Sketching the stranger

The silent muse

Clare, do you want to go to the park?" I asked, hopeful for some company.

"Yep, I would love to!" Clare said, already reaching for her bag.

But just as we were about to leave the studio, her phone rang. Her face shifted as she took the phone. Yes ...yes, I'll be there," she said. She hung up and looked at her with an apologetic smile." I'm sorry, El, but we can't go today. My boss called," I'm needed urgently for a job, and you know how he is."

"It's okay," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. "I think I'll still go. I need to unwind . See you,bye! Love you."

" Love you more,"Clare said as she pecked my cheeks.

The park was only about a fifteen-minute walk from the studio, so I decided to go on foot. I stopped to grab a takeaway coffee on the way, the warmth of the cup comforting against my palms.

When I reached the park, I headed straight for a secluded corner. I wasn't in the mood for small talk or a kid hitting me up with a ball. I just wanted to disappear into my own world for a while.

I took out my sketchbook and a pencil, my eyes landing on a small bird on a tree.

It was beautiful, a vibrant mixture of blue and green with a light shade of pink on its chest. I began to sketch, and as always, the moment the lead touched the paper my mind drifted away from reality.

I don't know how long I sat there, lost in the lines and shadows, but the park had filled up around me. I could hear the distant sounds of children running, screaming and the familiar jingle of an ice -cream truck.

But then, something caught my attention.

To my right, not too far away, sat a man. He was dressed casually in dark blue jeans and a black tee, his curly hair messy yet perfect. Even from a distance, I could feel an aura radiating from him—something heavy and powerful. I couldn't see his face clearly, but even from the side, I could tell he was breathtakingly hot.

I didn't even realize I had stopped drawing the bird. My hand moved instinctively, and when I finally looked down at my sketchbook, I wasn't looking at feathers anymore.

I was drawing him.

I was shocked. In all my years as an artist, I have never drawn a person. I was always about animals and nature, but never people.

The thought didn't wander for long, though.

A dark, slightly raspy voice broke through my focus.

"Hey, do you happen to have a pen?"

It was him. Inside my head, I was screaming.

Talk! Say something!

"Uh...uh," I stammered, my heart racing." I don't think I have one, but let me look…

I started fumbling through my bag, acting like I was searching deep in the pocket. But he leaned slightly forward and pointed toward my lap.

"There," he said, nodding at my pencil case.

There was a pen sitting right on top.

I let out another awkward laugh, feeling the heat rush to my face." Oh ! Right . Here, you can have it."

He chuckled slightly.

As he reached for a pen, his finger brushed against mine slightly. The contact was brief — barely a second — but it felt like a jolt of electricity snapped through my skin. My breath hitched, and I prayed to God he didn't notice how much I was fidgeting with my hands.

"Thanks," he said, his voice dropping.

He didn't pull away immediately. Instead, his gaze drifted down, landing right on my sketchbook.

My heart stopped. The sketch of him was right there — although it wasn't fully finished, you could still see it was him. The sharp line of his jaw, the messy curls of his hair, the "aura" I had tried so hard to capture.

I tried to flip the page shut, but it was too late.

He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the drawing with a small smirk." You're talented, "he murmured, finally meeting my eyes.

My breath hitched up close, they were piercing stormy grey, but you could see a small fragment of silver." But you missed a detail."

"What?" I managed to whisper, my voice finally finding its way back.

He leaned in closer, bringing with him the scent of expensive sandalwood and cold night air. He pointed a long finger to the corner of my sketch." The shadow behind me. It's deeper than you think."

Before I could ask what he meant, he stood up, tucked my pen into his pocket as if it were a trophy. "Keep the page, Elara. I have a feeling you'll need it.

I was still in shock until I realized I had never told him my name.

He walked away before I could even ask how he knew my name.