Black and white photo of a fine line geometric heart tattoo made of triangular facets on a forearm, just above a knitted cuff.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Faceted geometric heart on a forearm

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A heart outline is built from straight black lines that divide its interior into triangular facets, similar to a cut gem or folded paper. The linework is thin and even, and the shape sits on the inner forearm close to a cuffed knit sleeve. The photograph is black and white, with a soft blurred background and a textured sleeve filling the left side of the frame.

Fine line Geometric Forearm Heart Triangle Facet

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Right, sit down before the crisps go soggy. Some of you still owe me a pound from the sweepstake in Mr Haddow's maths room, so I'll be quick. You all remember the note. It came across row three folded so many times it had turned into a hard little gem, and nobody could get a fingernail under the flaps. Mr Haddow caught it halfway and read it aloud, every word, because he reckoned that was punishment enough.

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What it said was nothing much. Marjorie Pell had written that the sum on the board was a lie, and that she would only ever marry the lad who could fold a paper heart with every facet flat and true. Dennis Brough took it as a dare. He spent the whole of double maths creasing scrap from the back of the register with a ruler, and by the bell he had a heart with a spine down the middle and triangles fanning out like cut glass. He didn't know what he was doing. He just kept folding until the corners agreed with one another.

Marjorie never married him. She wed a bus driver from Halifax and kept that paper in a tin of buttons for fifty years. Last spring her daughter tipped the tin out across a trestle table in the church hall, and there it was, flattened under the buttons, the creases still sharp enough to nick a thumb. Dennis sat at the back with his pint going warm, and he didn't pretend he hadn't seen it.

Right, that's your lot. Dennis, you owe me a pound and you owe Marjorie a straight line. Go on, fold it back up the way you did it at fourteen, and let's see if anyone here can get a fingernail under it.