Mission Forensic
Morning arrived differently in both their worlds—
not rushed, not dramatic—
just present.
Catherine — East Siang, Arunachal Pradesh
Catherine woke to the soft rattle of bamboo leaves brushing against her window. Her mother was grinding ginger in the kitchen, the rhythmic scrape echoing through the house like a familiar heartbeat.
“Sleep well?” her mother asked, without turning.
“For the first time in weeks,” Catherine said, stretching.
“Good,” her mother replied. “Your face is less stormy today.”
Catherine snorted.
“Thank you… I guess?”
“Have tea,” her mother insisted. “Then come help me pick mustard greens.”
Catherine stepped outside with her mug—the air cool, the hills dipped in blue mist. The world was quiet in a way she’d forgotten was possible. As she walked to the backyard, she saw her father inspecting a half-repaired bamboo fence.
“Come,” he called. “Give me moral support.”
She laughed. “You say that because you know I can’t fix the fence.”
“Exactly,” he said, patting the ground beside him. “Sit. Tell me about your Delhi chaos.”
They sat together, the morning sun warming their backs. She told him about the semester, the pressure, the exams… and slowly, she found herself talking about Edward—not dramatically, not nervously, just openly.
“He’s steady,” she said quietly.
“And sometimes too steady. Like he forgets he doesn’t have to carry everything alone.” Her father nodded thoughtfully. “People like him… they’re used to responsibility. You must meet him where he stands, but not let him walk past his own heart.”
Catherine blinked. “That’s… very poetic for a man fixing a fence.”
“I am wise in mysterious ways,” her father said with a dignified sniff.
She laughed into her hands.
Later, she walked to the Siang river. Not to think. Just to be. The river was calm today, rippling in long silver threads. A fisherman waved from his boat. Catherine waved back.
Just as she was about to dip her hand into the cold river, her phone vibrated gently.
Edward: Are you near the river?
Catherine: Yes. How did you guess?
Edward: You always go quiet when water is nearby.
Catherine: That’s not true.
Edward: It is. You get this… river-mind. Calm on top, chaos underneath.
She laughed softly, the sound carried off by the breeze.
Catherine: You’re very dramatic for someone standing in Guwahati.
Edward: I’m actually standing in the verandah, trying to avoid being fed a fourth plate of breakfast.
Catherine: Tragic. Truly tragic.
A moment passed. Then—
Edward: Turn your camera? I want to see what you’re seeing.
She hesitated—not out of shyness, but because the moment felt strangely fragile. Still, she lifted her phone and showed him the wide Siang, sunlight catching in drifting ripples, the mountains framed like ancient guardians.
After a long pause, he texted:
Edward: It looks peaceful.
Catherine: It is.
Edward: You look peaceful too. Even through a reflection.
Her fingers froze over the screen. She typed slowly:
Catherine: I think I needed this break more than I admitted.
Edward: And I think I needed to hear your voice more than I expected.
She bit back a smile. The river kept moving, quiet and strong, and Catherine felt something inside her do the same—steadying, softening, opening.
Edward — Guwahati
Edward came downstairs with sleep still tangled in his hair, hoodie sleeves half covering his hands. He barely had time to blink before his mother shoved a steaming plate into his palms.
“Eat,” she commanded.
“Ma… what—”
“Chira doi,” she said, eyes narrowing. “With jaggery. You’ve forgotten real breakfast.”
He smiled despite himself. Flattened rice soaked in curd, sweetened lightly—simple, cool, perfect.
“Sit,” she added, already turning back to the kitchen. “You’ve become thin like bamboo. Even wind will carry you away.”
“Good morning to you too,” he muttered.
From behind the fridge door, his younger sister emerged with a wicked smile.
“Dada is eating chira doi AND checking his phone every three seconds,” she announced. “Multitasking for love.”
Edward shot her a look. “It’s called messages.”
“Mhm. Girlfriend messages.”
He pointed a spoon at her. “I will—”
She grinned. “—not touch me because Ma will scold you.”
He lunged anyway. She squealed, sprinting down the hallway. Their mother’s voice floated out.
“No running inside! And no chasing sisters! And no dropping food!”
“See?” his sister shouted. “Divine protection!”
Edward groaned into his bowl.
Later that morning, Edward found himself seated across from his father at the old wooden chessboard—the one with a knight missing a tiny chip on its ear. Five minutes in, he already knew he was doomed.
“Wait—how is my rook trapped already?” Edward asked, squinting at the board.
His father didn’t look up. “Consequences of poor planning.”
“Papa, that’s psychological warfare.”
“It’s chess,” his father corrected calmly, sliding his bishop with surgical precision. “Check.”
Edward stared at the board. “You were not this good when I was ten.”
“I improved,” his father said. “You did not.”
“That is hurtful.”
“That is truth.”
Edward groaned and dropped his head onto the table. “Why is everyone in this house bullying me today?”
His father reached forward, gently tapping the top of Edward’s fallen king. “It keeps you strategic,” he replied with a serene, victorious smile.
“And now it’s checkmate.”
Edward pointed at him dramatically. “This is parental cruelty.”
“Go help your mother,” his father said, already resetting the pieces. “I need someone competent for the next round.”
Edward’s offended gasp echoed through the house.
By evening, the house smelled like a festival kitchen. His mother placed three bowls in front of him: Tangy masor tenga, rich tenga-bhapa, and a spicy fish curry with begun that he definitely didn’t remember missing.
“Taste all,” she said. “And tell me which one your soul still recognizes.”
“Ma,” he complained, “this is emotional manipulation.”
“This is maternal affection.”
She tapped the ladle. “Eat.”
His sister popped her head in. “Ask Catherine which one to choose!”
Edward threw a napkin at her. She dodged, bowed dramatically, and disappeared upstairs like the menace she was.
His mother sighed. “You two fight like cats.”
“We bond through violence.”
She flicked his ear. “Eat.”
When the night finally brushed Guwahati with its warm, river-scented breeze, Edward slipped onto the terrace with a clay cup of freshly made chai. The city shimmered below—auto headlights gliding like fireflies, the distant hum of the Brahmaputra, temple bells drifting through the air.
“She’d love this,” he murmured to no one.
His phone buzzed.
Catherine: Send me your view?
His smile unfurled before he could stop it. He took a picture—the skyline, the glowing river curve, the quiet pulse of the city. Seconds later, her reply arrived: Catherine wrapped in a shawl, mountains behind her soaked in twilight blue. He stared at the photo too long. Long enough for the chai to cool.
Days passed like this—warm, familiar, filled with family chaos and comfort. But beneath it all, in every quiet pause, in every breath taken alone, their thoughts curved back toward each other—as naturally as rivers finding their way to the sea.
The Little Tension (Soft, Human, Real)
The next afternoon, Catherine’s childhood friend Dorjee stopped by to visit. They hadn’t seen each other in years. They talked outside under the guava tree—laughing, catching up, teasing each other about old school fights. She forgot about her phone for almost two hours.
Meanwhile in Guwahati—Edward stared at his screen. Refreshing messages like it was a part-time job. His sister strolled in.
“What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re brooding.”
“I’m not.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “Missing her.”
He threw a pillow at her. She caught it midair. “Brother, I am an athlete of emotional observation.”
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed. Catherine’s name lit the screen. He answered instantly.
Catherine: “Sorry! Dorjee came over—we were catching up and I didn’t realize the time—”
Edward: “It’s okay.”
Catherine: “Your voice says it’s not.”
Edward: “…maybe not entirely.”
She laughed softly. “You’re adorable.”
“Illegal,” he muttered. “Don’t say that.”
“Then don’t sound adorable.”
“Impossible.”
Their laughter mingled through the speaker, bridging miles like they were nothing.
Rain Parallel
Catherine stepped out onto the small bamboo porch just as the wind shifted—cooler, sweeter, carrying the faint scent of wet earth. The sky above East Siang glowed a deep, moody violet, clouds gathering like soft bruises over the hills. Behind her, the Siang river darkened, ripples turning silver. Her phone buzzed.
Edward: Are you outside?
Catherine: Yes. You?
A moment later, Edward appeared on her screen—standing on his terrace in Guwahati, hair tousled by the wind, the sky behind him a heavy slate blue.
“Looks like rain,” Catherine said softly.
“Here too,” Edward murmured. “It hasn’t even started, but… it feels like it’s about to.”
They stayed on the call even though neither spoke for a minute—just listening to the wind on both ends, two different worlds breathing in the same rhythm.
Then—A single raindrop struck the wooden porch beside Catherine’s foot. At the exact same moment, on Edward’s screen, a drop hit his phone camera, sliding down like a lazy tear.
Catherine blinked. “You’re kidding.”
Edward glanced up. “No way.”
More drops. A scatter. A drizzle. A sudden, matching hush as rain began to fall—in East Siang and Guwahati at the same time.
Catherine stepped out fully, letting the rain soak into her shawl. Edward tilted his head back, letting the drizzle cool his skin. For a moment, neither said anything. It felt too perfect to interrupt. Finally, he spoke, voice low, almost awed.
“Looks like the world’s trying to connect the dots for us.”
Catherine laughed, soft as rainfall. “Or telling us we’re ridiculous for missing each other so much.”
“Impossible,” he said warmly. “Missing you is the only thing I’m good at.”
She made a face, cheeks warm despite the cold. “That was so cheesy.”
“I stand by it.”
A gust of rain-wind swept across her screen; another swept across his. Different cities, same storm. She held the phone closer.
“Edward?”
“Yes?”
“Someday… I want us to stand in the same rain.”
He swallowed, the raindrops catching the faint light on his cheek. “Catherine… someday, we will.”
Their smiles softened together—two mirrors of the same warmth. The rain thickened, wrapping the world in a gentle roar. Not loud. Not violent. Just full enough to feel alive.
Catherine whispered, “Goodnight.”
Edward whispered, “Goodnight.”
They didn’t hang up immediately. They just listened—to the rain in her mountains, to the rain in his city—falling in perfect, impossible sync. Two skies. Two hearts. One moment. The distance didn’t vanish. But in the rain, for the first time, it didn’t matter at all.
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