Mission Forensic
Part 29: The Opening
The campus was unrecognisable by morning. Banners stretched high over the gates, bold and clear, the fonts crisp as though the paper itself carried authority. Posters lined the corridors, their surfaces still smelling faintly of ink, schedules printed in sharp lines—Edward’s work, now multiplied across the Institute. Students clustered near them in little knots, murmuring about the sessions, tracing fingers over the list of guests.
Edward parked beneath the neem trees, his eyes catching on the banner for a heartbeat before he cut the engine. Catherine tilted her head toward him, smiling. “You see? Your designs are already doing half the work.”
He didn’t answer, but she saw the flicker of pride he tried to hide.
The auditorium was a storm of preparation. Chairs clattered as volunteers shifted rows, garlands of marigold unfurled across the stage, the podium polished until it gleamed. Trays of water glasses waited in neat rows at the wings. Faculty moved briskly, voices low but firm, each step orchestrated toward the same goal.
Edward stood at the centre of it, clipboard in hand, his blazer sharper than usual, his movements precise. He wasn’t just another volunteer; he was the one directing them.
“Keep that aisle clear,” he instructed one group of juniors. “And someone check the projector feed again. We can’t afford a glitch during the Dean’s address.”
Catherine brushed past him, balancing a tray of folders for distribution at the registration desk. She caught his glance, her lips curving faintly. Shawn followed close behind, muttering under his breath.
“Carrying files, adjusting chairs, smiling politely… I feel like an extra in a courtroom drama.”
Ahana, walking with a stack of ID cards, didn’t look at him. “If you’d focus, you’d feel like part of a team instead.”
“I am part of a team,” Shawn replied, flashing a grin. “The comedy relief.”
Ahana’s sigh was sharp, but Catherine’s laugh carried lightly across the aisle.
By ten, the hall had filled. The audience settled in hushed waves, notebooks open, pens poised. On stage, the Dean sat composed, flanked by guests—lab directors, senior toxicologists, a Deputy Director from CBI, each carrying the air of practiced gravitas.
The inaugural lamp was lit, sandalwood smoke curling upward. Applause followed, rising like a tide.
From his post at the side, Edward kept the rhythm steady: escorting dignitaries to the podium, adjusting microphones, cueing the student volunteers when transitions faltered. He moved quietly, invisible to most, yet the hall’s smooth flow depended on his presence.
In the third row, Catherine sat with Shawn and Ahana, her volunteer badge pinned neatly at her side. She watched Edward in profile—steady, assured, no trace of hesitation in the way he leaned toward a guest with polite efficiency. Pride settled in her chest like warmth, silent but undeniable.
Shawn leaned closer, whispering behind his program sheet. “Mark my words—by next year, he’ll be running the CBI.”
“Shh,” Ahana hissed, her gaze fixed on the stage. “At least pretend to listen.”
“I am listening,” he countered. “I’m just metabolising the speeches into boredom.”
Ahana’s glare silenced him more effectively than the Dean’s voice ever could. Catherine pressed her lips together, suppressing her laugh.
Hours slid by in waves of speeches and welcomes. The fragrance of marigold lingered thick in the hall, mixing with the faint hum of the projector and the low murmur of introductions. Edward checked the list twice, ensured each guest file found its way to the right desk, adjusted the lights before the technical demonstration began.
By the time the last applause faded and the dignitaries stepped down, the morning sun had shifted, spilling sharp white light through the high windows.
Outside the auditorium, students spilled onto the lawns, their conversations buzzing with impressions of the day. Shawn stretched theatrically. “And thus begins our five-day sentence. May the gods of forensic coffee keep us alive.”
“You mean, may the organisers keep you fed,” Ahana said dryly, shifting the strap of her bag.
Catherine’s gaze drifted toward the doors just as Edward stepped out, clipboard still under his arm, his shoulders carrying both exhaustion and a quiet satisfaction. She walked to him without hesitation.
“You were flawless,” she said simply.
He gave a tired laugh, shaking his head. “I only managed cables and chairs.”
“No,” she corrected, her eyes holding his. “You anchored the stage. And everyone saw it—even if they didn’t realise it.”
For a moment, the noise of the crowd fell away. Edward exhaled, the weight of the day easing just slightly under her words.
Shawn clapped him on the back. “Well, if nothing else, at least you’ve perfected the art of looking important.”
Ahana tugged Shawn’s sleeve before he could say more, but her lips curved, betraying amusement.
As dusk lowered across the lawns, the four drifted toward the parking lot. Shawn and Ahana peeled off toward the bus stand, their banter fading into the dark. Edward and Catherine crossed to his car in quiet rhythm.
He unlocked the door, fatigue catching in the set of his shoulders. Catherine slipped into the passenger seat, her voice softer now. “Day one.”
He settled behind the wheel, the faintest smile at his mouth. “Day one.”
The campus lights blurred in the rear-view mirror as they drove away, the evening holding between them not weariness alone, but the quiet sweetness of pride shared.
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