The Role of Storytelling in Spatial Design

Have you ever stepped into a space and felt something stir within you—even before you understood why?

You can enter a room and instantly feel confident and sometimes a space can make you feel mild & vulnerable. There is always that special corner in your home where you feel most productive and there is always that one corner (nonetheless how small) that you just cannot get in order.

That subtle pull, that emotional echo, often arises from the story a space is telling. In architecture and spatial design, storytelling is not just about narrative in the literary sense—it’s about crafting experiences, embedding memory, evoking identity, and shaping emotion through built form- through volume, through light, through texture, through colours and through movements.

How light enters a room and the way it navigates through it during the day. Changing colours of sky visible through balcony windows. A soothing cup of coffee during golden hour filling the volume. The warmth of the sun gently brushing against textured walls, casting long silhouettes that stretch and shrink with time. The quiet hum of the evening slipping in, as artificial lights begin to glow — not to replace the sun, but to extend its poetry. Each moment, each movement becomes a chapter in the story of a space.

Now how on earth can a space tell a story?

Every building begins with a story—sometimes rooted in a client’s vision, sometimes drawn from the land itself. Together these two components set the context of this story. Through architecture, the story gets a tangible form.

Think of a corner house in an urban neighborhood. Stark white walls, large windows with grills and a small front gate. Everything is quiet and monochromatic. Suddenly a tiny splash of colour- a red-coloured main door demanding the focus. Think about the people living in that corner white house with a red door. Does it tell you that they are trying to live a modest life navigating the everyday chaos of city life with quiet grace. But that bold red door? It hints at something more- they do have their moments of spontaneity, adventure, joy and excitement. Every time you cross their lane; the red door catches your eye and has become the identity of the house just like those vivid moments of joy, excitement and spontaneity add depth and definition to their everyday reality.

Imagine stepping into a home with a minimal façade — a quiet, understated duplex with large windows, all veiled by drawn curtains. At first glance, it feels reserved, almost closed off. But as you cross the entrance and descend into a sunken level, the scene transforms. The interiors open up to reveal lush green surroundings, with barely any barrier between the house and the forest beyond. Suddenly, the home speaks. It tells you that while the lives within may appear secluded from the outside, once you’re welcomed in, you find a world filled with greenery, openness, hope, and love. Simply by being there, you're invited into this quiet, beautiful adventure.

Picture one more home. Narrow lane of an organic town. Open drains line the street, buildings press shoulder-to-shoulder with no setbacks, and the only hint of green comes from a few cracked pots on the plinths of a few houses. Now a surprise- a ray of hope- an exposed brick house with huge trees in their front yard having little squirrels playing on them. The entire building covered with greenery. Vines and creepers cloak the façade. The openness in the building created by semi open spaces and big windows, the greenery that elevates the entire lane is almost as soothing as a pond full of water in vast desert. Does it not tell you that people living in that house are trying to build a better world and that they are not afraid of being a rebel and a misfit.  

All these may seem like good fictional stories — until you realize that all three houses are real life examples (pictures below). In fact, if we look closely, the world is full of such stories. The smallest building tucked into the narrowest lane of the quietest village is trying to speak. Architecture isn't just about walls and roofs; it's about narratives. It has the power to shape the tone of a story — whether it unfolds as a melancholy or a celebration.

A well-designed space doesn’t just function; it sings. It carries the memory of what was, the clarity of what is, and the possibility of what could be. It is a reflection of who is living there.

Another component- the site. Every piece of land carries a legacy—geological, cultural, ecological, or emotional. As designers, we have the responsibility (and opportunity) to listen to what a site wants to say. What a site demands! Yes, a site is very demanding-much like a child. But if we understand its needs and respond to its demands with care and intent, it holds the potential to grow into something remarkable. Just like every child has the potential to become the person this world has quietly been waiting for.

Whether it’s an old industrial warehouse being reimagined as a community hub or a home built on ancestral land, the story already exists. Our job is to respond—to continue the dialogue which started long time back.

Designing with storytelling in mind means imagining how users will journey through a space. How do we want them to feel at the entrance? Where do we want them to pause? What moments of surprise or intimacy can we create? The degree of functionality any design holds gives a narration about the designers understanding of the context and users. If design is solving or easing out their everyday life, making it more comfortable, organized, exciting and joyous- it is a good story in making climax of which will be written by the user. The integrity with which he respects the function of spaces, his intent that reflects in his lifestyle and how beautifully he is celebrating very corner. This is how he can ensure a happy climax to this story which is continuous. It never ends. Users may change over course of time. One may leave and another may come. Someone’s climax can be another’s confrontation. The context keeps evolving. The idea remains same- writing a happy story for the present context. These stories should be remembered not for their scale or novelty, but for how they made people feel. It can transform architecture from object to experience. At Open Desk, we believe in celebrating the narratives behind the designs—the ones that are often invisible yet deeply felt. What stories have inspired your practice? What memories do your spaces carry?

Write to us. Share your journey. Let’s keep the conversation alive—one story at a time.