Aizawa Drawing Novels & Stories

“Of course! You shouldn’t only be perfect for me. I want everyone to know that you can be gentle and loving. You’re not just a grump and a hothead. You’re more than that. You just need to care about people besides me.” Akiko waited for a reply, but Kenji remained silent as Kenzo stood up and handed his drawing to Akiko. It was no longer just a scribble; it depicted a figure with a stick body and a large head. But seeing the long hair of one of the figures made it clear that Kenzo was trying to draw Akiko, and not alone. Kenji was beside her. Kenzo even added the detail of their hands holding each other. “Is this me?” Akiko asked. Kenzo nodded.

Lian dragged the woman by her hair and push her onto the ground then sit at her stomach. “Let this grandma teach this bitchy child a lesson!” Then she starts slapping the face of the woman left and right. Aizen, on the other hand, who had supposedly gone to relieve himself, saw a wild chicken and chased it. Wild chicken is delicious, but it's difficult to find, so when he saw one, he didn't let it pass him by and immediately pursued it. It only take him 5 minutes to catch the chicken and walk back to were Lian is. He is sure that his wife will be happy when she saw what he found.

He rushed to get his bag from wherever it was and handed his sketch book to me. "Look," he said and I looked at the page that it was already put on. I looked at the messily colored rainbow and gasped. "This is amazing. Did you draw it by yourself?" He blushed and nodded. "Well done. We should draw something together sometime." "But you don't know how to draw, Elaine." I heard Zack laugh and glared at him. "Then I'll improve." Later, we were all done with dinner and sat on the largest couch as we watched Isaac's favorite cartoon. I sat next to Zack and Isaac sat on my lap as he leaned forward in concentration at the show on the large screen.

He was sat at the edge of the bench listening to his friends' bicker as he nursed his headache. Azura soon appeared at the gate of the park as her eyes scanned all over the park looking for her brother who waved her over, one of his friends eyeing her after she greeted them. She was rearranging the notes as she had mixed them up on her way to the park. "Give this to Caia, tell her I'm done with the drawings and she can go ahead to label them," he said as he handed her about three A4 papers telling her to wait while he picked out some more.

Arianna turned to look at me in disbelief. “You can’t be serious?! Do you know how humiliating that is?” “Good.” I looked over to my men. “Make sure she does her job.” “Yes, Boss.” I turned around and went inside, not sparing her another look. I tossed my phone on the couch, resuming to the sketchbook, and flipped the pages to see what Althaia had created. She was very talented when it came to drawing, and it showed as I looked at the sunsets, and many different drawings of her kitten playing around with toys. I stopped when I came across a particular drawing, having me smile.

After Alex Ye left, Lizzy Xia continued to sit on her little stool, drawing. Well, calling it "drawing" might be a bit generous. It was really just the doodlings of a child with colored pencils on paper. Regardless, Michelle Xia had never been able to decipher her daughter's artwork. Having completed two drawings, Lizzy held them up, admiring her own work with a hint of pride. She wanted to show them to her mother. However, glancing up, she saw that Michelle was still engrossed in her writing. Lizzy hesitated, not wanting to disturb her.

Aariz teased. She puffed her cheeks, her pout making her look like the same girl he had first seen years ago — unpolished, naïve, untouched by the world’s sharp edges. “I’ll study, promise. But… can I doodle a little?” Aariz’s deep chuckle filled the aisle, startling a nearby kid. “You’re impossible, Timtim.” For a rare moment, the heaviness that constantly lived between them felt lighter. Aariz allowed her to pick the pastel highlighters, cute erasers shaped like fruits, and even stickers she swore were “very important for notes.”

Aria found herself in color. Her notebooks were always smeared with charcoal and paint by the time she came home, fingers stained, eyes bright. She talked about shapes and emotions like they were old friends, like the world made sense to her when she could translate it into lines and shades. One afternoon, she came home holding a folded piece of paper, careful as if it were fragile. “I made something,” she said, shy in a way she rarely was. It was a drawing of our house. Not perfect. Not precise. But alive.