A sigh shudders through my body, and I approach to pull out the chair next to him, rather than across from him. When I sit beside him, he still doesn’t look up. He’s clearly trying out some sort of deep breathing technique, based on the whoosh of air from his nostrils. My clay mug clunks on the table as I reach out with my opposite hand toward the broad expanse of his back. I hesitate, my hand fluttering above his plain white t-shirt, because I seriously wonder if touching him is a good idea.
