Lines of a Dream

The school day was over, and Noah walked down the sidewalk, his bag slung over one shoulder. For the first time in… well, maybe forever, he wasn't drowning in dread on the way home. He couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the screen of his phone. The name Maiya Patel glowed back at him, her number now saved in his contacts.

It wasn't that he had feelings for her or anything. It was just… surprising. He never saved anyone's number before. In fact, his contact list had been completely empty until today. He didn't even have the phone numbers of his parents or brothers.

That thought hit him like a sudden chill. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his small smile faltering. But as he walked on, the image of Maiya's bright grin lingered in his mind.

---

Instead of heading straight home, Noah decided to take a detour to the local park. It wasn't far, and it was one of the few places that felt peaceful. He found a quiet bench shaded by a large oak tree and pulled out his sketchbook.

The unfinished drawing from earlier—the dragon perched on a crumbling castle—stared back at him, half-complete. Picking up his pencil, Noah got to work.

The dragon's scales came alive under his strokes, each one shaded with meticulous care to give it a gleaming, almost metallic texture. Its wings stretched wide, the thin membrane between the bones crisscrossed with veins like rivers on a map. The dragon's eyes burned with intensity, as if it were glaring at its prey from above.

The castle below was no less detailed. Noah added cracks and moss to the stone walls, making them look ancient and weathered. Flames licked up the towers, smoke curling into the sky. At the very top of the tallest tower stood a lone figure—a swordsman with long white hair, their blade pointed defiantly at the dragon above. The contrast between the tiny, fragile figure and the massive, terrifying beast made the drawing feel alive.

Noah became so absorbed in his work that he lost track of time. The world around him blurred away, the chirping of birds and the occasional chatter of passersby fading into the background. When he finally set down his pencil and leaned back to admire his work, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.

His eyes widened in panic.What time is it?!

---

Sprinting home, Noah's heart pounded—not just from the running but from the thought of getting scolded for being late. He pushed open the front door, bracing himself for questions or lectures.

But there was nothing.

The house felt as it always did—disconnected. His mom was on the couch, absorbed in the bright screen of a drama on TV. Michael sat cross-legged on the living room floor, glued to his phone. Henry wasn't even home; he was probably out practicing baseball, as usual. And their dad? Still at work, of course.

No one even glanced up as Noah walked in. He lingered in the doorway for a moment before heading upstairs.

In his room, he peeled off his school uniform and slipped into a casual T-shirt and sweatpants. His phone buzzed faintly in his pocket, reminding him of the number he'd saved earlier. He pulled it out, stared at Maiya's contact for a moment, and then placed it on his desk.

Sitting at his computer, Noah opened YouTube and clicked on a video about art techniques. The voice of the instructor was calm, explaining how to blend colors for better realism, but Noah found it hard to focus. His thoughts kept drifting back to school—to Maiya.

---

Suddenly, his phone rang.

Noah jumped, the sound startling in the quiet room. His heart raced as he stared at the screen. The caller ID read: Maiya Patel

She's calling me? Why is she calling me?

For a moment, he froze, his hand hovering over the phone. Finally, he swallowed hard and answered. "H-Hello?"

"Hey, Noah! It's Maiya!" Her voice was just as bright and energetic as it had been in class. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"N-No," Noah stammered. "It's… uh… it's fine."

"Cool! So, I had to call because I was thinking about your art. Like, seriously, that drawing you were working on during lunch? It was insane.How do you even come up with stuff like that?"

"I-I don't know," Noah mumbled, feeling his face heat up. "I just… d-draw what I think looks c-cool, I guess."

"Well, it's more than cool. It's amazing! You've got, like, real talent. You know that, right?"

Noah didn't know how to respond. Compliments weren't something he was used to. "Uh… th-thank you."

"So, do you always draw fantasy stuff? Like dragons and castles and epic battles?"

"Y-Yeah, mostly," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I… l-like making things that… t-tell a story."

"Wow, that's so cool. I wish I could do that. I mean, I'm decent at art, but you? You're on a whole other level. Do you ever think about, like, making a comic or something?"

Noah hesitated. "I… I w-want to, b-but…"

"But what?"

"I-I'm not… g-good enough," he admitted, his voice dropping even lower.

"Not good enough? Are you kidding me?" Maiya sounded genuinely shocked. "Noah, if you're not good enough, then the rest of us might as well quit! You could totally make a comic—and it would be awesome."

For the first time in the conversation, Noah felt a small smile tug at his lips. "Th-Thanks," he said softly.

They talked for what felt like hours, with Maiya asking endless questions about Noah's art process, his favorite artists, and what inspired him. She filled in the silences with her own stories—how she'd started drawing as a kid, how she struggled with anatomy, and how much she admired people who could draw dynamic poses.

Noah found himself relaxing, his stuttering becoming less frequent as the conversation went on. It felt… nice.

---

When the sun rose the next morning, Noah was already awake. He got dressed, slipping on his school uniform and grabbing his bag. As he reached for his phone, the memory of last night's conversation brought a small smile to his face.

Just as he was about to head downstairs, his door swung open. Henry stood in the doorway, his expression as cold and irritated as ever.