I don’t know why I picked up the pencil.
Didn’t plan to draw. Haven’t drawn in years.
But something about last night…
Her.
The dream felt like a memory I was never supposed to keep. And yet, the moment I woke, her face—God, her face—was all I could see. I tried to shake it. Buried myself in emails, calendars, numbers, the mess of a company that never sleeps. But she lingered. In the silence between keystrokes. In the dark between thoughts.
So I gave in. Let my hand move. Let something older than logic take the lead.
And there she is now—on the page in front of me.
Sharp eyes. Calm mouth. A stillness in her expression that says she’s seen the world burn and didn’t blink.
But there’s something else—something softer.
Something that makes my chest ache.
I trace the edge of her cheek with my eyes first. Then my hand follows, fingers skimming over graphite lines like they might warm beneath my touch.
They don’t.
Of course they don’t.
She’s not real.
But she feels real.
Familiar.
Safe.
I don’t even know her name, and somehow, it feels like I’ve known her my whole life.
Is that insane?
There’s no logic to this. I work in my father’s global company. I’ve built my life on decisions that make sense. But this woman…
She’s undoing something in me.
And the crazy part?
I want her to.
— Luke Vang
