Lahore does not sleep. It hums—a susurrus of rickshaw bells, the distant call to prayer from a thousand minarets, the clatter of tea glasses on Formica in a dim dhaba off The Mall. By day, it is the city of Mughal gardens and literary salons, of vibrant phulkari dupattas and the relentless, delicious chaos of Anarkali Bazaar. But as the last chaiwala rolls up his steel...
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