The Riddle of Empty Days

Maya woke at 3 AM again, the digital clock burning red into her retinas. Another night of half-sleep, her mind running on the hamster wheel of quarterly projections and unanswered emails. At thirty-four, she'd become what her college friends jokingly called a corporate zombie—alive in the biological sense, but something essential had hollowed out.

She padded to the kitchen, swallowed a handful of supplements with tap water. Vitamin D for the windowless office. B-complex for energy she never felt. Magnesium for sleep that wouldn't come. Her sister had sent them, along with a text Maya hadn't answered: "You need to take care of yourself."

Outside, the sphinx moth battered against the streetlamp, drawn to light that would burn it. Maya watched it through the window, thinking of Oedipus, of riddles with no satisfying answers. What walks on four legs, then two, then three? The riddle assumed you'd ever really stand upright in the first place.

Her phone buzzed. Elias, calling from whatever timezone he was currently working in. They'd met at a conference three years ago—both analysts, both burnt out, both too honest about it. He'd become something she couldn't quite name. Not a lover, though they'd crossed that line in a hotel room in Chicago. Not just a friend, though they went months without speaking.

"You're awake," he said.

"The sphinx moth is back."

"The what?"

"Nothing. Just... tired."

"They're promoting me," he said. "Regional director. More money, more travel, more of everything that's killing me."

"Congratulations," she said, and meant it, and hated herself for meaning it.

"I don't know what I'm doing, Maya. I don't know if any of it matters."

The silence stretched between them, across whatever distance separated their insomniac hours. She thought about telling him she'd started forgetting words lately. Simple words. The names of plants she'd known since childhood. The face of her first roommate, reduced to a blur of features and a feeling of warmth.

"Take vitamin K," she said instead. "I read it helps with memory."

"Maya."

"What?"

"I'm scared."

"Me too."

Outside, the sphinx moth finally found peace in darkness, fluttering away from the light. The supplements sat heavy in her stomach. Somewhere in the space between them, something honest trembled, waiting.

"Come visit," she said. "Just... come. We can be zombies together."

He laughed, and something in the sound unclenched. "Yeah. Okay."

She hung up and watched the sky begin its slow bruise toward dawn. For the first time in months, she thought she might actually sleep.