The Sphinx's Midnight Match

My life had officially entered zombie mode. Third consecutive all-nighter studying for finals, I was basically the walking dead—pale skin, dead eyes, surviving purely on energy drinks and spite. The irony? My best friend Kia thought I was just being dramatic.

"You're not a zombie, Maya," she said, watching me stumble toward the padel courts behind school. "You're just seventeen and caffeinated. There's a difference."

The padel courts were our spot—cracked asphalt, rusted fences, perfect midnight hangout when we both couldn't sleep. Usually we'd just sit and complain about how everyone else had their life figured out while we were still questioning everything. But tonight was different.

Tonight, someone had built a sphinx.

A legit, life-sized sphinx statue crouched at center court, constructed from what looked like stolen art supplies and sheer determination. It had a painted cardboard face, wings made from old prom banners, and riddles taped to its sides.

"What is this?" I asked, suddenly way more awake than five minutes ago.

Kia grinned. "Maya meet your identity crisis—or solution, depending on how you look at it."

The sphinx's painted eyes seemed to stare right through me. A note on its chest: *Answer correctly and unlock your future. Fail and stay lost forever.* Classic dramatic teenage energy, but something about it hit different at 2 AM when you're questioning every choice you've ever made.

"Who made this?" I reached for the first riddle, heart weirdly racing.

"That's the thing," Kia said. "No one knows. It just appeared after school. People are saying it's some senior's art project, or a prank, or—" she lowered her voice "—actually supernatural."

I snorted but stopped when I saw the riddle:

*I move without legs. I have no voice but speak to everyone who sees me. I'm worst when you're trying to sleep, but I'm also the only thing keeping you alive. What am I?*

"Time," I said immediately. "It's time."

The sphinx's wings fluttered. A hidden drawer slid open, revealing a single index card with my name on it.

Inside, in handwriting I didn't recognize: *You're not lost. You're just between chapters. The zombies are the ones who stopped asking questions. Keep wondering.*

For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like I was dying. I felt like maybe, just maybe, being seventeen and confused wasn't a bug—it was the whole point.

"Who wrote this?" I whispered, but Kia was already filming it for her story, captioned: *The sphinx knows what we're all too scared to say out loud.*

Sometimes the best midnight convos happen with cardboard statues instead of people. Or maybe that's just the zombie energy talking. Either way, I finally got some sleep.