Novel & Cerita Hearts Drawings

"What does your new friend look like, Heidi?" Heidi proudly lifted her drawing. It was a crude, childish sketch of a very tall figure standing between two giant green trees. The figure was colored completely in dark gray and black crayons, but the most unsettling part was the face. Heidi had used a bright yellow crayon to draw two massive, perfectly round circles for the eyes.

Because her heart was still trying to remember how to beat normally. --- Adriano closed the door to his study with a soft click. He didn’t turn on the light. The sunlight was enough. It slanted across his desk in long shadows, catching the edges of papers, a half-finished glass of scotch from the night before, and now — this. The drawing. He laid it carefully on the desk, as if it were made of glass. Three figures. A red heart. A purple bow. His brow furrowed as he stared at it, unmoving.

I laugh, sharp and breathless, and my vision blurs before I can stop it. The bandage is ridiculously oversized no accident. The skin beneath is flushed, healing cleanly. And the placement God. Just above his jeans, to the left, where muscle dips into that dangerous V. Exactly where my eyes always go. And there it is. I know that image. I drew that image. A crooked little heart. A badly scrawled Luca. The same stupid, intimate sketch I traced into the steam on his mirror months ago, never thinking it would last longer than the fog on glass.

She stood before the wall of drawings, brushing the empty corner with her finger. “If not,” she murmured to herself, “I am still whole.” James arrived, setting down his bag. He heard the words and smiled faintly—proud. Ethan came in cheerfully. “Mom, Dad,” he said, “I know what to put in the corner now.” Emma and James exchanged a glance. “With what?” Emma asked. Ethan pointed at his smaller drawing. “With a heart,” he said with certainty. “If there’s a baby, they can use it. If not, it’s still there.”

Nikola nodded. “Seems like something Coach would do” Coach ignored and still continued, Screech. One line. Another. Then another and within seconds the board was covered in arrows. "This..." He tapped the first drawing. "...is your breakout." Another tap. "When Lukas gets the puck..." He drew another arrow. "...Viktor swings underneath." Another. "Adrian drives wide." Another. "Nikola floats high." Another. "Joshua trails the play.” And nobody interrupted him so he kept drawing.

I could not even count the number of people I elbowed indiscriminately because they pushed me or stepped on me. Great. This is just freaking great! Coming here is the worst decision. “Ayen! Ayen, it’s them! Felix’s band!” She brandishes her poorly made cartolina banner above her head, and I’m sure as hell it can’t be seen from the stage. She used an almost dried-up light-colored marker that camouflages the color of the paper, so how can anyone read it from that distance? “It’s Sir Felix!” I correct her again, my voice getting drowned out by the crowd’s noise.

All that was there were his serious eyes and perfect face. He leaned in closer and | could smell his breath. It smelled like rain and mint gum. | was breathing heavily now, my heart pounding harder and harder. His eyes were trained solely on my lips, then wandered back to my eyes. His lips brushed lightly against mine and | sucked in a breath, my lips tingling. | suddenly tilted my head sideways and looked away from him. Pushing his body away, | got up hurriedly and stepped out of the ring. "Where are you going?" he asked, climbing down after me.

then it came. A heartbeat. Tiny, regular, rapid rhythm. Clear, like drumsticks struck too fast—but steady. As if a tiny motor beat inside. A sign of life. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Sloane's eyes flew open. "What... is that? Is that the...?" The doctor's voice was no longer clinical. It was human. Warm and soft, like a father showing his child for the first time. "That's the heartbeat. The baby's heart. You're in the eighth week. It's stable, strong. And it's there. Inside you."

5 G lateral at the top, the blood pooling in the wrong chambers, the arrhythmia that could be triggered by exactly this stress, in exactly this body, his body, Arthie's damaged heart. He had watched Eau Rouge on screens for years, the analysis that was professional interest in extreme physiology, the fascination that was abstract because the drivers were abstract, statistics, probabilities. Now he watched it through the window, the track visible below, the cars that were specks becoming violence becoming beauty, and the speck that was Arthie was specific, particular, the damage that was his to know intimately, to monitor continuously, to fear particularly.

and I could not get back to sleep. I freshened up and got ready. Looking at the copy I was drawing I remembered the painting easel he bought me. I jerked my thoughts and decided to draw some scenery or something but I could not draw anything except pictures of Ranveer. This is happening for the past few weeks. I try to draw something but I cannot draw anything but when I close my eyes and think of Ranveer, automatically I start drawing him and my drawing book is full with pictures of Ranveer.