The Riddle of the Terrace

Maya sat on her terrace, staring at the bottle of vitamin D supplements on her patio table. Her doctor had prescribed them, told her she wasn't getting enough sunlight between her office hours and the glass-and-steel pyramid that was her apartment building. The Pyramid—everyone called it that—rose above the city like some ancient tomb repurposed for the tech class, its mirrored faces reflecting the dying orange of another Tuesday.

The riddle wasn't the pills. It was Thomas, the man in 24B, who asked her questions that felt like tests. Not the usual dating-app interrogations—what do you do, where are you from—but stranger things. What would you save if your apartment burned? When did you last cry without shame? He was sphinx-like in his stillness, his dark eyes watching her from across the terrace, withholding judgment but also approval, like she had to solve something before being allowed passage.

"You're taking them again," he said, appearing behind her. His voice was always quieter than it should have been.

"Doctor's orders. Apparently I'm deficient in joy."

Thomas laughed—a short, surprised sound. "That's not in the pill formulary."

"No. But I'm hoping for a placebo effect."

She'd been at the firm for seven years, climbing the corporate pyramid rung by rung, each promotion feeling less like an achievement and more like a tighter collar. The vitamins were supposed to help with fatigue, but Maya knew her exhaustion wasn't biological. It was the slow erosion of self that came from answering to people who didn't know her name, from meetings where she spoke and was heard but never listened to.

"The sphinx asked Oedipus what walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, three in the evening," Thomas said suddenly. "The answer was man. But the real question was why anyone cared."

Maya looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"The answer doesn't matter. The sphinx didn't care about the answer. She cared that someone stopped to ask." He stepped closer. "Most people just walked past. Tried to solve it or kill it or run away. Nobody asked why it was asking."

The sun dipped below the city skyline. Maya felt something shift in her chest, small but real. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

Thomas smiled, and for once it wasn't enigmatic. It was just a smile. "Because you're the only one who's ever asked why."

She picked up the vitamin bottle and tossed it into the darkness below. The pyramid gleamed above them, inscrutable and beautiful, and for the first time in years, Maya didn't feel like she was climbing alone.