The Riddle of Empty Rooms

Miranda stood in the center of the living room, surrounded by half-packed boxes. The silence pressed against her ears like deep water. Somewhere in this apartment, her goldfish—Christopher, named after the man who'd left two weeks ago—swam in endless circles, unaware that his namesake had finally taken his hat and walked out for good.

The cat, Bast, wound herself around Miranda's ankles, purring with bourgeois indifference. Miranda had inherited the cat along with Christopher's share of the rent. On the kitchen counter, the sphinx snow globe they'd bought in Egypt gathered dust beside a half-empty wine glass. The miniature plastic sphinx had seemed profound in Cairo—eternal riddles, ancient wisdom—but now it just looked kitschy, mocking her with its enigmatic smile.

Her phone buzzed. Work email. A meeting reminder. The mundane corporate world marched on, oblivious to the fact that Miranda's life had dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

She dropped to the sofa, Bast jumping up to knead biscuits on her stomach. The weight of the cat was the only real thing in the room. In the apartment next door, the new neighbor's dog barked—joyful, pointless noise that made Bast's ears flick back with aristocratic disdain.

Miranda had always loved sphinxes. The riddles, the secrets, the way they demanded you think before speaking. Christopher had never understood. He'd wanted answers, not questions. He'd left her with a sphinx's riddle: How do you begin again when you've forgotten what beginning feels like?

The goldfish surfaced, mouth opening and closing in silent bubbles. Alive. Waiting to be fed.

Miranda stood up. The sphinx snow globe caught the afternoon light, throwing tiny golden fractures across the wall. She picked it up, turned it in her hands, then placed it carefully in the box marked KEEP.

Some riddles don't have answers. Some riddles just are.

She walked to the fish tank, Bast padding silently behind her. Time to feed Christopher. Time to figure out what came next, sphinx-like and uncertain, in an apartment that was finally, completely hers.