Orin

“Oh, it’s just you,” Lyra said as she opened the door, finding Orin standing on the stoop with his satchel slung neatly over one shoulder.

Rude, Orin thought, arching a single eyebrow. “Nice to see you too, Lyra,” he replied dryly.

Orin was one of Lyra’s oldest friends, a constant presence in her life since they were young. They loved each other dearly, but frank expressions were the norm.

“Sorry, Orin,” Lyra said. “I was just interacting with my darling brother.”

“I thought you might want to see something interesting,” Orin said, patting his satchel—the faint clink of tools inside catching Lyra’s attention.

“Do come in, good sir,” Lyra said, stepping aside.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Orin strode past her, his blond hair perfectly groomed, his white shirt crisp and freshly ironed. Everything about him screamed precision—not in an annoying way like Eryx, though. Orin’s orderliness was fussy but endearing.

“Let’s see it, then,” Lyra said, following him into the kitchen. She gestured to the table where one of her many sketchbooks lay open. “I’ve been working on some more patterns, as usual.”

Orin set his satchel down and carefully flipped through the pages. He looked at Lyra and nodded approvingly. “You’ve definitely got talent… and you’re getting better, too. They just need a little… refinement.”

Lyra chuckled. “Let me guess. You brought a ruler?”

“Of course.” Orin beamed, unbuckling his satchel. Inside were a variety of scholarly items, including the mystery object, a compass, a piece of string, and, naturally, a ruler. “Never leave home without it.”

“Well, if it isn’t the great Orin,” Eryx interrupted, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “What’s today’s exciting discovery? A perfectly square haircut?”

Rude, Orin thought to himself again. Why is everyone so rude today? He wouldn’t be so rude if I jabbed him in the eye with my ruler.

Lyra shot him a pointed look, the kind that said, Be nice, Orin. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Nice to see you too, Eryx,” Orin said after a restrained pause.

Eryx sauntered into the room, crossing his arms as he surveyed the table.

“What are you two doing, then? Fixing the world with wonky lines and doodles?”

“Something like that,” Orin replied. “Want to help?”

Eryx smirked. “I’ll pass. I’ve got better things to do.” He reached out to shuffle Lyra’s pencils, but she swatted his hand away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked, exasperated.

“Okay, okay,” Eryx said, retreating. “Misshapen circles aren’t my thing anyway.”

Lyra sighed as he disappeared back down the hallway. “Sorry about him,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Orin smiled, brushing off the interruption. “No worries. Now, where was I?” He continued rummaging through his satchel with deliberate flair, glancing at Lyra with a sparkle of mystery in his eyes.

He thinks he’s a magician, Lyra thought to herself. What is it this time?

Orin pulled out a nondescript notebook, followed by a ruler, and finally a pencil. He placed each item methodically on the table, ensuring they were perfectly parallel and orderly, as if the alignment itself was part of the presentation.

Lyra crossed her arms, unimpressed. “A pencil? Groundbreaking, Orin. Groundbreaking.”

“Patience,” Orin said, clearly enjoying himself. He paused, drawing out the moment, his hand hovering in the satchel. “Prepare to be… amazed,” he declared, his voice brimming with anticipation. With a theatrical flourish, he finally revealed his pièce de résistance: a gleaming, brand-new protractor.

Lyra blinked, staring blankly at it. Even Boris, the family dog lounging in the corner, rolled his eyes and huffed.

“Behold!” Orin held the protractor aloft like a trophy, grinning and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself. “Well? What do you think?”

Lyra stifled a laugh, shaking her head. “Wow, Orin. Really pushing the boundaries there.”

“Angles are exciting!” he replied.

“Well,” Lyra said with a smirk, “maybe we can measure some angles later. Make a day of it.”

Orin’s grin faded slightly as his gaze fell back on her sketchbook. His brow furrowed as the perfectionist in him took over. “Honestly, Lyra, you’ll never get these designs right without accuracy. Geometry is about precision, not just imagination. It might start in the mind, but what’s the point if that’s where it stays?”

Lyra knew he was right and was just about to admit it when the doorbell rang again. “Wait here, Orin. I’ll be right back.”

Task

Orin knows that imagination is important, but precision—precision—is essential. A design may begin as an idea, but without careful construction, it remains little more than wishful thinking.

What it needs are perfectly straight lines.

Clean. Exact. Deliberate.

Can you help him?

On the next page, you’ll find pairs of dots waiting to be connected. Draw a straight line between each pair. And here’s the catch… do it without a ruler.

Take your time, and try to make every line steady and deliberate—no wobbles.

Then comes the even harder part.

Can you draw perfectly straight lines without any guide at all?

In your sketchbook (or on a spare page), draw one straight line freehand. Then draw a second line parallel to the first, keeping the distance between them consistent from beginning to end.

Can you draw three? Five? A whole page full?

Precision takes practice—and even Orin had to start somewhere.