Galaxy Sketches Novels & Stories

My curiosity piqued as I stared at it, curious to know more about the sketch she was making on it. Unable to hold back my interest and curiosity about the sketch and that dude, I left my seat and sat on hers as I unzipped her bag, took out the notebook and opened it on the desk. It was filled with a lot of sketches and drawings which amazed me because I had never thought that Lisa was this good at making a well detailed sketch. The sketch continued with a drawing of a blonde girl who stood at the window frame of her room, pinging on her phone and then on the other side, the unknown figure lurked above the rooftop of the mansion.

"My current team is talented. But they are being careful and I need someone to stop being careful." I opened the folder. The sketches were technically clean. Every proportion correct, every line considered. And completely airless. Like someone had taken the idea of a feeling and made it precise until the feeling itself evaporated. I looked at the concept brief. Read it twice. Looked back at the sketches.

Then I went back to work. --- The sketches arrived at three fifteen. Six pages, scanned, the kind of architectural sketches that were somewhere between rough and precise — enough detail to understand the vision, enough openness to show that it was still being shaped. I looked at them for a long time. Not because I had professional opinions — I didn't, not beyond the general intelligence of someone who had operated around buildings for years. I looked at them because of what they were.

How to win her back. He picked up the small sketch from his desk, worn at the edges from years of use. It was one of Christine’s earliest works for her new designs at DreamSpace it was the first design drawings she had ever imagined. Pencil lines were slightly smudged, erased areas faintly visible, marks of effort, thought, and youthful determination. Adrian traced one line with his thumb, feeling the indentations in the paper, almost feeling the presence of her hands shaping her dreams.

“You know. The one that looks like a sea anemone but for bees.” Katherine giggled. “That’s not even a sentence.” “It’s a vibe,” Carolina replied, grinning. Over by the lake, Kingsley sat cross-legged, glancing between his pad and the sky. He’d drawn a butterfly, soft-winged and floating between clouds. A second sketch was forming beside it—a loosely drawn path winding through a field of sunlit grass. Devon looked over his shoulder. “That’s actually not bad, bro.” Kingsley shrugged, shading the wings with care. “I learned in an Art school. Nothing serious. But… this reminds me of something. Or someone.”

Something she made for her dad, to gift her dad but never got to do. Uncomfortable with the silence, I pick one of the sketches, a pencil drawing of a model-thin lady without a head. The focus of the artist is on the skirt. Cinched at the waist and flared at the knee. There are too many of them spread out on El’s desk. The designs vary but some are repeated with little improvements. “What are these?” I ask. El yawns again. I carry her to the long couch in one corner of her office and place her between my legs. Her back presses to my chest, I massage her shoulders and she lets out a grateful sigh.

Tools such as various papers, pencils, pens, brushes, rulers, sketchbooks, cutting tools, tapes, paints, canvas boards, acrylics, palettes, easels and varnishes were scattered on every edge of the floor; some inside their designated containers and others just neatly piled. The traditional plasterboard walls were decorated with nothing but sketches pasted all over it, almost conquering the space. Most of the sketches were rough while others were in watercolor. One sketch was a portrait of a woman with a beauty mark under her left eye, another was a sketch of the back of a woman with hair that dropped to her hips sitting on a stool with canvas placed on an easel in front of her, and another wa

I do not let anyone in here. Isabella walked further into the room, her fingers brushing along the edge of a sketch pinned to the wall. The paper was worn at the corners, the ink slightly smudged. It was a city skyline, but not just any city skyline. It was drawn with precision and emotion, every tower and street detailed as though it had a life of its own. Another sketch showed a woman’s silhouette, her pose elegant yet tinged with sadness, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders. And then Isabella froze.

Tabitha’s POV We take turns sketching across the stone wall, passing the marker back and forth. We layer over each other’s drawings like we’re trying to outdo the last. Reed snickers while drawing an alien with three eyes and a meteor shaped like a dick. And then, there’s also something he claims is a “space wolf,” which I honestly think is quite cute. It’s the only decent thing he drew. We keep laughing until my stomach hurts and I’m wiping tears from my eyes. I lean over the narrow window to catch my breath.

Without thinking twice, I start to sketch. I begin with tall, ancient trees that stretch high into the sky, their branches twisting and curling as if whispering secrets to the wind. The forest floor is soft and shadowed, with delicate ferns and wildflowers peeking through the undergrowth. Above the trees, I draw a vast, open sky, the centerpiece of my vision, a luminous full moon. The moon is large and radiant, casting a silvery glow over the entire scene. Its light reflects off a serene lake nestled between the trees, creating a shimmering path across the water. Gentle ripples in the lake add a sense of movement, as if the night itself is breathing.