I Never Want The Sun To Set

5. An unfinished sketch and an unforgettable tale

20 June, 2017

Joel arrived late to school, the usual slow pulse of the morning stretching into the late hours. He had no particular reason for being late—it was just how things always went, as if time itself conspired to drag the mornings into a sluggish crawl. 

He had made up his mind the night before to skip that day. Maybe it was the weight of the world on his shoulders or maybe it was just the overwhelming monotony of routine, but either way, he was done with it.

Instead of heading to his classes, he found himself walking the familiar streets toward his quiet escape—the art materials shop. 

For him, it was more than just a store.

It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to slow down and the world outside didn't matter. 

The soft hum of the city faded away the moment he entered, replaced by the familiar scent of fresh paper, wood, and paint. 

A place where he could breathe easier, if only for a while.

The sun hung high in the sky, casting a warm glow across the city, but in the narrow alley where the shop resided, the shadows were long and cool. 

The small bell above the door jingled as he pushed it open. The shop was quiet, as usual, a small but cozy space that felt like it had been suspended in time. 

Shelves lined the walls, each stacked with brushes, paints, and sketchbooks, their spines like a maze that Joel had memorized years ago.

Joel made his way to the back, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor. His fingers brushed against the spines of various journals as he passed, each one promising a new world, a new story waiting to be captured. 

He was always drawn to the A5 sketchbooks, compact but roomy enough for the bursts of creativity he often had in the middle of the day.

After a moment of deliberation, he picked one off the shelf, flipping through the blank pages. It was perfect—just the right weight and size. 

Along with it, he grabbed five pencils, worn but still sharp enough for his needs. 

He was broke, but the thrill of buying new materials always made him feel rich, even if only for a short time.

As he made his way to the counter, Mark looked up. 

Mark, 22, was the store's owner. Joel was his regular customer, the only one who frequented the shop so often. 

He'd seen Joel in and out of the shop countless times, always browsing for new materials, or sometimes just coming in to chat.

Joel wasn't just a customer—he was a fixture in the store, someone who belonged here more than anywhere else. 

Over the years, Mark had come to know him well. He knew about Joel's quiet nature, how he'd never ask for much, just a few pencils and a sketchbook, and the time to lose himself in his work. 

He knew about the art Joel created—some of it even hung on the shop's walls, though Mark never made a big deal of it.

Mark smiled as he rang up the items.

"What's the occasion today, Joel? Bunking classes again, huh?"

Joel shrugged, setting the items down on the counter. 

He tried to appear casual, but there was a restlessness in his eyes, something Mark had noticed more recently.

"Sometimes, yep,"