Mission Forensic
Part 26:Meeting and Anthropology Lab
Monday morning began without hurry, the lilies in the vase by the window still holding the faint fragrance of yesterday. Edward drove while Catherine sat beside him, her stole wrapped loosely against the early spring air. The city bustled awake around them—rickshaws honking, fruit sellers arranging baskets on pavements—but inside the car the world felt contained, their conversation light, their silences companionable.
By the time they reached the NIFS campus, the lawns were alive with students cutting across paths, the white facade of the main building catching the morning sun. Edward locked the car, Catherine falling easily into step beside him, their strides matched without thought.
***
The first two classes moved with the familiar rhythm of slides on the projector, markers squeaking across the whiteboard, pens scratching over notebooks. Catherine sat just to Edward’s left, her handwriting neat and deliberate, while Shawn at the back muttered his own commentary loud enough for Ahana to hush him twice.
When the second class ended, Edward was slipping his notebook into his bag when his phone buzzed. A message blinked on the screen:
Edward, come to the Meeting Hall. Meeting now. – Dr. Ridhima
He showed it briefly to Catherine. “I’ll be back after this.”
She gave him a look both encouraging and amused. “Don’t forget to breathe. Faculty meetings are scarier than viva voce.”
He smiled faintly, then turned toward the quieter corridors of the faculty wing.
***
The meeting room was already occupied when he arrived. The Dean at the head of the table, her crisp white saree and calm authority setting the tone. Dr. Harsh beside her, flipping his notepad. Dr. Ridhima, in a pale peach saree, gestured for Edward to take the remaining seat.
“You’re here,” she said, her voice both measured and welcoming.
The discussion was brisk but weighty. The Dean outlined the importance of the five-day Skill Development Workshop. Posters and flyers were to be designed immediately—Edward’s task. Dr. Ridhima’s instructions were clear: keep it professional, minimal, and strong. The guest list too took shape—faculty from allied institutes, crime lab directors, possibly a senior officer from CBI.
Edward spoke little, but when he suggested staggered timings for technical sessions to avoid overlap, the Dean nodded once, marking his words. The acknowledgment landed with a weight that steadied him.
When the meeting adjourned, Edward stepped back into the corridor, the sound of his footsteps carrying the mix of pressure and pride that came with being the only student at that table.
***
He found Catherine and the others waiting in the canteen. Trays clattered, voices rose and fell, but at their table the world was smaller—Ahana balancing her notes beside her thali, Shawn already bargaining for bites of Catherine’s paratha.
Edward slid into the chair beside her. Catherine leaned close enough for her shoulder to brush his. “So? How terrifying?”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Not terrifying. Just… heavier than usual. Posters, flyers, guest lists.”
“You’ll make it look effortless,” she said, her voice certain in that way of hers that always steadied him.
Shawn interrupted with a dramatic groan. “Effortless? Meanwhile, I’m trying to survive anthropometry calculations without crying in public.”
Ahana arched a brow at him. “Public or private, the math won’t change.”
The table broke into laughter, the weight of the morning easing into the warmth of shared food.
***
The afternoon carried them into the Anthropology Lab. The whiteboard still bore skeletal ratios from last week, diagrams faintly smudged. The air held a chemical tang, the sweet-bitter trace of a DNA extraction some other students had performed earlier, clinging to the varnished wood and metal like a memory that refused to leave. Calipers caught the light, waiting.
Edward and Catherine worked steadily, their measurements precise, notes aligned. Across the bench, Shawn held up a femur replica with the air of a man betrayed by science.
“If this bone doesn’t start calculating itself, I’m done,” he announced.
Catherine hid her smile behind her notes. Edward, without looking up, said mildly, “You’re holding it upside down.”
Ahana’s soft sigh was nearly lost in the scrape of stools. “Hopeless,” she muttered, but she adjusted the caliper for him anyway.
For all the groans, the hours passed quickly, filled with laughter and the steady rhythm of work.
***
By evening the four drifted into the library. Its tall glass doors closed them into hush and lamplight, rows of shelves stretching into patient shadows. They claimed a corner table—Catherine unfolding her pharmacology notes, Edward pulling his laptop closer, Ahana with journals neatly stacked, and Shawn already complaining after ten minutes of reading.
“Trade your flyer design for my report?” Shawn asked Edward, hopeful.
Edward didn’t look up. “No.”
“Cold,” Shawn sighed. “Absolutely cold.”
The hours slipped away in quiet study. The lamps cast pools of amber light over their pages, the sound of turning leaves and scratching pens their steady music.
***
When the library shut at 8:30, they stepped out together, and the campus fell into evening calm. Lamps glowed across the lawns, paths gleamed faintly in the night air. At the parking lot, Shawn and Ahana veered off toward the Metro Station near the front Gate. Edward and Catherine crossed to his car, the quiet between them filled with the satisfaction of a day well-worn.
As the engine started, Catherine leaned back in her seat, the lilies from last night briefly flickering in her mind. “Back to the rhythm again,” she murmured.
Edward’s eyes stayed on the road, but there was a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Not the same rhythm, though.”
And as they drove into the city lights, the week stretched before them—demanding, promising, alive.
