Chapter One :
Saturday Mornings and Street Sketches
The early sun spilled across Briarwood Lane, setting coffee shop windows and flower petals ablaze with light. Alex Harper, twenty-two and already tired of the world's noise, unfolded his shaky wooden stool on his usual corner between Miss Clara's Flower Cart and Lucky's Corner Café.
He tugged up the hood of his faded sweatshirt and set his sketchbook across his lap.
Charcoal pencil. Fresh page. Breathe in.
His world always made more sense in black and white.
Morning, sweetheart," called Miss Clara, fluffing her buckets of carnations. "Try not to break any hearts today."
Alex offered his trademark half-smile without looking up. "Can't make any promises."
People flooded past tourists snapping photos, teenagers laughing too loudly, joggers with earbuds and determination. Alex let his pencil move, catching gestures and expressions like butterflies in a net. A twist of a smile here. A shadow of longing there. By ten-thirty, he already had three portraits pinned to his display board.
"Bro, this is insane," said a voice above him.
Alex glanced up at a tall guy in a skate hoodie holding a sub sandwich in greasy paper. Matt Delgado, nineteen, part-time sandwich-artist and full-time nosy neighbor.
"You're out earlier than usual," Matt said, mouth full. "Your insomnia getting worse?"
Alex snorted. "I'm fine."
"Sure. You look like you haven't slept since 2018." Matt crouched, eyeing the portraits. "This one actually looks like she's about to tell me off for being late to class."
"She did."
Matt blinked. "You drew that today?"
Alex smirked.
Before Matt could badger him more, a flash of yellow skirt swished into view.
"Excuse me!" chirped a bright voice. "Are you the artist?"
Alex looked up at a girl with warm cinnamon skin, braids piled high on her head, a retro camera around her neck, and a sunshine-big smile. She stuck out her hand. "Leah Thompson, photographer. I've been stalking your work for weeks."
Alex stared at her hand like it might explode. "Um… thanks?"
Leah dropped his hand and crouched to face him eye-to-eye. "I need you. No the world needs you. My best friend is in a band and her posters look like they were made in Microsoft Paint by someone with no soul."
Matt burst out laughing. "Facts."
"Her name is Jamie Callahan," Leah continued. "Lead singer of Heartfire. Ever heard of them?"
Alex's heart punched his ribs.
Only every night since that train station moment.
He kept his voice calm. "Once or twice."
"They've got a show tonight at The Rusty Note. I want you to come and sketch live. I'll print your artwork, make proper promo, and" she spread her hands wide "boom. Instant legend. What do you say?"
Alex pulled at a loose thread on his sleeve. Crowds weren't his thing. Stages even less. And being near her? That thought sent panic skittering under his skin.
"I don't really do…" He gestured vaguely. "People."
"You literally draw people," Matt pointed out, completely unhelpful.
Leah bounced impatiently. "Look if you hate it, I'll buy you fries and never bother you again. But if you love it? Your art gets seen. By the right people. Maybe even the right girl." She wiggled her eyebrows.
Alex exhaled slowly, thumb smudging the charcoal on his fingers.
A normal Alex-decision would be no
But something in him some small, daring spark remembered stormy eyes and a half-smile on a train platform.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll come."
Leah squealed and immediately started typing on her phone. "Yes! I'll text you the time and address. Wear something dark and moody. Artists look cooler that way."
Matt whistled low as she bounced off. "Dude. You're going to a concert. A real one. With loud music. And girls."
Alex rolled his eyes. "It's not a date."
Matt grinned wickedly. "Yet."
Alex pretended to ignore him, turning back to his sketchbook but his next drawing wasn't of a stranger.
It was of her. Again.
Jamie Callahan.
And this time… he wasn't just sketching a memory.
He was sketching the beginning of something he wasn't sure he was ready for.