Mission Forensic
Part 27: The Draft
The clock had already slipped past nine when Edward and Catherine stepped back into their flat. The day’s weight still clung to their shoulders—classes, labs, library hours, and for Edward, the meeting that had set him apart. Yet the quiet of their apartment received them like a reprieve, the faint scent of lilies by the window folding into the night air.
Catherine kicked off her sandals and collapsed into the sofa with a sigh, stretching like someone determined to leave the day behind. Edward placed his keys on the counter, poured two glasses of water, and lingered a moment at the vase, the lilies still luminous against the dimness.
“Tea?” he asked, already half-reaching for the kettle.
She shook her head, eyes closed. “If you make tea, I’ll never let you touch the laptop tonight. You’ll sit here and drink, and tomorrow Dr. Ridhima will have you designing posters in your sleep.”
Edward gave the faintest smile. “So ruthless.”
“Efficient,” she corrected, though the curve of her lips betrayed her.
He sat beside her, laptop balanced on his knees. The screen’s glow lit the room in pale light, pushing against the shadows as he opened a blank canvas. The cursor blinked, waiting, insistent.
Catherine leaned in, her shoulder brushing his. “Start with the title. Something bold, but not pompous.”
His fingers tapped: Five-Day Hands-On Forensic Skill Development Workshop.
“Too long for the header,” she murmured. “Shrink it. Just Forensic Skill Development Workshop. The dates can carry the rest.”
He adjusted, and the page breathed easier. Together, they bent over the screen, debating colors, fonts, layouts. Edward preferred sharp lines, restrained palettes. Catherine argued for warmth—an edge softened here, a shade of blue instead of grey.
“Minimal doesn’t mean lifeless,” she said, tilting her head at the mock-up.
“And vivid doesn’t mean clutter,” he returned, though his tone carried more amusement than rebuke.
She reached over, sliding the mouse from his hand. “Let me try.”
He watched as she rearranged the emblem to the corner, balanced the text with a thin border, adjusted the spacing until the design felt less rigid. When she leaned back, satisfied, he nodded once.
“Better,” he admitted.
Catherine grinned, triumphant. “That’s because you only see data. I see people.”
Edward saved the file, the title bar flashing Draft 1. “And together?”
“Together,” she said softly, her voice lingering like a touch, “we see both.”
By the time the draft took shape—crisp header, subdued tones, the Institute’s emblem glowing at the corner—it was nearly midnight. Catherine sat cross-legged on the sofa, yawning between suggestions, her hair falling in loose strands over her cheek. Edward sent the file off to Dr. Ridhima with a short message: First draft attached. Will refine after feedback.
He shut the laptop, the screen darkening to leave only the lamplight between them. Catherine leaned sideways, her head finding his shoulder with the ease of habit.
“Told you,” she murmured, half-asleep already, “you’d make it brilliant.”
Edward lowered his cheek into her hair, the faint scent of lavender and shampoo rising to meet him. His arm slipped around her, steady and sure.
The night hummed softly around them—the ceiling fan’s whir, the muffled life of the city beyond the glass. On the table, the lilies kept their silent vigil, their pale petals luminous in the dimness.
Edward closed his eyes, feeling the day finally release its grip. The draft was sent, the week was waiting, and Catherine was here beside him. For now, that was enough.
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