” he reached over and squeezed her hand.
She huffed, frustrated. “I just thought I’d be doing a bit better by now…”
“You’re doing fine.”
He really felt for her in that moment, but there was also a protective edge when he thought of her sweaty palms, her nervous edge when she geared herself up to take the Tube by herself. Angry at those who’d done that to her, powerless to take it away — he knew she’d overcome it in time.
“It doesn’t really feel like it. But thanks for being there tonight — for coming with me. You’re very good to me.”
He felt his face warm. “Any time. Not really my thing… gongs, energy, spiritual realignment… but I’d do it for you.” And, to his mild surprise, he didn’t mind saying it — because it was true.
Her hand found his across the gearstick — steady, certain.
They drove the rest of the way in easy silence, the kind that felt earned.
When he parked outside her flat, she turned to him again, a glint of mischief now replacing the frustration.
“If you don’t think mysticism’s for you, I’ll respect that,” she said. “I mean, the next part of our evening was going to involve the Kama Sutra, but I understand you’ve probably had enough for one night.”
That was Annie — full of surprises.
“Well,” he started, voice lower now as he leaned across to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “I suppose I could be persuaded.”
“Will you need much persuasion?” she teased, kissing the hollow of his throat.
“Depends on how good the teacher is.”
“Oh, she’s good,” Annie murmured, her lips brushing his jaw. “She’s very good. Very… flexible.”
She could do that — undo him in seconds.
“Inside. Now,” he growled.
She burst out laughing.