Novel & Cerita Namine Drawing

“You guys rock. I absolutely idolize you. I want to be you.” “I want to do you,” Trey said, toying with the hair at the nape of Mark’s neck. Brian scratched his head behind his ear, deliberately staring down at the drawing to avoid watching Trey’s actions. “Nice design,” Brian said. “Sure, I’ll sign it. Do you want my real name or my stage name?” Mark smiled brightly and handed him a black, fine-point pen. “Just Sinclair would be awesome.” Mark glanced at Trey, who leaned up against his back to stare over his shoulder at the drawing. “And Mills.” Mark swallowed. “Please.”

he protested, puffing his chest out. “Training doesn’t mean breaking things.” Lexi laughed softly, the sound broke the air between us. I glanced at her, and I knew this would be a great moment to maybe tell her I want to take her out for dinner or something, but I didn't. And then, the moment passed. Wayne and Nia joined in, their chatter filling the porch. Nia held a drawing, thrusting it toward me with the kind of pride only a child could have. “I drew this! It’s a horse.”

Daniel stared at it, something sinking in his stomach. The drawing showed a stick figure with long hair and a big smile. Below it, in careful, childish letters: "MAMA." No other figures. Just Alina. "When I asked who this was, Junior immediately said 'Mama Alina.' Then I asked, 'Who else is in your family?' And he said, 'Just Mama.'" Daniel stared at the drawing, unable to speak. "I probed deeper. Asked about Papa, about grandmother, about Mama Rissa who I heard recently returned. And Junior drew this."

she says, very serious for someone whose ponytail is halfway to falling off. “Really?” I lean forward and catch the watercolor box before it drops. “Tell me all about it.” She sits up, shifting again: legs tucked under, one knee up, sketchbook on her lap. She flips to the middle. The page is full of doodles. There’s a drawing of a round table, four little stick figures with names floating over their heads: ME, CLARA, LEO, ANAÏS. In the middle of the table, a small box labeled in big letters: “CRAYON (NO EAT!)”

--- When I stepped back inside, Naya sat at the dining table, her gaze fixed on the child before her. Aiden—was quietly drawing, his tiny hands moving the crayon across the paper with careful, focused strokes. I forced a smile, stepping forward. “What’s this?” Naya glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “He’s drawing his home.” My stomach dropped. I stepped closer, glancing at the paper— And felt my pulse stutter. The drawing was crude and childish, but it was detailed. A massive mansion, much larger than the home we were in. Tall towers, thick stone walls, and a heavy iron gate. There was a garden, a fountain, even a damn guard post.

“We just didn’t know his name yet.” He typed one final message. Patricia, would you be willing to send a photograph of the drawing you kept. I think it might help us understand more about who he is, and what facility this was. The reply came a few minutes later, an image attached. Dave opened it slowly. It was a child’s drawing, rough and uneven, a small boy standing beside an empty wooden chair, both drawn with the careful seriousness only children bring to things that matter enormously to them. In the corner, in small, careful handwriting, someone, presumably staff, had written a name and a date.

Zayn pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out on the table. It was a drawing. Simple. Uneven lines. Bright colors. Three figures. Aira recognized it immediately. Zayn pointed at it proudly. “This is me. And that’s Mum. And… that’s you.” Lucien’s gaze fixed on the drawing. For a moment, he didn’t speak. His fingers moved slightly, as if he wanted to touch the paper but stopped himself. “And you made this?” he asked. Zayn nodded. “Yes.” Lucien’s expression didn’t change much.

At that moment, my eyes spotted a drawing on the chalkboard. A caricature of me was drawn on the board with sticks for legs and chicken wings for hands. I knew it was me because there was a rash dotting the face and a giant pimple on the forehead. A small caption was written underneath it: (Beware of the gifts you receive, UGLY NIVIA).

Nica asked with slight surprise. “No,” Aimee answered. “Then why do you want to draw?” Diane asked. “It’s not for me,” she replied. “Just show me the inspo.” The girls exchanged glances, but no one said anything. Nica pulled up an image on her phone and showed it to her. Aimee took a picture of the image with her own phone, grabbed a pencil and ruler along with the cardboard, and stood up. She could feel the gazes of everyone on her. Even the girls in the other groups handling their own props were now watching her to see what she was up to.

She inhaled her smoke. “More reason we should go get the stuff now. Remember, he shouldn’t have any clue of who was behind this all or what it is all about.” He paused. "Look at it this way, Nyx; the drawing belongs to someone who he knows, and he might find out who is behind all of this by merely looking at the drawing.” I echoed the two names in my head. Drane and Nyx. A perfect name for people of their likes. The Nyx girl was so pretty with her red hair, making her look more like a Korean goddess. I wonder who she was doing this for, though.