Mission Forensic|Part 16|The Conference of Hearts

Mission Forensic

Part 16: The Conference of Hearts

By Milik Ahmed

Read Previous Parts: Previous Parts

The late winter sun filtered lazily through the tall windows of the NIFS Delhi library, laying molten gold across the spines of weathered journals and the scattered pages of research notes. Dust motes drifted in slow spirals, suspended in the hush. Catherine sat cross-legged near the reference shelves, her notebook balanced on one knee, pen gliding in quick, precise strokes as she completed a toxicology flow chart. Each arrow and curve mapped the invisible pathways of rare synthetic poisons—trails that only the trained eye could follow.

Across the room, Edward was a study in quiet focus, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes locked on his laptop. The screen bathed his face in a soft green glow, molecular fingerprinting data cascading down in endless grids, like an encrypted heartbeat only he could hear. The faint click of his keyboard seemed in rhythm with Catherine’s pen, the two of them working in parallel, their separate worlds connected by the invisible thread of shared purpose.

Then—soft and sudden—the chime of an incoming email. Edward’s gaze flicked to his phone, the faint crease between his brows easing as he read the subject line. For a moment he simply looked at it, letting the moment fill the space between them before he spoke.

“Cathie…” His voice was low, but it cut through the library’s stillness. “My paper’s been accepted.”

Her pen froze mid-line, the ink pooling at the tip. “Which one?”

“Molecular fingerprinting—All India Forensic Conference. NIFS Gujarat.”

Before she could respond, her own phone lit up. She read the message slowly, the corners of her lips curling into a smile that seemed to warm the space around her. “And mine… Modern Toxicological Profiling for Rare Synthetic Poisons in Homicide Investigations.”

They didn’t laugh, didn’t exclaim. Instead, Edward rose and crossed to her desk, the muted thud of his footsteps on the carpet loud in the quiet. He placed his phone beside hers, the two acceptance emails side by side, their bold subject lines glowing faintly in the slanted sunlight. Catherine met his gaze, and in that shared look there was the unspoken history of late nights, abandoned meals, and the silent reassurance they had always found in each other’s presence.

***

A week later, dawn in Delhi lay wrapped in a thin veil of mist, softening the sharp outlines of the city as they stepped into the departure hall of Indira Gandhi International Airport. The air was tinged with the scent of roasted coffee drifting from a nearby kiosk, undercut by the sharper tang of jet fuel that clung faintly to the cavernous terminal.

Catherine’s handloom stole fell in soft folds over her shoulders, its pale threads catching and releasing the amber light each time she moved. The quiet elegance of it was matched only by the faint shimmer in her eyes—half from excitement, half from the thrill of sharing this journey with him. Edward, beside her, carried himself with the measured calm of a man who had prepared for this moment long before the invitation arrived. His charcoal blazer was pressed to an exactness that mirrored his lab precision, his tie knotted in the same steady hands that could coax truth from the most stubborn of evidence.

At the boarding gate, she drifted closer, her shoulder settling against his in the unstudied grace of two lives seamlessly stitched together. The touch was feather-light, almost incidental, yet steeped in a quiet familiarity that needed no acknowledgment. When she spoke, her words fell in a soft, conspiratorial murmur meant for him alone.

“Day one belongs to you. Don’t dazzle them so much I have to bribe the panel on day two.”

He tilted his head just enough for his breath to brush the curve of her ear, the smile on his lips both quiet and certain.

“You’ve never needed a bribe to win a room, Cathie. And you never will.”

***

The Vistara flight lifted into a horizon brushed with liquid gold, the hum of the engines a soft, unbroken thread beneath their silence. Somewhere over Rajasthan, Catherine shifted in her seat, her hand brushing against his before she let her head rest lightly on his shoulder. The faint, familiar fragrance of her hair mingled with the clean, cool scent of his cologne—an intimate perfume that felt like home.

Edward didn’t move, not even to adjust. His gaze fixed on the wing cutting through the clouds, but his awareness was wholly on her—the weight of her head, the even rhythm of her breathing, the quiet truth that in this vast, open sky, she had chosen him as her anchor.

***

Ahmedabad met them with a rush of warm air and the distant chorus of traffic. The cab ride to NIFS Gujarat took them through streets alive with colour—vendor carts bright with marigolds, temple bells ringing faintly somewhere beyond the traffic, the smell of frying snacks curling in through the open window.

The ride was meant to be thirty minutes; it stretched to forty. Catherine glanced at her watch as the campus gates came into sight. “Five minutes late,” she murmured.

“That’s forensic tolerance,” Edward replied, already pushing the cab door open before it fully stopped.

They moved across the green lawns at a brisk pace, conference IDs swinging from their lanyards, their breath visible in the mild winter air. Inside the auditorium, the inaugural address was already mid-flow—deep, resonant voices speaking of forensic science as a pillar of justice, as a light in places where darkness had grown too familiar.

***

Edward’s session came that same afternoon. His slides told stories only science could tell—how molecular fingerprints, invisible to the naked eye, had revived cases the world had long forgotten, how they had given identities back to those lost to time. He spoke with the steady cadence of someone who had stood in the stillness of evidence rooms, who had seen what truth looked like when it finally reached the people waiting for it. The applause began as a polite ripple, then built into something sustained. In the front row, Catherine’s clapping was quiet but unwavering, her eyes fixed on him until the final moment he left the stage.

***

Day two belonged to her. Catherine’s voice filled the hall with the clarity of conviction as she guided the audience through the chemical labyrinth of rare synthetic poisons—each molecule, each reaction a clue to the silent betrayals of murder. She wove her science into a story that kept the room leaning forward, holding their breath. From the back row, Edward’s gaze didn’t falter, as if the rest of the auditorium had ceased to exist.

***

The valedictory came with the rustle of silk sarees, the weight of marigold garlands, and the soft clink of certificates being exchanged. Applause faded into a warm undercurrent of conversation, but pride lingered—thick, quiet, and shared. Edward’s fingers brushed Catherine’s as they turned to leave, a touch so brief it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but enough to send a small, private spark between them.

***

Outside, evening rain fell in fine, silver threads, each droplet catching in the amber glow of the streetlamps before slipping into the dark sheen of the NIFS lawns. The path was slick underfoot, their shoes clicking softly in unison. Catherine’s stole clung lightly to her arm, darkened by the drizzle, and her hair, freed from the neat bun she had worn for her presentation, curled damply at her temples. Edward glanced sideways at her, not at the rain in her hair, but at the quiet triumph in her eyes.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. The silence between them was warm, threaded with the rhythm of footsteps and the sound of rain against the leaves.

***

The cab ride to the airport wound through streets polished to a mirror shine, neon lights breaking into liquid colors on the wet asphalt. The wipers kept a slow, deliberate time, each sweep revealing another fleeting frame of the city outside—a couple under one umbrella, a tea stall steaming in the rain, the sudden blur of a motorbike splashing through a puddle. Catherine leaned back against the seat, her knees turned toward Edward, her hand resting on the edge of his thigh in a quiet claim that neither of them thought to break.

At exactly six, the terminal lights rose ahead, hazy behind a curtain of water. As they stepped out, he caught her hand without thinking, their fingers locking briefly before the press of the crowd pulled them apart.

***

The flight to Delhi rose into a sky slashed with lightning, each flare a silent photograph of the storm. Inside the cabin, the air was dim and still. Catherine leaned into him, her head settling into the curve of his shoulder like it belonged there. Her perfume was faint now, laced with the clean scent of rain, and Edward felt the weight of her hand in his, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin in an absent, almost sleepy motion. He lowered his head just enough that his lips grazed the crown of her hair, not a kiss so much as a quiet acknowledgment: I’m here. Always.

***

They landed late, Delhi’s streets glistening black under the last sighs of rain. The drive home was quiet, their shoulders pressed together in the backseat, the city sliding past in liquid shadows.

***

At their flat, Catherine paused in the doorway, her hair still jeweled with raindrops. She was smiling—softly, the kind of smile she gave only him.

“You know…” Her voice was hushed, as though the night itself might overhear. “I think I’ll remember this conference more than any other.”

He leaned against the frame opposite her, watching the way her eyes held his. “Because of the papers?”

Her gaze deepened, the rain catching light in her lashes. “Because of us.”

For a moment, the world beyond their walls fell away—the rain’s whisper, the city’s hum, even the long days behind them. There was only the stillness, the way her hand found his without looking, and the quiet certainty that whatever lay ahead, they would face it the way they had faced everything else—together.

~Continue to Part-17