The Riddle of Us

Emma sat across from Dr. Chen, the vitamin D supplement bottle on her desk catching the afternoon light. "Your levels are critically low," he said, not looking up from her chart. "You're not sleeping. You're not eating properly. When was the last time you took care of yourself?"

She wanted to laugh. Three weeks ago, when Julian left. When he packed his life into boxes and told her she was like a sphinx—beautiful, mysterious, but ultimately made of stone. "Too guarded," he'd said. "Too many walls."

Now she stood in their—her—apartment, squeezing an orange she'd forgotten in the fruit bowl. Its essence sprayed across her fingers, sharp and bright, startlingly present. The juice smelled like mornings they'd shared, like breakfasts she'd made while he complained about work, about her, about everything.

Her phone buzzed. A text from him: *Can we talk?*

Emma's palm hovered over the screen. She could almost feel the lines of her future shifting. This was the moment every romantic movie had prepared her for—the grand gesture, the second chance, the swelling music. But real life wasn't like that. Real life was vitamin deficiencies and fruit going soft on the counter and people leaving because you couldn't be what they needed, even when you were trying your hardest.

She walked to the window and looked out at the city. Palm trees lined the street below, their fronds motionless in the heat. She'd always hated them—so artificial here, so far from the beaches they belonged to. Like her and Julian, two people planted in the wrong climate, growing in directions that would never align.

The phone buzzed again. *Please. I made a mistake.*

Emma took a breath. She typed: *The mistake wasn't leaving. It was staying so long.*

Then she blocked his number, took her vitamin, and finally, finally began to live.