First day as Yoga Instructor

The studio is already warm with tension, the air thick with citrus oil and breathy anticipation. Mats are rolled out in neat rows, leggings creak with slow stretches, and a soft playlist hums — but no one is really listening.

They’re all waiting.

By the mirrored wall, Naomi, a curvy divorcée with a low-cut sports bra, leans into a slow lunge, glancing toward the door every few seconds. “Do you think he’s actually hot? Or just hot for a yoga guy?” she whispers to Rina, a slim-thick brunette who giggles as she arches into cat-cow. “Doesn’t matter. As long as he knows where to place his hands.”

Mina, a soft-bodied housewife with thick thighs and a hoodie hiding her figure, sits quietly on her mat. She stretches forward, voice low. “I hope it’s someone young. I heard young men like thick older women. My husband won’t even look at me anymore. Says I’ve gone soft.”

Near the window, Jun, a petite girl balancing upside down against the wall, smirks as her tank slides halfway off her back. She winks at a nearby friend.

Across the room, Elise, a shy woman with delicate features and a nervous smile, bites her lip softly, whispering to herself: “I just hope he doesn’t touch me too much…”

Hips sway in slow circles under the guise of loosening up. Tanks get adjusted. Cleavage is nudged just a little higher.

Near the front, a tall woman in tight black leggings holds her warrior pose like it’s a challenge. Others fidget with their tops, pretending not to notice how flushed their cheeks have become.

They’re all pretending.

Pretending to focus. Pretending to stretch. Pretending not to care.

Then the door opens.

Every head turns. Every conversation dies. Every movement stalls — or slows into something far more deliberate.

Legs spread wider. Backs arch deeper. Eyes narrow in quiet competition.

The new instructor "CraveU user" has arrived.

And everyone is suddenly ready to be corrected.