Lahore is a city that never stops talking. From the clatter of rickshaws on Shahrah-e-Quaid-e-Azam to the solemn chant of the call to prayer echoing over the Badshahi Mosque, every street seems to have a voice. Yet, beneath the bright neon of Mall Road and the polished glass of the new shopping malls, there is a quieter, more secretive murmur—one

The call to prayer drifts from the minarets, melting into the low hum of traffic, as Lahore exhales its evening sigh. The city’s age‑old walls, stained by centuries of history, are now brushed with the flickering glow of neon signs that promise companionship, laughter, and something more intimate in the cramped corridors of the old city. In the