Two small fine line black tattoos, a sun and an arched window, on the forearms of two people holding hands at a café table.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Sun and window tattoos on forearms

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

Two people hold hands across a round café table, with their forearms visible and small black tattoos on each arm. One forearm carries a small starburst sun with pointed rays, and the other carries a simple arched window with a grid of panes. A third small black mark sits near the wrist, and the composition is a top-down view with soft natural light on a grey pavement.

Fine line Forearm Sun Starburst Window Star Coffee cup

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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

You are on the stepladder at seven with a rag in one hand, working the last of the rain out of the corners of the registry office window. The key was under a geranium pot, as the council man promised, and the bunting along the railings keeps snagging on the wind and slapping the stone. Somebody has already opened a tin of biscuits on the hall table, which means somebody is nervous, and it is not you.

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The window is arched, with eight panes in a grid, and the glass clouds first in the top left where the damp gets in. You work from there. The sun comes up behind the church tower and finds the panes one at a time, so the whole room warms from the corner like a teapot being filled. Pigeons settle on the gutter and watch you with the same disapproval as the registrar's secretary.

The couple arrive before nine, which nobody told you they would do. They stand on the pavement with a flask between them, not quite touching, passing the cup back and forth as if it were a small job they have agreed to share. You stay up the ladder longer than you need to. From up here you can see his hand find the inside of her wrist, and how she turns her palm so their fingers lock, the way people do once the difficult part has been settled somewhere quieter.

When the door is unlocked you climb down, fold the rag over the sill and leave the bucket in the cupboard. The sun has moved across the floorboards and laid a bright arch on the boards, exactly the shape of the window. They walk straight into it without looking down, and you pick up your keys and go out past the bunting, which has finally come loose and is blowing down the high street on its own.