The Riddle of Life

The old man sat in the dimly lit library, his wrinkled fingers tracing the edge of an ancient book. His eyes, sharp despite his age, scanned the room as if searching for something—or someone.

I had been summoned here by a mysterious letter, signed only with the initials "M.L." It claimed that if I solved a single riddle, I could extend my life beyond the limits of time itself.

"You are here for the answer, aren’t you?" the old man asked, his voice carrying the weight of centuries.

I hesitated. "Are you saying it’s real? That a riddle can actually… prolong life?"

He smiled faintly. "It is not the riddle that extends life, but the understanding of it."

He leaned forward, placing an old parchment in front of me. The ink was faded but still legible.

"I am taken but never given. The more you use me, the less you have. I exist in all, yet none can own me. What am I?"

I stared at the words, my mind racing through possibilities. Money? No, that can be given. Breath? It regenerates. Time?

The old man watched me closely. "Choose your answer carefully. If you are wrong, you will forget ever being here. If you are right… you will understand what it truly means to live."

A chill ran down my spine. I took a deep breath and whispered my answer:

"Time."

The old man smiled, his eyes gleaming. "Correct."

At that moment, I felt a strange sensation, as if my mind had expanded beyond the confines of my body. The ticking of the clock seemed slower, the weight of years lifting from my shoulders.

The old man stood up, his figure becoming translucent. "You now understand the secret of longevity. It is not about adding more years but truly living the ones you have. Time is fleeting, but those who master it… never run out of it."

The library around me faded, and I found myself back in my apartment, the letter in my hands but no trace of the old man. Yet, I felt lighter, as if I had gained something far greater than immortality—the wisdom to make every moment countrol it.

"Time is not something we own," the old man continued. "It is something we borrow. The reason people seek longer life is because they never truly live in the time they are given."

I felt a strange sensation, as if my memories were aligning in perfect clarity. Regrets, wasted days, moments I had let slip away—they all flooded back. But instead of sorrow, I felt something else: understanding.

The old man stood up, his figure becoming translucent. "You now understand the secret of longevity. It is not about adding more years but truly living the ones you have. Those who master time… never run out of it."

The library around me started to blur, and before I could say another word, I found myself back in my apartment. The letter was still in my hands, but there was no trace of the old man, no sign that I had ever left. Yet, I felt different. Lighter.

For the first time in years, I understood what it meant to live.

And from that day forward, I never wasted another moment.

I.looked at the clock on my wall. The seconds continued to tick by, as they always had, but now they felt different. They weren’t just numbers moving forward. They were moments—precious, fleeting moments that I had taken for granted.

How many times had I wished for more time while wasting the time I already had? How many days had slipped by unnoticed, buried under the weight of routine and distractions?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The secret to a longer life wasn’t in extending it indefinitely. It was in living fully, in the present.

For the first time in years, I truly understood what it meant to live.

And from that day forward, I never wasted another moment.