The Sphinx in the Waiting Room

The ancient sphinx replica sat in the oncology ward's waiting area, its stone face frozen in that eternal, enigmatic smile—the kind that suggested it knew secrets you weren't ready to hear. Elena had been coming here for three months, and the sphinx had become her unlikely companion in silent vigil.

Then she saw him—Marcus, her oldest friend, the one who'd drifted away after her diagnosis. He looked smaller somehow, shoulders hunched under the weight of something he couldn't quite bear. Their eyes met across the room, and years of unspoken words hung heavy in the sterile air.

"I heard," he said, sitting beside her. "From your sister."

Elena nodded, not trusting her voice. The sphinx seemed to mock them both.

"I didn't know what to say," Marcus continued, his fingers tearing at a coffee cup's rim. "Still don't."

"'I'm sorry' works," she said, and something in his face cracked.

They talked for hours—or maybe minutes, time distorting in hospitals the way it does in dreams. Marcus confessed his fear, his inadequacy, the way he'd rather disappear than bear witness to her mortality. Elena found herself forgiving him, understanding that some people are built for crisis and others simply... aren't.

The sphinx watched, and Elena thought about riddles—about how the hardest ones aren't the ones with answers, but the ones that force you to sit with the question itself.

"Come next week?" Marcus asked, standing to leave.

"Only if you promise to stop pretending you're fine."

He laughed, something breaking loose in his chest. "Deal."

As he walked away, Elena turned back to the sphinx. Its smile seemed less mocking now, almost knowing. Some riddles, she realized, don't have answers—only company while you wait.