Lost Stars on a Stormy Night Part 3

We all knew what we’d seen that night was no illusion. Fazlu Majhi’s story had sharpened the truth, thickening the shadow of fear that now clung to our lives.

For days after the incident, we avoided fishing. Restlessness gnawed at us, as if an invisible force tugged at our souls. But when news came that fish prices had soared—and that skipping another trip would ruin us—we caved.

Me, Faruk, Mizan Bhai, and our 15 crewmates agreed: we’d steer clear of Saira’s cursed zone. Instead, we’d head east.

We set sail at dusk. The sky hung heavy with clouds, the air prickling with unease. But hunger silences fear. We pushed onward.

The Sea’s Betrayal

The first two hours were calm. Nets cast, lights steady, everyone busy. Then, around 9 p.m., the sky blackened.

We assumed it was just rain.

But the wind sharpened into a howl. Waves swelled, rocking the boat violently.

“This area never storms like this!” Faruk shouted.

I checked the compass. My blood ran cold—we’d drifted southwest, straight into her territory: the zone where Saira vanished.

“Pull the nets! We’re turning back!” I yelled.

But the wind drowned my voice. Lightning split the sky. In its flash, we saw it again—the yacht.

Drifting… and on it, a pale figure.

Her Return

All eyes locked onto the yacht.

She sat motionless, staring directly at us.

Mizan Bhai trembled. “Th-that’s… the girl from before!”

The wind roared louder. Waves slammed the boat sideways, as if the sea itself raged.

We tried to flee, but Faruk shouted, “Check the nets—something’s caught!”

He froze mid-pull, face ashen, lips quivering.

“What… is this?” he whispered.

I rushed over. Tangled in the net was a frayed white cloth stained with rust-red marks. At its corner, a name: SA...IRA.

We stared, breathless. A decade-old garment… still floating… bearing her name?

The Storm’s Wrath

The tempest doubled its fury. Thunder cracked nearby. Crewmates stumbled, chaos erupting.

We tried to retreat but lost all direction. The yacht loomed on one side, waves swallowing the other.

Then, a voice pierced the storm—a woman’s sob.

“My stars… where are my stars?”

My chest tightened.

“What stars?” someone cried.

Fazlu Majhi’s words echoed: “Don’t you know her final wish? Don’t you know where she was lost?”

Suddenly, it clicked—stars. Maybe literal, maybe metaphorical. Saira had loved stargazing. The night she vanished, she’d sailed under a sky full of them.

A Glimpse Into the Past

When the storm briefly relented, we turned to the yacht. The figure was gone. But carved into its wooden edge were jagged words:

“I’ll return… until my stars are found, there’s no peace.”

Mizan Bhai muttered, “Does ‘stars’ mean her parents… or memories?”

I had no answer. But an idea struck—if Saira’s spirit lingered over something lost, maybe “stars” meant physical remnants swallowed by the sea.

We resolved to return to shore and dig into her past. But first, we had to escape the yacht.

Shorebound: Meeting Fazlu Majhi

We reached shore at dawn, faces etched with terror. No one spoke—words couldn’t capture the dread.

We went straight to Fazlu Majhi.

He studied us and said, “You returned to her territory. She spoke this time.”

I showed him the cloth. He held it silently, then sighed.

“This was hers—the dress she wore when she vanished. Its return means she’s still trapped. She seeks peace… but demands her ‘stars’ in exchange.”

“What are the stars?” I asked.

“A diary she wrote in daily… a gold chain from her mother. The sea took them. You must retrieve them.”

The Mission Begins

That evening, we planned our return—not to fish, but to hunt for Saira’s relics. Old boats were repaired. A metal detector was procured.

We don’t know what awaits.

But we know Saira’s weeping eyes haunt us.

And we know—if we fail to return her “stars,”

she’ll return in a form far more terrible.

[To be continued...]