"The Fisherman Under the Moonlight: A Night We Never Returned From"

It was the early 2000s. The kind of time when life was less difficult, and enterprises weren’t captured on phones but carved in memory. One chilly winter night, my two closest friends—Rafiq, Salam—and I chosen to go night angling by the stream, a few kilometers from our town, Jangliya. We had done this some time recently, endless times. But this night… this night was different.

The moon was full, casting a silver shine over the calm wide open. We carried our angling poles, a little light, and an ancient holder to store the angle. Giggling reverberated as we prodded each other along the way, uninformed that this travel would alter us forever.

We come to the bank around midnight. The water was calm, the sky clear. The as it were sound was the intermittent croak of a frog and the removed cries of jackals. It felt idealize for angling. We spread out, cast our lines, and waited.

Hours passed. The moon climbed higher. We caught nothing.

Then Salem froze.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Do you see that?”

We taken after his look over the stream. Beneath the spooky moonlight, a solitary man stood distant absent, in part covered up by fog. He wore a long shawl that streamed down his body like a cloak, and he was casting his angling bar with mysterious precision.

Oddly sufficient, his wicker container looked full as of now. We hadn’t caught a single angle, and however this stranger, angling in total quiet, appeared to be pulling out angle after fish.

"Who seem be angling here at this hour?" Rafiq muttered.

We chosen to approach him. Not with any particular reason—just… Interest. But the closer we strolled, the more distant he appeared. The way was straight, however no matter how quick we strolled, the man remained the same separate absent. The moonlight was shinning sufficient; we ought to have caught up to him easily.

Suddenly, from the dull bushes next to us, an ancient man appeared—out of nowhere.

“Where are you boys headed?” he inquired in a gravelly voice.

Startled, we looked at him. He had a lean outline, a scruffy whisker, and eyes that appeared to shine faintly.

“We saw somebody fishing… we’re fair going to see who it is,” I answered hesitantly.

The man didn’t grin. Instep, he ventured back and whispered, “Don’t.”

And with that, he vanished into the haziness, as if gulped by the fog.

Our hearts beat. But none of us said a word. We fair kept walking.

The fog got denser. Trees looked like shadows with bent arms. The moonlight diminished unnaturally. The man we were chasing? Gone. Totally. But somehow… we were still strolling forward. Our feet moved like we were beneath a spell.

It wasn’t until we felt something pulling on our hands that we snapped out of it. We looked down—our angling bars and the holder were still with us, but there were presently silver angle interior. New. Lively. None of us recollected catching them.

Then we listened it—a whisper, carried by the wind.

"Go back."

We turned and blasted. We didn’t halt until we saw a little town we didn’t recognize.

Morning light was inching in.

A rancher plowing his field looked at us, confused.

“Where are you boys coming from?” he asked.

We replied truly, “We were fishing… but we’re not beyond any doubt where we are.”

“This is Sonatola,” he said.

Our jaws dropped.

Sonatola was at slightest 15 kilometers from Jangliya. There was no way we strolled that distant in the dull, particularly not without crossing any major street or landmark.

We were staggered. Tired. Cold. And terrified.

We said thanks to the man and gradually made our way back to our claim village.

Once domestic, we told our families. They didn't accept us. Thought we were fair tired or overstating. But something in us had changed. That night remained with us.

We never went angling at night again.

Sometimes, amid family get-togethers, we review that night and giggle anxiously. But profound down, each of us knows: there was something there. Something that didn’t need to be found.

Maybe a soul. Perhaps a time slip. Maybe… a caution.