The Sphinx in Our Group Chat

Lila's phone buzzed for the seventeenth time that hour. The group chat was blowing up again.

"y'all see what Aiden posted??"

"nah that's cap 💀"

"someone needs to fact check him"

She stared at the frayed HDMI **cable** dangling from her wall, a reminder that her mom still hadn't called the repair guy. Three weeks without streaming, and somehow she'd survived. Mostly.

Her **cat**, Barnaby, wound around her ankles, meowing for the third time about his empty food bowl. He didn't care about likes or followers or whether Aiden was lying about seeing that underground rap show. Barnaby just wanted his kibble and maybe a chin scratch.

"You're living your best life, aren't you?" Lila sighed, scratching behind his ears.

Her phone lit up again. A new notification from someone she didn't know: *Hey, I think we have some mutual friends. You seem chill.*

Lila's stomach did that thing it always did when something felt off. This account had zero posts, zero followers, and a handle that was just a string of random numbers. A total **sphinx** — riddle wrapped in mystery, zero profile pic to go on.

She typed back: *Who is this?*

The reply came instantly: *Just someone who thinks you're interesting. Want to hang out later?*

Red flag number one: no one asked to "hang out" with someone they'd never met, especially not at 11 PM on a school night. Red flag number two: the typing was too perfect, none of the usual shorthand or lowercase vibes.

Barnaby suddenly stopped purring and stared at the phone screen like he sensed something Lila didn't.

*Who is this actually,* she typed again. *And don't lie.*

The account went offline. Just like that.

Lila's heart raced as she screenshot everything and blocked the user. Her hands were shaking. Was it Aiden messing with her? Some random creep? The sphinx had vanished without revealing its secrets.

"Barnaby," she whispered, picking him up, "I think I need to stop caring so much about what people think of me."

He purred in agreement, probably just happy she was finally paying attention to him again. She set down her phone, screen-down on her desk, and reached for her sketchbook. For the first time in forever, she didn't check to see who was viewing her story.

Some riddles weren't meant to be solved. They were just meant to be left behind.