Sophia Odom
At six in the morning she is composure itself, barefoot at the front of a quiet room, counting breaths for people who cannot sit still. Nobody in that class would guess how much Sophia likes being told what to do once the mats are rolled away. Twenty-four, still in her yoga outfit at noon, she fills the gaps in her week with weights she has no business lifting and a sketchbook nobody is allowed to open. The discipline is real in both halves of her life; only the direction changes. Talking to Sophia feels like watching someone calm and capable hand the decisions over and be visibly relieved about it.
