The Vitamin King of Prague

Elena sat across from me at Café Louvre, her fingers toying with the small amber bottle on the table. 'You're being watched,' she whispered, not meeting my eyes. 'Corporate spy. They've had someone on you for six months.' Outside, a Prague tram clanged past, its lights flickering through the rain-streaked window. I laughed, the sound hollow even to myself. Six months of vitamin supplements and sleepless nights, all while some stranger pieced together the architecture of our pharmaceutical startup. The irony tasted bitter — I'd been taking these same vitamins daily, convinced they were the edge I needed to outrun competitors, to stay sharp enough to build something that mattered. Elena's hand covered mine. 'Thomas, you can't keep working yourself to death for a company that'll replace you before your obituary's printed.' Her thumb traced circles on my palm. I thought about the bull — that massive bronze statue in the Old Town Square we'd visited years ago, how we'd joked about its stubborn gaze. The market had been bullish then too. Everything had felt possible. Now I stared at Elena's tired eyes, the woman who'd walked away when I couldn't, who'd found peace in simplicity while I chased validation through quarterly reports and stock options. The spy was just doing a job, I realized. So was I. The question was whether either of us were living. 'I'm done,' I said, pushing the vitamin bottle aside. 'Let's go home.'