Mission Forensic
Part 39: Homes That Hold Our Names
Morning in June was soft as butter on warm bread—slow, golden, unhurried. Semester break stretched ahead of them like a field after harvest: open, peaceful, ready for breathing.
Edward and Catherine stood at the airport drop-off, wheels of their suitcases clicking over the pavement, the hum of travelers rising around them like distant static.
Catherine, hair braided loosely, looked up at him with a smile that hid a small ache.
“So,” she said, fingers hooking lightly into his sleeve, “ready to be fed twenty different dishes in twenty minutes?”
He smirked. “My mother has already made a checklist.”
“And my mother is sharpening her questions,” she returned. “Top one being: ‘Who is this Edward? Do you study or spend time flirting?’”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to answer that in person someday.”
Her smile widened, then softened.
The loudspeaker announced her boarding. Catherine lifted her bag handle.
“Call me when you reach,” she said.
“I will. And you call when you land in Arunachal.”
“Deal.”
They stood there one more heartbeat, the world briefly blurry around them. Not quite ready to let go, not quite needing words.
Catherine rose onto her toes and whispered, “Don’t overthink things when you’re home.”
He kissed her forehead, lingering. “Don’t underestimate how much I’ll miss you.”
Her breath hitched—just slightly.
Then she walked toward security, turning once to wave, her eyes carrying a warmth he felt even after she vanished behind the glass doors.
Edward exhaled and headed to his own gate.
Break had begun, but something in him remained gently, unmistakably tied to her.
Catherine’s Journey — East Siang, Arunachal Pradesh
The flight carried her above clouds that looked like soft-white mountains. When she landed at Pasighat, the world became green—wild, dense, alive. A car wound through forested bends toward East Siang, the river glimpsing between bamboo groves like liquid silver.
Catherine leaned her forehead against the glass.
Home always smelled like wet earth, lemongrass, and old stories.
At the gate of her house, her mother rushed out, arms warm and familiar.
“My girl!” she exclaimed. “You’ve become thinner! Delhi stress has eaten you!”
Catherine laughed and let herself be held.
Inside, her father sat with a newspaper, pretending not to be emotional even as his eyes softened.
“So, scientist,” he said. “Did you solve every crime in Delhi already?”
“Working on it,” she replied, dropping her bags.
Lunch was bamboo shoot curry, smoked pork, roselle leaves, and hot rice—flavors that tasted like childhood and comfort. After eating, Catherine stood on the bamboo porch, watching the orange evening spread across rice fields and the Siang river rumbling steady as a heartbeat.
Night settled quickly in the valley.
She sat with her mother, listening to cicadas, her head resting on her mother’s shoulder the way she used to when younger. But her thoughts wandered—warmly, inevitably—toward Edward.
Her phone buzzed.
Edward: Reached home. Forced to eat three plates already. Send help.
Catherine: That’s your fate. Accept it.
Edward: Miss you.
Catherine: Miss you too.
She closed her phone and smiled into the night.
Edward’s Journey — Guwahati, Assam
Guwahati greeted him with humid air and the familiar scent of the Brahmaputra—muddy, sprawling, ancient.
His younger sister spotted him first at the arrivals gate.
“Dada!” she yelled, clinging to him. “You’re alive!”
His mother pulled him into a tight hug the second he stepped outside.
“You’ve lost weight,” she declared. “Criminal. Sit in the car. I brought food.”
In the backseat, she fed him paratha pieces as if he hadn't eaten in years.
Home was loud—photos on walls, the smell of fish curry cooking, the ceiling fan creaking the same way it always had. His father gave him a firm clap on the shoulder.
“Good work this semester,” he said. “Now relax. Before your mother feeds you into a coma.”
Edward laughed, something loosening inside him.
At dusk, he walked to the riverbank. Boats bobbed in place, the water shifting in slow, ancient rhythms. Fireflies blinked among the reeds.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed this calm.
But still—his hand drifted to his phone, thumb hovering.
He sent her a photo of the river.
A minute later, a photo arrived: Catherine on her porch, hair loose, mountains behind her.
Both smiled at their screens.
Across states, their breaths matched in ways neither could describe.
Catherine in East Siang
Catherine slipped back into home like she had never left.
Her mother handed her a basket of greens.
“Cut these,” her mother said, already reaching for bamboo shoots. “Delhi must have fed you nonsense again.”
Catherine grinned. “Yes, Ma. Exactly. I survived solely on stress and Maggi.”
Her mother paused. “Maggi?”
She blinked. “I meant… nutritious Maggi.”
Her mother clicked her tongue. “Hopeless.”
They chopped vegetables together, knives tapping in easy rhythm. Catherine breathed in the familiar scent of lemongrass and smoke from the kitchen fire. It felt like being wrapped in an old, soft quilt.
Later, she walked to the Siang river. Mist curled around her like a welcome, cool and silver. She sat on the smooth rocks, toes almost touching the water, letting the breeze carry her thoughts.
And then came the ambush.
“Didi!”
“Didi came back!”
A flood of children barreled toward her, nearly knocking her off balance.
“Careful!” she laughed, catching the smallest one before he fell into the river. “Have you all grown taller or am I shrinking?”
A little girl tugged her sleeve. “Didi, we kept your drawing! The one you made last year!”
Another one chimed in, “Show her, show her!”
They dragged her to a small bamboo hut and proudly presented her old sketches pinned to the wall—flowers, birds, a terribly drawn microscope from her school days.
Back home, her father pulled out an ancient notebook with her childhood handwriting.
“I found this,” he announced dramatically. “Proof of your early crimes.”
Catherine grabbed the book. “Oh no. Burn it.”
Her father flipped a page. “What is this drawing?”
She groaned. “A DNA helix.”
“It looks like noodles.”
She laughed until her stomach hurt, leaning against him.
But that night, when she lay under the mosquito net and the valley fell into quiet, her fingers drifted over her phone screen more than once. She didn’t call. But she imagined a warm hand closing over hers, the sound of Edward’s laugh, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her.
And she missed him—gently, deeply, without ache.
Edward in Guwahati
Guwahati greeted Edward with humidity and the ever-present smell of frying pakodas.
His mother didn’t even let him reach the living room.
“Sit.”
She thrust a plate at him. “Eat. You’ve become thin like a bamboo stick.”
He held up a finger. “Ma, I just arrived—”
“Eat first. Argue later.”
His younger sister leaned against the doorway, smirking. “You look like a dehydrated researcher.”
“I am,” he said.
“And you have a girlfriend,” she added, eyes gleaming.
“Absolutely not the topic right now,” he muttered.
“Oh please,” she said, “Catherine—oh God, even her name sounds like someone who’d judge me.”
He shot up. “Come here—”
She squealed and ran, Edward chasing her through the hall while their mother shouted, “DON’T BREAK THE SOFA!”
That evening, he played Chess with his father.
He moved his knight. Blundered spectacularly.
His father leaned back. “You were better at this when you were ten.”
“Thanks, Papa.”
Later, his mother set out three different fish curries.
“Try all,” she insisted. “Tell me which is best.”
“Ma,” Edward groaned, “even my stomach needs processing time.”
She put the ladle down. “Then process quickly.”
His sister piped up, “Ask Catherine to help you process.”
Edward threw a napkin at her. She dodged, laughing.
When the house finally quieted, he climbed to the terrace.
City lights shimmered, the Brahmaputra breeze brushing past him with a memory-like softness.
He rested his elbows on the railing and whispered to the empty air, “You’d like it here, Catherine. The river’s beautiful today.”
A soft buzz interrupted him—her message:
Send me your view?
He smiled and took a photo.
A moment later, his phone lit up: Catherine against a mountain sky, eyes bright.
Two Places, One Rhythm
While Catherine dipped her feet in cold river water and Edward warmed his hands around a clay cup of chai…
While she laughed with village kids and he argued with his sister…
While she sorted through memories with her father and he relearned carrom under the teasing gaze of his mother…
Their minds kept drifting, again and again, toward the same thought:
I wish you were here.
And though the miles stretched across states and valleys and rivers, the distance felt strangely light—
as if their hearts had learned how to shrink it.
The Video Call
One night, both tucked beneath their blankets miles apart, they finally called.
“Show me your room,” Catherine said.
Edward flipped the camera. “This is the table where I pretended to study.”
She pointed at the shelf. “And those trophies are…?”
“Spelling competitions. Don’t be impressed.”
She grinned. “Too late.”
When she showed her room, he spotted faded star stickers on her cupboard.
“Wow,” he teased. “Very mature décor.”
“They glow in the dark,” she said proudly.
Her mother suddenly entered the frame.
Catherine groaned. “Ma—”
But her mother waved excitedly. “Edward! Eat properly! Don’t work too much!”
He straightened automatically. “Yes, aunty.”
Then his sister jumped into the call behind him, whispering loudly, “Is she THE girl?”
Catherine choked on her laughter.
Edward tried to shove his sister away but she stuck to him like tape.
The call was chaotic, hilarious, warm.
When the parents and siblings finally retreated, they were breathless from laughing.
Then the quiet between them softened.
“I miss you,” Catherine whispered.
“I miss you more,” Edward replied. “But… this feels good. Seeing where you belong.”
“Same,” she said. “It’s like knowing the part of you I hadn’t met.”
Their eyes lingered in the dim glow of their screens.
Neither wanted to hang up, but both knew they should rest.
“Goodnight,” he said gently.
“Goodnight,” she murmured.
Their screens went dark, but the warmth didn’t.
Night in Two Homes
In East Siang, Catherine wrote in her journal,
I think I’m learning to love someone without losing myself.
In Guwahati, Edward stood by the window, the river breeze ruffling the curtains, thinking,
I want to be the person she deserves—with balance, with presence.
Two different landscapes.
Two different skies.
Two hearts growing in the same direction.
Semester break did what the semester couldn’t—
It gave them space
to breathe,
to remember themselves,
to miss each other in ways that felt like blooming rather than aching.
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