The pencil hovered over the page, its tip twitching as Elias Veran stared intently at his latest creation. The drawing depicted a massive tower, spiraling upward in twisting arcs that defied gravity and logic. Small details cluttered the margins—balconies tucked into its curves, windows framed by crawling ivy, and tiny walkways that connected levels in intricate patterns.
"Almost... there..." Elias muttered, narrowing his eyes as he carefully added another line. Then, as if on cue, the pencil tip snapped.
"Are you kidding me?" he groaned, tossing the pencil onto his desk with dramatic flair. He leaned back in his chair and let out a long, exaggerated sigh, glaring at the half-finished drawing as if it were responsible for all his life’s problems.
The room around him was a shrine to chaos. Sheets of paper covered nearly every surface—his desk, the bed, even the floor—each one filled with sketches of impossible structures, from gravity-defying bridges to entire cities nestled into cliffsides. His walls were plastered with blueprints and half-finished diagrams, most of them marked with frustrated scribbles or crumpled at the edges.
Elias glanced at the coffee cup sitting precariously close to the edge of his desk. It was empty, of course, which was typical. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten up to refill it.
"I’m going to die in this room," he muttered to himself, standing up and stretching. His back cracked ominously, a reminder that spending hours hunched over a desk probably wasn’t doing his body any favors. "No food, no sunlight, just me and a tower I can’t finish."
As if summoned by the universe itself, his phone buzzed on the edge of his desk. He grabbed it and squinted at the screen.
Charlie Lang.
Elias sighed but couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto his face. He swiped to answer. "Hey, Charlie."
"Elias Veran," Charlie began, his voice loud and theatrical. "Please tell me you’ve eaten something today. And no, coffee doesn’t count."
Elias winced. "Uh... define 'something.'"
"Anything that isn’t liquid caffeine. God, you’re hopeless. You’ve been sketching that tower thing again, haven’t you?"
Elias groaned and flopped onto his bed. "It’s not a 'tower thing.' It’s a revolutionary design that combines vertical gardens with sustainable—"
"Save the pitch," Charlie interrupted, laughing. "I’m coming over. I’ll bring real food. And don’t even think about arguing."
"I wasn’t going to," Elias said, grinning. "Thanks, Charlie."
"Yeah, yeah, don’t thank me yet. If you’re still brooding when I get there, I’m dragging you outside. Sunshine exists, you know."
The call ended, and Elias set the phone down, feeling a little less weighed down. Charlie had been his best friend since high school, a perpetual whirlwind of energy and good vibes who somehow always managed to pull Elias out of his creative ruts. If anyone could make him feel less like a failure, it was Charlie.
Still, Elias glanced at his desk, where the unfinished tower sketch stared back at him accusingly. "Not you too," he muttered, grabbing a fresh pencil and sitting back down.
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The knock at the door came exactly fifteen minutes later. Elias opened it to find Charlie standing there, holding a paper bag in one hand and a smug grin on his face. His dark, curly hair was a mess, and he was wearing a vintage band tee that looked two sizes too big.
"Behold," Charlie declared, holding up the bag like it was the Holy Grail. "Sandwiches. The cure for all your problems."
Elias stepped aside to let him in, laughing. "It’s not that bad."
Charlie raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the room, taking in the scattered papers, empty coffee mugs, and general sense of disarray. "Really? Because it looks like you’re one bad day away from losing it completely."
Elias rolled his eyes and sat on the bed as Charlie plopped down on the desk chair. "I’m fine. Just... stuck."
Charlie handed him a sandwich and unwrapped his own. "Stuck on the same thing?"
Elias nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. "I can’t get the structure right. The spiral’s too top-heavy. It’d collapse the second someone tried to live in it."
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Charlie chewed thoughtfully, glancing at the sketch pinned to the wall. "So... what’s the point of the spiral? Like, why does it have to twist like that?"
"Because it’s beautiful," Elias said simply. His voice softened as he looked at the drawing. "It’s not just a building. It’s... a statement. About what we can create, about the kind of world we could live in if we just tried."
Charlie smirked. "You’re such a nerd."
"Shut up," Elias said, throwing a pillow at him.
They spent the next hour eating and talking, with Charlie expertly steering the conversation away from Elias’s usual self-doubt. By the time they were done, Elias felt lighter, like he could breathe again.
"You know," Charlie said as he stood to leave, "you should come to the park with me tomorrow. Clear your head."
Elias hesitated, glancing at his desk. "I don’t know. I’ve got—"
"No excuses," Charlie said firmly. "You’re coming. I’ll text you the details."
Elias sighed but smiled. "Fine. But if you try to make me jog, I’m leaving."
Charlie grinned. "Deal. See you tomorrow."
As the door closed behind him, Elias looked around his apartment. It was still messy, still chaotic, but it didn’t feel quite so oppressive anymore. He sat back down at his desk, picked up his pencil, and stared at the unfinished tower.
"Okay," he said quietly, taking a deep breath. "Let’s try this again."
The pencil danced across the paper, each stroke breathing life into the twisting, impossible spire that had consumed Elias Veran’s thoughts for weeks. He leaned closer to the page, his brow furrowed, the tip of his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. Every line mattered. Every curve had to be just right.
“Perfect,” he whispered as he added the final flourish to the base of the tower. But then his eyes narrowed. “Wait, no. The foundation's too thin—ugh, again?”
He slumped back in his chair, letting the pencil clatter onto the desk. The drawing stared back at him, mocking him with its unfinished symmetry. Elias ran a hand through his hair, his fingers snagging on the tangles he hadn’t bothered to comb out that morning—or was it afternoon? Time had a way of slipping away when he got into the zone.
“You’re killing me, tower,” he muttered, glaring at the sketch. “Why can’t you just work?”
His phone buzzed faintly on the edge of his desk, but he didn’t even glance at it. It was probably Charlie checking in again or sending him some meme about overworking himself. He appreciated Charlie’s concern—he really did—but he was too deep in this now. He couldn’t stop until he figured it out.
The problem wasn’t the idea. The idea was brilliant. A spire that combined sleek modern design with lush, vertical gardens—a true merging of architecture and nature. It wasn’t just a building; it was a statement. But the execution? That was another story entirely.
Elias leaned forward again, ready to take another crack at it, when his stomach growled loudly, cutting through the silence of the room. He froze, blinking. When was the last time he’d eaten? Breakfast? Or... maybe yesterday?
“I should probably fix that,” he muttered to himself, standing up and stretching. His back protested with a series of cracks, and he winced. “And maybe move around before I turn into a statue.”
He shuffled to the kitchen, opening the fridge with a sigh. A single yogurt cup sat forlornly on the top shelf, accompanied by a half-empty bottle of ketchup and a container of questionable leftovers. Elias frowned.
"Living the dream," he said dryly, grabbing the yogurt and a spoon. He leaned against the counter as he ate, his gaze drifting back to the cluttered desk in the corner of his tiny apartment. Papers covered every surface, most of them filled with sketches of buildings, bridges, and impossible cities. Some were crumpled, others pinned to the walls with bits of tape that had long since lost their stickiness.
Elias let out a slow breath, setting the empty yogurt cup in the sink. He wasn’t unhappy—not really. He loved designing, loved the challenge of creating something that had never existed before. But there was a weight that came with it too, a nagging voice in the back of his mind that whispered, What if it’s not enough? What if you’re not enough?
Shaking his head, Elias grabbed his pencil and returned to his desk, determined to shut that voice up with sheer persistence. He flipped to a new page in his notebook, tapping the pencil against his chin as he thought. If he adjusted the base to account for lateral wind resistance...
His phone buzzed again, but this time, it didn’t stop. The vibration rattled against the desk, demanding his attention. Elias glanced at it with a frown, his irritation melting into confusion when he saw the names on the screen: Mom. Dad. Emma. Zach.
“Oh no,” he whispered, picking up the phone. The screen lit up with missed calls—four from his mom, two from his dad, one from Emma, and even one from Zach, who almost never called unless it was important.
It hit him like a freight train.
“Dinner!” Elias shouted, nearly dropping the phone. “Crap, crap, crap—I’m late!”
He scrambled to check the time. 7:45 PM. He was supposed to meet his family at 7:00.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair as panic set in. “They’re going to kill me.”
His chair screeched against the floor as he stood, grabbing his bag from the corner of the room. He tossed his notebook inside without a second thought, zipping it up as he glanced around the apartment. Did he have everything? His wallet? Keys? Phone?
He swiped his phone off the desk and stuffed it into his pocket, muttering a string of apologies under his breath as if his family could hear him. “I’m so sorry, I’m the worst, I’ll never be late again—oh my god, they’re going to disown me.”
Throwing on his jacket, Elias glanced at the mirror by the door. His reflection stared back at him: messy hair, faint smudges of pencil on his cheek, and an expression that screamed I’m in trouble. He considered trying to fix it, then decided against it. There wasn’t time.
He slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbed his keys, and bolted out the door, his heart pounding as he sprinted down the hallway.
They’re never going to let me live this down, he thought as he hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. Next time, set an alarm, Elias. Or ten. Ten alarms.
The sound of the city greeted him as he pushed open the door to the street, the cool evening air hitting his face. He didn’t stop, weaving through the crowd with his bag bouncing against his side.
Please don’t be too mad, he thought as he broke into a jog. Please, please, please...