Galaxy Sketches Novels & Stories

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.

A war room disguised as a workspace. Books lined the walls, heavy volumes with titles in multiple languages. On the sleek, matte-black desk were blueprints, sketches, and open notebooks filled with codes and diagrams. Some pages looked like the prototypes for something new—something revolutionary. Could these be unreleased designs? My hands trembled slightly as I reached out, drawn to one of the sketches. The detail, the intricacy—this was more than engineering. It was obsession. Passion. I leaned closer, heart hammering. But before my fingers could lift the page—

I dropped my phone and finished up then arranged the files for the meeting. Seeing as there was nothing to do, I picked my sketchbook and began to sketch absentmindedly. I was so engrossed in it until Leslie came in to tell me that my meeting was starting in ten minutes. Looking at my sketch, a very detailed drawing of a large dragon with the eyes a shiny blue, sitting beside the dragon was a girl who was smiling, her back resting on the dragon's side.

I stretched my body lazily and yawned. "Where are we?" Clark asked and I turned towards him. I simply said, "Come with me." I grabbed his hand and dragged him along. He did not protest, but followed me until we arrived at the narrow lane and I confessed, "This is what I wanted to show." The walls of the lane was bright and warm with vibrant colours flashing everywhere. It contained beautiful graffiti art- the various hues of red, blue and yellow blending on the smoothness of the wall. I tugged at his shirt and he followed close behind me. I pointed at one of the coloured walls and said fervently, "See, this is the galaxy and I love this one the most because of it's three dimensional effect."

My grunts and serious sketching with pencils filling the air until it was morning. I didn’t even realize how long it was until I finished. And by the time I did, not one paper board on the bed was left without a design covering its face. “Woah,” I whispered, short of words as I took it all in. Surprised at my own creation. “1,2,3,4…7?” I muttered, taken aback. “I… I made 7 sketches?? 7! Oh my…”

The floor was scattered with charcoal stubs, graphite shavings, crumpled drafts—evidence of obsession, not profession. I stepped closer to the central table, my breath catching somewhere between my lungs and my throat. They weren’t buildings. They were me. Dozens of sketches—no, hundreds—covered every surface. Versions of me I didn’t even know existed stared back from paper and shadow. There was one of me sitting on the edge of the hospital bed the night Léo saved me, my shoulders folded inward like a broken wing. Another captured my hands—ink-stained, trembling—from those first desperate days in the North. A charcoal rendering of me asleep on the train, my reflection blurred into the glass,

I walked past the hallway till I saw Ariana’s room. Her room door had been slightly open. She was sleeping like some princess, but looking at her face… I could see dried up tears. Which was so satisfying. I was about leaving when I noticed something. Inside, her desk was filled with sketches. Not ordinary sketches. They were bold, Different and Modern. I stepped closer without thinking. I told myself I was just looking. Just curious. But when I picked up the first sheet, my heart skipped. The angles. The detail and the lines….

Even though I had been here only a few days ago, I noticed some new changes. There were drawings on the wall beside the hallway mirror, taped up in a crooked line at a height that suggested Daniel had hung them himself. A painted handprint in green. A rocket ship with three exhaust trails. A figure with yellow hair standing beside a smaller figure with dark curls, both of them surrounded by lopsided stars. She had labelled it in Daniel's handwriting. Me and Mum. Our Galaxy. I looked at it for longer than I should have before I set the pastries on the counter and waited.

Giselle’s POV I sat on the balcony, the warm afternoon sun dappling on my face as I bent over my sketchpad. A small smile played on my lips as I delicately guided the paintbrush across the paper, coaxing the vibrant hues of a delicate orchid to life. With each gentle stroke, the petals unfurled on the page, their delicate leaves and subtle gradient of colour emerging under my skilled touch. I lost myself in the rhythm of my movements, the brush dancing across the surface, creating a serene and beautiful image.

he said, looking at it. "This morning. Priti and I stayed late." He looked at the eleven sketches. At the coat in the center, the one I'd been afraid of for ten years. "This is good," he said. Not the careful, managed good of someone evaluating an investment. Just good. Plainly. "It's not finished. Three of these are still just sketches, the actual pieces aren't" "Mara." He looked at me. "It's good." I looked at the wall.