"Let's go fishing."
The words came out of nowhere. It was a lazy afternoon in their New York apartment, the hum of the city far below muffled by thick windows. They were slouched on the couch, controllers in hand, locked in a silent battle of digital warfare. That was when Arthit, with zero warning and eyes still fixed on the screen, casually tossed out the idea.
Daotok didn't even think twice. "Okay."
That's how it all began—on a whim, like most of their adventures. Now here they were, standing under the blazing sun in Livingstone, Zambia—miles and worlds away from Manhattan's steel and concrete. The airplane had just touched down, and the moment Daotok stepped off the jet bridge, a wave of heat hit him full force. The air was dry and smelled faintly of dust and sunshine. He reached into his bag and slid on his sunglasses, squinting at the foreign landscape before him.
Africa. His first time.
Their marriage had turned them into globe-trotters, crisscrossing the world between carefully planned honeymoons and impulsive getaways. This one belonged to the latter category—spontaneous, thrilling, and entirely Arthit's doing.
This time, their goal was bold: to catch a tigerfish, the infamous freshwater predator of the Zambezi. These creatures were the stuff of legends, armed with massive bodies, sharp fangs, and a reputation for tearing through everything—from bait to crocodiles. Daotok had read that some grew as long as 180 centimeters. Locals sold them in markets and dined on them like kings. But to Arthit, the real thrill wasn't in the feast—it was in the fight.
Their itinerary wasn't limited to fishing, though. Daotok had other things in mind. He couldn't resist the pull of Victoria Falls—one of the largest and most spectacular waterfalls in the world, roaring on the edge between Zambia and Zimbabwe. The Zambezi River fed those falls—and would also be the battleground for their tigerfish expedition.
After landing, they took a short drive to their hotel, checked in, and spent the rest of the day combing through the activities the place had to offer. Their fishing trip wasn't scheduled for two more days, which gave them time to explore. Daotok made sure of that. That afternoon, they signed up for something wild—a lion walk.
"I heard we'll get to walk right beside them," Daotok said, reading the pamphlet as they waited for the van to pick them up.
"Yeah." Arthit barely looked up.
"You don't sound thrilled."
"My heart's already with the fishing," he muttered distractedly.
Daotok pouted dramatically. "I thought your heart was with me."
Arthit paused for just a second—long enough for the tension to build—before snorting with laughter. Daotok exhaled in relief.
"Can I try again?" he asked, trying to sound cute.
"No," Arthit deadpanned. Then, in a sudden shift of mood, he grinned and repeated his earlier line in mock seriousness. "My heart's already with the fishing."
"You're awful."
"You love it."
"At least you're in a better mood now."
"Were you trying to cheer me up?"
Daotok nodded. "Mm-hmm. Or did I just make it worse?"
"Nah, I'm not in a bad mood. Just... impatient." Arthit shrugged, eyes trailing the road. "This lion thing—It's more your thing than mine. But if you want to do it, I'm in."
Daotok's heart softened. "Thanks."
Soon, they were face-to-face with two adolescent lions—waist-high, golden-eyed, and intimidating even in their semi-tamed state. The guides went over the rules. No touching the head. No sudden movements. No standing in front. And strangely—hold their tails. Apparently, the lions liked it.
Daotok hesitated for a beat, then stepped forward and took one lion's tail in hand. It was heavier than he expected, thick with muscle, swaying like a living rope.
"Not going to hold one?" he asked over his shoulder.
"I don't like holding anyone's tail," Arthit quipped.
Daotok smirked. "Fine. I'll hold both."
With each step, the surreal nature of it all sank in. They were walking with lions—actual lions—across dry grasslands, with only a handful of guides between them and danger. Alim and Dalal, the lions, strolled calmly as if they were bored of the tourists.
"They probably hate this job," Daotok whispered to Arthit. "Don't even get paid."
"Same," Arthit said.
"They're the kings of the jungle, and we're just tagging along."
"More like big cats pretending not to be murder machines," Arthit murmured.
After the lions, came cheetahs—smaller, leaner, leashed like elegant predators in a fashion show. These cats made eye contact, brushed their sleek sides against them occasionally, and moved with deliberate grace.
Daotok was enchanted.
They capped off the day with white lions and other wildlife before returning to the hotel. Exhausted but exhilarated.
☆☆☆☆☆
The next morning brought mist and thunder—the distant roar of Victoria Falls calling them. They needed a guide to get there; the climb was treacherous. But when they reached the top, Daotok stood frozen. Before him, water thundered over the edge of the world. The sun broke through clouds, casting shimmering rainbows in the mist.
"Double rainbows," Arthit said, pointing.
"If you point at a rainbow, you have to bite your finger," Daotok said with mock solemnity.
"What? Why?"
"Old superstition. My relatives used to say that."
"Fine," Arthit said, holding his finger to Daotok's lips. "Bite it for me."
Daotok rolled his eyes but obeyed with a playful nibble.
"What if I didn't?" Arthit asked.
"Your finger would fall off. Obviously."
They both laughed, their voices drowned by the rush of falling water. Eventually, they reached Devil's Pool—the famed infinity pool at the very edge of the waterfall. No barriers. No railings. Just rocks, water, and a sheer drop hundreds of feet below.
Arthit didn't hesitate. He kicked off his shoes and dove in, surfacing moments later with a shout: "Come on in! It's amazing!" Daotok followed, heart hammering as he swam to the rocky edge. The water surged around them, but the natural rock ledge held firm. The guide stayed close, keeping a watchful eye.
"Ever had anyone jump off?" Arthit asked casually.
"Not yet," the guide replied with a tight smile. "Don't be the first."
They lay on their stomachs and peered over the lip. Vertigo spun the world, but the view was worth it—a kaleidoscope of rainbows, mist, and sheer force.
Later that day, their fishing journey finally began. They met Jack, their local guide, and his two assistants. Jack was gruff but kind, his voice calm and authoritative.
"You'll need my team," he said. "Without them, it's too dangerous."
They didn't argue.
Their route would take them from Livingstone to Lukulu. From there, they'd launch onto the Zambezi River. Arthit insisted on driving the lead vehicle, with Daotok and Jack in tow. The other guides followed behind in a second car.
The landscape unfurled before them—parched savannahs, scattered trees, and flashes of wildlife. Elephants meandered in the distance. Baboons darted across the road. The sky was painted gold by the setting sun.
Eventually, Jack leaned forward from the backseat and said, "We'll need to camp soon. Driving at night out here? Not safe."
Arthit glanced at Daotok in the mirror.
"Got it," he replied. "Let's make camp."
They stopped at a clearing just before dusk, where the trees thinned out and the Zambezi's wind whispered through tall grasses. The team unpacked swiftly, knowing that the sun wouldn't linger long over the African horizon.
Daotok knelt beside the guides, stacking logs and kindling into a makeshift fire pit while the others pitched tents with practiced hands. The glow of the setting sunbathed Arthit's face in gold as he hammered down stakes, sweat glistening on his brow.
As darkness fell, the security of daylight vanished. The air grew colder, and an uneasy quiet settled across the land. It wasn't like the peaceful forests they had camped in back home. This wilderness thrummed with life—but also with danger.
Jack, the expedition leader, gathered them around the fire and explained the watch rotations. Someone needed to ensure the flames never died out, not just for warmth, but for survival.
Once shifts were drawn, the team dispersed to their tents. Daotok and Arthit retreated into their small nylon shelter, barely large enough for two. They lay face-to-face on a thin mat spread over the uneven earth. It wasn't comfortable, but Daotok didn't mind. Arthit's presence was enough.
"You tired?" Arthit asked softly, brushing his fingers against Daotok's cheek.
Daotok shook his head. "No. You did most of the driving."
Arthit chuckled. "It was fun."
Daotok's eyes flicked toward the darkness outside the tent flap. "Do you think there are wolves around?"
"Definitely," Arthit said without pause. "I saw one on the drive."
"Really?" Daotok's brows lifted. "I missed it."
"Want to see one up close?" Arthit teased.
"Kinda," Daotok admitted with a grin.
"Seeing one up close would be a disaster. Get some sleep—we're up in three hours for our shift."
"Alright," Daotok whispered, eyes fluttering closed.
A few hours later, a soft shake of the tent roused them. One of the guides' voices murmured through the canvas. It was time. Arthit insisted on joining Daotok for his watch, despite not being scheduled.
Outside, the fire crackled softly. They sat close together on folding chairs, flashlights in hand, their beams cutting through the thick night. The forest responded with chirps, rustles, and the rhythmic hum of unseen creatures. The darkness stretched endlessly around them, vast and wild. Daotok tossed another log into the fire, watching the sparks dance into the sky. Arthit leaned his elbows on his knees, eyes scanning the shadows.
"This feels... different," Daotok murmured. "Like camping, but more real. More dangerous."
Arthit nodded. "Jack said we're near lion territory."
Daotok smirked. "No worries. I've already held their tails."
"You're such a tail-carrier," Arthit snorted.
"That's right. I'm that kind of person."
Suddenly, Arthit froze. His body tensed, eyes sharp. "Did you hear that?"
Daotok turned, alert. "What?"
Arthit's voice dropped to a whisper. "A lion."
As if summoned by his words, a deep, bone-shaking roar echoed through the trees—close. Too close.
The sound crawled under Daotok's skin, paralyzing and primal.
"Back in the tent. Now," Arthit whispered. They moved quickly. Arthit ducked into the adjacent tent, warning the others, while Daotok waited, heart thudding. Once Arthit returned, they sat inside, tense and silent, listening as another growl rumbled from the darkness.
"They don't usually attack unless provoked," Daotok said, more to himself than to reassure Arthit. "They prefer familiar prey."
"That doesn't exactly calm me," Arthit muttered.
A moment passed before he added, "If we tell people about this, they'll just say we should've stayed home."
Daotok chuckled. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?"
"Exactly," Arthit grinned. "Glad you get it."
A voice called from the other tent—more instructions to stay alert and keep the fire going.
"Go sleep," Arthit offered. "I'll keep watch."
"No, I'm staying up too."
"Come on," he said, nudging Daotok gently. "Let me do my husband duties."
Daotok rolled his eyes but smiled. "Fine. But if anything happens, wake me."
"If a lion shows up, you think I'll just let you sleep?" Arthit snorted.
"Goodnight, then."
"Night."
Eventually, Daotok drifted into a light sleep, lulled by the crackle of fire and Arthit's steady presence nearby. At dawn, rustling woke him. He blinked up to find Arthit folding clothes and rolling their sleeping mat.
"You're packing already?" Daotok asked groggily.
"Yeah, go wash your face and help."
Daotok stepped outside, greeted by crisp air and the breathtaking sight of the sunrise over the savannah. Golden rays shimmered on the distant river, painting the sky in warm hues. After washing, he rejoined the others, sharing stories over breakfast about the lion's roar.
"The fire probably kept them back," one guide explained. "But it's normal here. Sometimes, they come right up to the tents."
The group soon resumed their journey toward the river launch point. The terrain grew wild, forcing them to abandon the vehicles near Lukulu. Villagers greeted them with curious eyes and cautious smiles, helping prepare two motorboats—one for Arthit, Daotok, and the guide, the other for the support crew. As their boat cut through the river, Daotok leaned over the edge, watching the clear water swirl beneath them. A crocodile surfaced for a second—then vanished.
He sat back quickly. "Crocodile. Just saw one."
"Lovely," Arthit muttered, squinting toward the bank.
A sudden splash caught their attention. "Arthit, look! A hippo's running!"
"Why are those stubby legs so fast?" he said, incredulous.
"They're adorable!" Daotok said, snapping photos. "Stubby and cute!"
"Cute but deadly," Arthit warned. "Hippos kill more people than crocodiles."
"I know. Still charming though. They can kill crocs, right?"
The hippos eventually disappeared, leaving only ripples behind. Later, they reached a small village where locals offered bait fish and insight. Children watched Daotok with bright, curious eyes as he explored the market, camera in hand. Back on the river, Arthit pointed out a massive crocodile basking in the sun. As their boat neared, it slipped into the water with a violent splash.
"It's not following us," Daotok said, though his eyes scanned the surface nervously.
"Probably startled," Arthit replied.
Daotok frowned. "Still. I've seen movies where crocodiles flip boats."
"Flip them? With what? Their egos?" Arthit said with a dry laugh.
"They grab the edge or ram it," Daotok insisted.
"If ours flips, what do we do?"
"Attack the eyes. That's their weakness."
"Eyes are a weakness for most things—except me. Mine shoots lasers."
Daotok snorted. "Really?"
"Yeah. Laser pointers for cats. Pew pew."
"Oh no. A true superpower," Daotok teased.
"I used it last night. Lured the lions away."
"In that case, I owe you," Daotok said, grinning.
They finally reached a remote spot designated for fishing and received the tribal leader's permission to camp. The guide explained how tigerfish demanded active bait, unlike lazy river fishing. Daotok struggled at first, clumsy with the rod. He mimicked the others' jerking motions, trying to tempt the fish. Just as he was about to give up, Arthit cried out, his rod bent sharply.
"Whoa! It's strong!"
The line fought him every second, muscles flexing as he reeled. Then—with a final pull—it breached the surface. A silver streak. Needle teeth. Pure muscle.
"Got it!" Arthit grinned, breathless.
About the length of Daotok's forearm, the creature thrashed with violent strength, tail slapping hard against the wooden floor of the boat. Arthit knelt beside it, calm and focused, using pliers to pry the hook from its powerful jaw.
"You caught a big one!" one of the team members called out, impressed.
Arthit gave a humble shrug, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—pride glimmering quietly in his eyes. "I've seen pictures of bigger ones."
The local guide chuckled. "Fish that size are rare. If they weren't, the internet would be full of them. So, what will you do with it now?"
"Eat it, of course," Arthit replied, lifting the fish with both hands and placing it carefully into a nearby bucket. "You know how to prepare it?"
"I've seen locals grill it after removing the scales. If we ask, they might show us," the guide offered.
Arthit gave a nod of thanks, already beginning to reset his line with practiced ease. "Might as well try our luck again."
He looked up. "How's it going over there?"
Daotok, seated at the opposite edge of the boat, exhaled a frustrated breath and shook his head. "Not great."
"Don't worry," Arthit said gently. "We're here to have fun."
"Can't say it's fun when I haven't caught a single thing," Daotok muttered, pouting slightly. Still, there was a quiet determination behind the words. A secret, childlike desire to reel in something big. Something worth showing off.
"Just be careful not to let the line slice your hand."
"I know, I know," Daotok replied, returning focus to the water. The line gave a sudden jerk—a tug strong enough to send adrenaline racing through his veins.
He gripped the rod tighter. "Something's biting."
Arthit moved instinctively closer, ready to assist, but Daotok raised a hand to stop him.
"I've got this," he said firmly.
The fish on the other end of the line put up a surprisingly fierce fight. Daotok's arms strained, muscles taut, every inch of his body focused on reeling it in. The rod bent precariously, the reel clicking under pressure. Behind him, Arthit steadied his waist with both hands, silently ensuring he didn't get pulled forward into the water.
With one final heave, Daotok hauled the fish over the edge and onto the deck. He stared at it. Small, flopping, and nowhere near as dramatic as it had felt while underwater.
"That's it?" he said, half-laughing, half-disappointed. "I thought it'd be bigger with how hard it was fighting."
"It's still a solid catch," Arthit reassured him.
"Yeah, I guess." Daotok grabbed the pliers and worked to remove the hook.
The fish writhed, making the task slightly more difficult.
"Want help?" Arthit asked.
Daotok smirked without looking up. "From the guy who got bitten by a piranha? I think I'll manage."
Arthit groaned. "That's going to follow me forever, isn't it?"
Daotok laughed quietly to himself. The tigerfish may have been small, but it had given him a thrill. Once it was unhooked and dropped into the bucket, he wasted no time casting his line again.
By the end of the afternoon, Arthit had caught the biggest fish of the day. When the team returned to the village, they offered part of the catch to the locals in exchange for help with preparation. The villagers welcomed them warmly, teaching them how to scale, season, and grill the tigerfish over open flame.
As night fell, the scent of charred skin and herbs lingered in the air. They sat beneath the stars with their hosts, each holding a grilled skewer. Daotok eyed the fish cautiously. It wasn't the most visually appealing dish, but after all that effort, he owed it to himself to at least try it. He took a bite. It was...fine.
"Delicious," Arthit said, already halfway through his portion. "What do you think?"
Daotok chewed thoughtfully. "It's okay. Edible."
Arthit laughed. "Guess it depends on taste."
"Probably," Daotok replied with a shrug, offering a small smile.
After dinner, they helped clean up and thanked the locals before boarding the boat for the return trip. The journey downstream passed quickly, the current strong beneath them and the moonlight guiding the way. Later, back at the hotel, the memory of the tigerfish shimmered in Daotok's mind—more than just a catch, it was a moment. A shared experience. A story for later.
Arthit, lounging beside him, stretched and glanced over. "Where to next?"
Daotok turned to him, teasingly. "You mean here in this country, or are we hopping continents now?"
Arthit grinned. "Let's go to Morocco."
Daotok laughed softly. "Alright."